The atmosphere in the tenth-floor conference room suddenly became heavy because of the question thrown out by White.
Everyone understood that the reason why the Argyle Family was able to sweep across North America was entirely due to cost control.
Steel, coal, and railways—these lifeline resources were all in their own hands, which allowed them to drive their competitors to death with cheap prices.
But now, with the appearance of the epoch-making technology of Alternating Current, a new fatal resource had choked the empire's neck.
Copper.
Felix did not speak immediately; he picked up the copper price procurement list on the table and glanced at it.
"Where is the high-purity copper in the United States mainly produced at present?"
Felix looked at the representative of the Saineng Mining Company.
Because Miller was in the West, the person attending on behalf of Cygnus Mining today was a senior executive, namely Jack, who was sent by Miller.
Jack immediately stood up. He knew this was an opportunity for him to perform in front of the big boss, and he had done his homework thoroughly before coming.
"Boss, the domestic high-quality copper mining areas are currently mainly concentrated in the Upper Peninsula region of Michigan. The native copper there is extremely high in purity, and it can be used after simple smelting once dug out."
"However, the mines there are basically controlled by several old capitalist families in Boston. They established the Calumet and Hecla Mining Company, jointly monopolized production, bit the copper price tightly, and sold a pound of copper for more than twenty cents."
"That group of old money in Boston?" Tom Hayes sneered from the side.
"No wonder the price can't come down. Those guys are used to lying on the mines and sucking blood. If we go to Michigan to forcibly acquire their mining areas, the cost will be huge, and they will definitely resist desperately."
"There is no need to go to Michigan." Felix threw the procurement list onto the table.
He turned his head and looked at the huge map of the United States on the wall.
His gaze crossed Michigan, went directly west, and landed on a desolate piece of land deep in the Rocky Mountains.
"Montana Territory."
Felix's finger pointed at that location on the map, his voice firm and certain.
"I remember there is a small town called Butte there, which used to be a place where gold rushers went to dig for gold and silver. But according to intelligence, buried beneath those hollowed-out silver mines is the largest copper ore vein in the world."
The few executives present were stunned.
Montana?
Except for indians and some down-and-out gold rushers, there was almost nothing there now.
Even the railway had not been fully completed, and transportation was extremely isolated.
"Boss, is there really a copper mine in Montana?"
Jack asked somewhat hesitatingly, where did the intelligence come from?
"Not sure, but it's worth taking a gamble."
Of course Felix couldn't say that he possessed memories surpassing the times, and Butte would be called "the richest hill on Earth" in the future, with the copper it produced accounting for a huge share of the entire United States.
But he could use the Intelligence Department to take the blame.
He looked at Jack.
"Telegraph Miller that Cygnus Mining's expansion in Nevada has temporarily stabilized. Have him pull together a batch of engineers and geologists who best understand exploration, bring enough security personnel, and immediately head to Butte Town in Montana. Bring enough cash."
Felix's tone became cold and ruthless.
"Regardless of whose private territory it is now, or whether it is an indians reservation. As long as there is a copper mine reaction detected underneath, buy it directly. If they won't sell, let the security team solve it with the rules of the West. Within half a year, I want to see Cygnus Mining establish the first large-scale copper mine in Butte."
"Understood! I will telegraph President Miller right away!" Jack quickly recorded in his notebook.
Felix turned his head again to look at Charles Reeves of the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company.
"Charles, Montana's current traffic conditions cannot support large-scale ore outbound transportation. Coordinate with Union Pacific Railroad over there. Plan a branch railway that inserts directly into Montana from the main route. No matter how difficult the engineering is, it must be built. Without a railway, the mined copper ore is just a pile of waste stones."
"Okay, Boss. I will let the engineering team go over first to survey the terrain and strive to start construction next spring."
Reeves hurriedly nodded and agreed. This was a good opportunity to meddle in the Union Pacific Railroad.
You must know that the Argyle Family currently held shares in four railway companies, namely the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company, Pennsylvania Railroad Company, Union Pacific Railroad Company, and Erie Railroad.
But except for Mississippi, the helmsmen of the other three were not people from the Executive Committee.
Therefore, Reeves had always wanted to promote the merger of the four companies, or rather, the helmsmen of all four wanted to swallow the other three.
"Heinrich."
Felix finally looked at the General Electric general manager.
"The mining of copper and the construction of railways take time. During this transition period, you can first purchase some high-priced copper from that mining company in Boston for the perfection and experimental production of Tesla's prototype. Tell Tesla not to feel bad about money, and set the transmission standard for Alternating Current for me first."
"Understood, Boss. As long as there is your capital commitment, Tesla will definitely sleep in the laboratory." White heaved a sigh of relief.
The meeting progressed through one resolution after another.
It was not until 12:30 noon that the adjournment of the meeting was announced.
"Go to the internal restaurant for dining, and in the afternoon, each department will internally digest today's content."
The executives packed up their documents one after another and let out a long sigh of relief. Facing Felix's pressure in this conference room was even more tiring than negotiating with opponents outside.
Half of the area on the seventh floor was separately designated as the exclusive restaurant for senior management.
George Templeton and Tom Hayes walked into the restaurant side by side.
The environment here was elegant.
The floor was covered with a thick red carpet, and the dining table was covered with a clean white linen tablecloth. Waiters in clean tailcoats shuttled between the tables carrying silver trays.
The two sat down at a windowside location.
"Two gentlemen, what would you like to eat today? Food Company just sent over a batch of the latest ingredients." The waiter respectfully handed over the menu.
"Give me a rack of roast lamb chops, medium-well. Add a portion of boiled peas. And a glass of Bordeaux red wine." Templeton took a glance.
"I want half a dozen Chesapeake Bay oysters, and for the main course, roast beef with mashed potatoes. Black coffee, no sugar." Hayes returned the menu to the waiter.
Currently, oysters were a common food on the East Coast, and even lower-class civilians often ate them, but top-grade oysters carefully cooked by a chef and served with lemon juice were still a fine product for lunch.
After the waiter left, Templeton picked up the lemonade on the table, took a sip, and looked at the street outside the window.
"Montana, the boss is always frighteningly accurate." Templeton said in a low voice.
"He seems to know everything clearly about what is buried beneath this continent. As long as there is copper, the door to the electrical age will truly belong to us."
Hayes picked up the silver fork on the table and gently tapped the water glass.
"George. Mining takes time, and building railways also takes time. But I can't wait that long. The reason I didn't refute the boss upstairs just now was because I knew that Cygnus Mining going to Montana is a long-term strategy. But in the short term, if we want to solve General Electric's cost problem, we still have to snatch it from the hands of those old money in Michigan."
Templeton turned his head and looked at this financial hound.
"What do you want to do? The boss didn't give an order to attack the Boston consortium."
"The boss only looks at the results, right?" Hayes shrugged.
"That Calumet Mining Company in Boston has recently been expanding its deep mines. They lack cash. I checked their background, and they have mortgaged a large amount of equity in several local banks."
Hayes lowered his voice, greed flashing in his eyes.
"George, can Imperial Bank lend me a short-term interest-free bridge fund? Five million dollars."
"Five million? You want to forcibly acquire their mortgaged claims?" Templeton instantly understood Hayes's routine.
"Not just acquisition, I want to buy out all the commercial paper issued by them that can be found on the market. Then, on a Friday afternoon, suddenly demand them to cash all of it out."
"They absolutely cannot produce that much cash. By then, those high-quality copper mining equities mortgaged in the banks will fall into the hands of Patriot Investment Company. General Electric will be able to get red copper at cost price."
Templeton was silent for a moment.
This kind of malicious financial run was completely legal in this unregulated era, and it was also fatal.
The waiter walked over carrying the roast lamb chops and oysters, placing the plates in front of the two.
The aroma of meat instantly permeated across the dining table.
"Five million dollars, it will be transferred to the account of Patriot Investment Company before two o'clock in the afternoon."
Templeton picked up the knife and fork, cut off a piece of lamb dripping with juice, put it into his mouth to chew, and reminded him.
"Clean up your actions, Tom. Don't give those old folks in Boston a chance to breathe, squeeze out every last bit of their bones."
"Rest assured, oysters must be swallowed in one gulp while they are fresh and alive." Hayes picked up an oyster, squeezed a few drops of lemon juice onto it, raised his head, and sucked the plump oyster meat along with the juice into his mouth.
In this quiet and elegant restaurant, amidst the slight sound of knives and forks colliding with porcelain plates.
Two beasts in suits and leather shoes thus casually finalized a bloody strangulation sufficient to bankrupt several old Boston families.
And in the operation of this empire, this was just an ordinary lunch.
On the fifth floor of the Argyle's Building, the atmosphere was completely different from the tense and oppressive atmosphere of the floors above and below.
Sunlight streamed through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows on the south side, spilling onto the off-white carpet.
Several tall tropical palm trees were placed in the corners, adding a touch of vitality to this floor.
There was no smell of engine oil in the air, nor the harsh ticking of telegraph machines, only the rustling sound of clerks turning pages.
This was the headquarters of the Argyle Charitable Foundation.
Anna walked out of the elevator wearing a deep blue velvet coat and carrying an exquisite cowhide handbag.
She had just finished several weeks of work in Washington and returned to New York on the early morning special train.
"Deputy Director, you are back."
Several female clerks in the corridor saw Anna and immediately bowed respectfully to greet her.
Anna nodded slightly, walked through the office area with steady steps, and headed straight for the double-door office at the end of the corridor.
She pushed open the door.
Inside the office, Catherine was sitting in a comfortable soft leather armchair.
Her abdomen was quite visibly protruding, and she was holding a long material procurement list.
Hearing the door open, Catherine looked up and revealed a gentle smile.
"Anna, has the matter in Washington been dealt with?"
"It's all settled, Catherine."
Anna walked over to the desk, pulled out a chair, sat down, and placed her handbag aside.
She looked at Catherine's somewhat tired expression and asked with concern.
"How is your health? These complicated documents should be left to the people below to handle. If Felix were here, he would definitely blame you for overworking again."
"I am not so delicate that I can't even look at a few documents. Besides, I don't trust anyone else to look at these accounts."
Catherine placed the procurement list on the desktop and gently stroked her belly.
"What did those politicians in Washington say?" Catherine brought the topic back on track.
"My father asked me to tell Felix that as long as he is acting president, Congress will not pass any antitrust bills targeting the Argyle Family. With the general election approaching, he needs Felix's full support and political donations."
Anna's tone was very calm; she had long been accustomed to this way of talking that mixed family affection with political transactions.
"That is enough. As long as we drag it past the election, even if Congress wants to turn hostile, our foundations can no longer be shaken."
Catherine nodded with satisfaction.
Anna stood up, walked to the cabinet nearby, and poured herself a cup of warm water.
"Has the foundation made any big moves recently?" she asked.
Catherine took out the summary tables reported from various places and handed them to Anna.
"The moves are huge. We have newly established twelve middle schools and five orphanages in three southern states. Five percent of the profits from the Metropolitan Trading Company and the Food Company have been drawn as special funds to maintain the operation of these institutions."
Anna took the table, looked at the dense numbers and locations on it, and raised her eyebrows slightly.
"Such a large-scale construction? Won't those state governments in the South suspect our motives?"
"They have no right to suspect. The economy in the South has already collapsed. We are paying to help them raise orphans, and they are too late to thank us."
Catherine's eyes revealed the shrewdness belonging to the mistress of the Argyle Family.
"Anna, this is not just charity. These orphanages and schools are our future arsenals. All the children growing up inside them receive an education from a young age of absolute loyalty to the Argyle Family."
"When they reach the age of fourteen, they will be sent directly into Cygnus Mining, Vanguard Military Industry, or the food factory. They have no home; Argyle is their home. Ten years from now, this will be an industrial army that no one can shake."
Anna listened and sighed inwardly in admiration.
Wrapping cruel social engineering control in the cloak of charity.
This far-sightedness truly matched Felix's style of doing things.
Just as the two were communicating about the future control network, the office door was gently knocked.
The front desk secretary walked in to report.
"Director O'Brien, President Armand of Argyle University is outside. He says there is an urgent matter that requires an audience with you."
Catherine and Anna exchanged a glance.
"Please let him in."
Catherine straightened her clothes.
After a moment, Professor Armand Lefebvre walked in with a briefcase, looking hurried.
"I am sorry to disturb the two ladies."
President Armand bowed slightly and sat down on the sofa after receiving permission.
"Mr. President, has the university encountered any trouble? If the funds are not enough, you can directly find George at the bank downstairs."
Catherine asked politely.
"It's not a problem of funds; it's those German chemists."
Armand rubbed his temples, looking very troubled.
"Dr. Vogel and his team. They made big trouble in the third-floor laboratory of the main teaching building. They are conducting a deep synthesis and extraction experiment called 'aniline dye'. That kind of experiment produces pungent toxic gases and strong acid waste liquid."
"A few days ago, the waste liquid corroded the sewer, and the pungent smell drifted to the second floor through the ventilation duct. Those British professors went on strike on the spot, threatening that if those German madmen were not driven out, they would collectively resign and leave New York."
Hearing this, Anna couldn't help chuckling softly.
"It's seems days in the ivory tower are not peaceful either."
Armand smiled bitterly: "That's not all. Dr. Vogel just rushed into my office, slammed the table, and demanded that the school build a fully ventilated independent laboratory building for the chemistry department in the back mountain. And he requested to be equipped with expensive high-pressure reaction vessels."
"Then build it for them."
Catherine answered very decisively.
"However, Ms. O'Brien." Armand hesitated.
"Dr. Vogel's project currently seems to be just researching how to turn coal tar into colorful powders. Is this kind of thing really worth the foundation investing hundreds of thousands of dollars to build an exclusive laboratory building? This seems to deviate from the basic science or heavy industry route requested by Mr. Argyle."
Hearing "coal tar" and "colored powder", Catherine's eyes suddenly lit up.
As the president of the pharmaceutical company, her sensitivity to chemical products far exceeded that of Armand the physicist.
"Mr. President, did you say they are researching aniline dyes?"
Catherine leaned forward slightly, her tone becoming serious.
"Yes. Dr. Vogel said that this is a topic they had been working on in Germany before coming to New York. Artificially synthesizing magenta dye."
Armand replied.
Catherine turned her head and looked at Anna.
Both of them saw huge commercial windfall profits in each other's eyes.
Currently, natural dyes (such as indigo and madder red) are expensive, and their color fastness is very poor.
The textile industry throughout Europe and North America was struggling to find cheap and vibrant substitutes.
Whoever mastered the mass production technology of synthetic dyes would be holding the lifeblood of the global textile industry.
"Mr. President."
Catherine stood up.
"Approve all of Dr. Vogel's requests; isn't it just an independent laboratory building? The engineering team of Federal Real Estate can move into the back mountain tomorrow to dig the foundation. For the high pressure reaction vessels, have the Lex Steel plant cast them overnight directly!"
Armand was startled by Catherine's sudden excitement.
"However!"
Catherine changed the subject, revealing the fangs of a capitalist.
"This building cannot be built for free; you go back and tell Dr. Vogel. The foundation can meet all his conditions. But in exchange, all synthetic formulas of aniline dyes he develops in the laboratory must be registered immediately under the name of the Argyle Chemical Company in accordance with the agreement!"
While saying this on the surface, Catherine actually had another calculation in her heart.
Once the technology matured, these patents would be directly authorized to Amory Lawrence of Boston.
Let his textile factory use our dyes to produce fabrics.
At that time, not only would high patent fees be collected, but a commission would also be taken from the sales profits of the fabrics.
She looked at Armand, a smile appearing at the corner of her mouth.
"Mr. President. The colorful powders that those old German men made in the laboratory are not some useless experimental waste. They are cash cows more expensive than gold. Tell them to extract boldly."
Several weeks later, New York Harbor in late summer and early autumn.
The Atlantic breeze brought a hint of coolness, but this could not dispel the still-suffocating mixed odor on the deep-water pier.
The bitterness of brine, the fishy stench of raw hides, and the strong sour smell of sweat emanating from hundreds of dockworkers.
Three massive steel cargo ships flying the Union Jack, the Pioneer, Guardian, and Explorer, like three floating hills, docked steadily at the exclusive berths leased by the Argyle Family.
This was their first time docking after returning from Buenos Aires, Argentina.
The thick crane arms made a harsh metal-on-metal friction sound, and under the pull of the steam winch, the pulley blocks hoisted huge wooden boxes wrapped in outer waterproof tarpaulins out of the bottomless holds of the cargo ships.
"Steady! Steady! Don't let the box hit the ship's side!"
The dock foreman stood on the pier bridge, waving a red flag in his hand and shouting at the top of his lungs.
The veins on his neck bulged, and his bronze-colored skin was covered in sweat.
Felix was wearing a grey long trench coat and a semi-high top hat.
Accompanied by Secretary-General Edward Frost and Bill, president of the Metropolitan Trading Company, he stood in the cargo yard not far from the unloading area, quietly watching all this.
"Clang!"
A huge wooden box was placed smoothly on the wooden pallet of the dock.
Several shirtless dock porters immediately gathered around with crowbars.
"Creak..."
The crowbar rudely pried open the top cover of the wooden box.
A blast of cold air mixed with the scent of melting ice water rushed toward them.
Inside the wooden box, between a thick layer of somewhat blackened soft cork sawdust and crushed ice, large chunks of Argentine beef pickled with coarse salt were neatly stacked.
Although having gone through more than half a month of turbulence at sea, most of the ice cubes had melted, but thanks to the insulation design of the hold, this beef still maintained a dark red luster without any signs of spoilage.
"Great job, sir!"
The porter sniffed hard and shouted at the foreman.
"This meat looks much better than those dead horse meats sold in the East Side market, and it doesn't smell bad at all!"
Bill walked up to the wooden box and reached out to press the piece of cold beef.
Although the meat texture had become somewhat hard due to low temperature and salt curing, this was definitely extremely qualified commercial meat.
He turned his head to look at Felix, with undisguised joy on his face.
"Boss. The three ships hauled back a total of 2,500 tons of chilled beef and nearly 100,000 raw hides. The procurement cost in South America is so low it's like picking up trash."
Bill rubbed his hands excitedly.
"How should this batch of meat be handled after it is unloaded?"
Felix leaned on his cane, his gaze still fixed on the giant ship continuously spitting out cargo.
"Charles Reeves's refrigerated railcars are already parked on the branch rails of the port."
Bill pointed to the steam locomotive puffing white smoke a few hundred meters behind.
"The beef will be loaded directly and transported via the Pennsylvania Railroad to the Union Stockyards in Chicago before dark."
"As for those raw hides, several leather mills in Boston wired the advance payment into the Imperial Bank account yesterday, and they are sending carriages overnight to haul the goods."
Felix nodded thoughtfully.
"Bill. After this batch of Argentine beef arrives in Chicago, don't rush to dump it all. In the name of the Metropolitan Trading Company, set the price at 2.5 cents per pound in Chicago's wholesale market."
"2.5 cents?" Bill was stunned for a moment.
"Boss, this price is even lower than the 3 cents we set at the meeting. It almost directly smashes through the cost price of local meat merchants in Chicago!"
"We are going to smash through their cost bottom line." Felix turned around and looked at Bill.
"Those Chicago slaughterhouse owners, didn't you say some time ago that because their own ranches were not enough, those people who were disciplined relied on the supply of local Midwest beef cattle to squeeze us on prices?"
"Now, we are going to use South America's cheap meat to completely beat their profit margins into negative numbers."
"Dumping it on the market at a price of 2.5 cents for a consecutive month. Those small and medium-sized slaughterhouses will go bankrupt due to broken cash flows. When they can no longer hold on, the Metropolitan Trading Company will step forward and acquire all their processing plants and cold storages at the lowest scrap metal prices."
"You still need to keep a close eye on them. Whenever they want to join forces, you must discipline them from time to time."
"Understood, boss. I will drive them to a dead end." Bill immediately nodded in agreement.
This kind of dumping war is the most effective means to eliminate competitors in an era without antitrust laws.
Just as the two were talking.
Frost, holding an expedited telegram just delivered by a fast horse, walked up to Felix with a solemn expression.
"Boss, something happened."
Frost's voice was kept very low, but in this noisy dock, the anxiety in his tone could still be heard.
Felix did not take the telegram immediately. He looked at Frost's expression, knowing this was definitely no small trouble.
"Chicago's counterattack?" Felix asked.
"Not the meat merchants, it's the telegraph lines."
Frost handed that yellow telegram paper to Felix.
"An urgent report from the Western Union Telegraph Company in which we hold a controlling stake. Over the past three days, our three main telegraph lines connecting Chicago, St. Louis, and Omaha have been maliciously severed seven times in different remote sections."
Frost frowned.
"Moreover, when the repair team was rushing to repair the lines, they were attacked by unidentified people. Two linesmen were killed. This was definitely not done by ordinary indians or vagrants. It should be an organized and deliberate sabotage targeting our main communication artery."
Looking at the brief report on the telegram, Felix's face sank.
After the completion of the Empire State Building, he relied heavily on internal telegraph lines to control the country's finance and industry.
If the telegraph lines were cut, there wouldn't be such a fast response. This is no small threat.
"Who did it?"
Crumpling the telegram paper into a ball, Felix's voice was very cold.
"Not certain yet. But according to the Intelligence Department's preliminary analysis..." Frost hesitated for a moment.
"The only force capable of and motivated to organize such a large-scale sabotage operation in the Midwest is one."
"Vanderbilt?" Felix's eyes narrowed slightly.
That old fellow known as the 'railroad king', although forced to bow his head to Felix in the previous confrontation over the New York Central Railroad and join the so-called rebate scheme.
And told him about Old Morgan.
But that Old Lion had never truly surrendered; it was only because of age and family continuation.
The railroad network in his hands was still massive.
"It's possible," Frost analyzed.
"If we lose real-time telegraph communication, the Metropolitan Trading Company's dumping plan in Chicago, as well as the Patriot Investment Company's layout in the options market, will all experience huge loopholes due to information delays. This is like cutting off the nerves of our building."
Felix looked at the Hudson River in the distance.
A few seagulls circled over the turbid water, searching for carrion.
The smoke of gunpowder in South America had just dissipated, and America's domestic capital Civil War was beginning to stir again.
That shouldn't be.
How could that old fellow Vanderbilt do such a thing?
"Want to cut off my nerves?"
Stopping his random thoughts, Felix sneered and casually threw the paper ball in his hand onto the pier's deck.
"It seems the matter of the Erie Railroad didn't teach that old fellow a profound enough lesson. He thinks that sending a few thugs with scissors to the wilderness to cut wires can turn me deaf?"
"Return to the company, and have Timmy spread out all intelligence networks. I need solid evidence."
Felix put on his top hat and turned to walk towards the bulletproof carriage parked outside the pier.
"If that old fellow really did it, then I won't just cut his wires. I will dismantle his railways in New York one by one, and make that Old Lion kneel on the steps of the Argyle's Building and beg me."
On the wilderness at the border of Illinois and Missouri, the howling wind whipped up dry dust, savagely lashing against the lonely, towering utility poles.
An engineering wagon pulled by two draft horses parked by the roadside, with the logo of the Western Union Telegraph Company printed on the side of the carriage.
Three line maintenance workers wearing coarse cloth work clothes were gathered at the base of the utility pole, their expressions tense.
"Come on ~ Go up and take a look, Pete. Damn it, this is the third node that has broken today."
The foreman spat out the tobacco dregs in his mouth, looking up at the limply drooping copper telegraph wire overhead, his tone revealing irrepressible irritation.
Young apprentice Pete spat into the palm of his hand, rubbed them together, picked up the insulating pliers and climbing irons at his waist, and scrambled hands and feet towards the top of the utility pole.
As everyone knows, laying and maintaining the telegraph network spanning the Midwest of America is arduous work.
These slender copper wires carry the stock quotes of Wall Street, the grain futures prices of Chicago, and the secret orders of politicians. For the Argyle Family controlling the Western Union Telegraph Company, these lines are the nerves of the empire.
Pete climbed to the top, clamped the broken copper wire joint with insulating pliers, observed it carefully, and shouted down below.
"Boss, it's not a natural break. The cut is very neat, cut artificially with large wire cutters. And the insulator has also been smashed!"
The foreman's face instantly turned livid.
He pulled a double-barreled shotgun from under the carriage seat, and while vigilantly scanning the waist-high withered grass all around, he urged loudly.
"Hurry up and reconnect the line! This shouldn't be sabotage by indians; they only steal copper wires to exchange for wine, not just cut off a section!"
Hearing this, Pete flurriedly fished out spare copper wire from the tool bag at his waist, preparing to splice.
Right at this moment.
"Bang!"
The crisp rifle gunshot tore through the wind of the wilderness.
Pete didn't even have time to scream before a burst of blood blossomed on his chest, and his whole body slammed heavily from the utility pole to the ground like a puppet with broken strings, kicking up a cloud of dust.
"There are enemies, take cover quickly!"
The foreman roared, raised his shotgun, and blindly pulled the trigger towards the direction of the grass where the gunshot came from.
"Bang! Bang!"
After two muffled gunshots, several bullets from different directions extremely accurately hit the torsos of the foreman and another maintenance worker.
The two convulsed a few times before collapsing in a pool of blood, completely still.
The wilderness returned to a dead silence, only the frightened draft horses snorting uneasily in place.
A few minutes later, four or five men riding fast horses with the lower half of their faces masked slowly emerged from the depths of the grass.
They held repeating rifles in their hands, and heavy wire cutters hung from their saddles.
The masked leader spurred his horse to the side of the corpses, took a brief look, and instructed the people beside him.
"Check, leave no survivors. Smash their toolboxes and drive the horses away."
A subordinate jumped off his horse, pulled out a dagger, and delivered finishing blows to the necks of the two breathing maintenance workers.
"Boss, this is already the fifth trunk line we've cut this week. The people of the Argyle Family must be crazy. Should we continue going west?" Wiping the blood stains clean from the dagger, the subordinate flipped onto his horse and asked.
"Taking people's money means doing things for people. The employers all give gold coins, and our task is to make this line unable to transmit a single signal for the next half a month." The leader turned his horse around.
"Let's go, to the next place."
These few saboteurs flicked their reins and quickly disappeared into the boundless wilderness.
Three days later, on the sixth floor of the Argyle's Building.
Timmy, the director of the Intelligence Department, sat behind a spacious desk, on which lay a huge map of the United States Midwest.
On the map, the railway and telegraph line networks from Chicago to St. Louis, and then to Omaha were clearly outlined in black ink.
And on these black lines, more than a dozen red thumbtacks were densely inserted. Each thumbtack represented a maliciously sabotaged telegraph node.
The deputy of the Intelligence Department walked into the office with a thick dossier, his expression ugly.
"Director, this is the on-site survey report just sent back by our branch in Illinois."
Timmy's fingers gently stroked those red thumbtacks, his eyes as cold and gloomy as a venomous snake.
"Were people caught at the scene? Or were any valuable clues found?" Timmy asked.
The deputy shook his head, his tone revealing a sense of frustration.
"No, the scene is very clean. The saboteurs' modus operandi is very professional; they avoided all guarded train stations and large transfer stations, specifically choosing the wilderness to strike. As long as our repair teams go over to rush repairs, they will be ambushed. Over the past week, twelve skilled linemen have already been lost."
The deputy pointed to a few red dots on the map.
"We sent out the Shadow Unit to track the horseshoe prints. But the other party is extremely cunning; when retreating, they would deliberately take waterways or circle around in rocky areas. Our local informants also haven't received any news of large bounties or mercenaries gathering."
"Have you checked the capital flow?" Timmy raised his head.
"This scale of continuous sabotage requires a massive amount of manpower, horses, weapons, and logistical supplies. All of this costs money. As long as money flows, we can follow the trail."
"Checked." The deputy sighed.
"The internal clearing system of the Imperial Bank checked the large-scale fund flows in several major cities in the Midwest over the past half month, and found no suspicious checks or bank draft encashment records. What the other party likely used were gold bars or cash prepared long ago, conducting transactions directly."
"A completely physically isolated mercenary network." Timmy gritted his teeth.
"These rats hiding behind the scenes have learned to be smart."
Timmy stood up and walked to the office window, watching the carriages coming and going on Wall Street.
"The boss handed the telegraph network to me, and now this network has been cut. If the Metropolitan Trading Company suffers losses in the futures market in Chicago due to information delays, you and I might both be hung on the roof of the building to blow in the cold wind."
"But director, we don't have concrete evidence. Although everyone guesses in their hearts that Vanderbilt or those old money in Boston are making trouble, without evidence, we can't just send people to blow up Vanderbilt's mansion on Fifth Avenue." Flynn spread his hands helplessly.
In capital games, although everyone uses unscrupulous means, before catching substantial evidence, directly physically eliminating core oligarchs will trigger a backlash from the entire ruling class.
Even the Argyle Family, without the moral high ground, cannot casually break this unspoken rule.
"If there is no evidence, manufacture evidence. If you can't catch mice, pour water into the mouse holes."
Timmy turned around, his eyes revealing cold-bloodedness.
"Send a telegram to the western branch immediately, stop sending ordinary repair teams. Contact President Miller, and transfer two hundred experts from the security forces of Cygnus Mining. Disguise them as repair workers. Install gatling guns and steel plates in the repair trucks. Scatter them into the wilderness of Illinois to act as bait."
The corner of Timmy's mouth twitched with a hint of cruelty.
"As long as those saboteurs dare to show their heads and shoot, cripple them for me. I want them alive. As long as we catch a live one, there are plenty of ways to make him spit out the name of his superior. Even if we interrogate level by level, we must find out from which bank's vault those gold coins were moved out."
"Understood, Director, I will arrange it right away." The deputy immediately turned around to go send the telegram.
"Wait." Timmy called him to a stop.
"Is the boss on the tenth floor right now?"
"Yes, he just finished a meeting with President Jones of the Food Company."
"Organize this summary report well, I will go up and report to the boss in person." Timmy picked up the dossier on the table.
This level of deadlock must be known to the boss.
A few minutes later.
The tenth floor of the Argyle's Building.
Timmy pushed open the door to Felix's office.
Felix was standing in front of that huge world map, holding a black billiard cue, gently tapping a few locations on the map.
He didn't even look back upon hearing footsteps.
"Timmy, have you found out who is cutting our lines?" That voice was calm, devoid of any emotional anger.
Timmy walked to the front of the desk and slightly bowed.
"Boss, I'm very sorry. The Intelligence Department has encountered some difficulties at present. The people behind the scenes are very professional; they have cut off all traces of the funding and hiring chains. We can currently only confirm that the other party is a small, elite armed sabotage team. I have already ordered traps to be set, preparing to catch live prisoners for reverse tracking."
Felix turned around, casually placed the cue on the rack, walked behind the desk and sat down, his deep black eyes looking at Timmy.
"Who do you think did it?"