Allen's decisive actions caused a minor earthquake in the Union Stock Yards.
The canning magnate from New York, using high prices, exclusive clauses, and military pressure, directly purchased a large batch of the highest quality goods from the big ranchers.
This news spread like wildfire among the middlemen who profited from information asymmetry and monopolistic positions.
That same evening, Allen's hotel, the Tremont House, received several uninvited guests.
They were representatives from Chicago's largest slaughterhouses and processing plants, including the second-in-command of Armour & Company.
"Good evening, Mr. Williams," the leading man said with a forced smile.
"We heard about your grand gesture at the market. You truly… taught our Chicago counterparts a lesson."
"You flatter me," Allen replied, sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed, appearing composed.
"I am merely a patriotic businessman eager to procure sufficient supplies for the Federal Army."
"Patriotic? Aha," the man sneered. Anyone who believed that was a fool.
"Of course, Mr. Williams, everyone is patriotic. We know you have some conflicts with those New York wholesalers. But, sir, don't you think that bypassing us, the most professional processors, to directly purchase live cattle out of spite is a very… uneconomical and unwise action?"
"Oh? Do tell," Allen said.
"It's simple," the man leaned forward, his tone full of menace.
"You bought the cattle, but you can't transport them. The railways connecting Chicago and the East are all in the hands of us 'friends.'
I can assure you, even if your five hundred head of cattle can be loaded onto a train alive, they will absolutely not arrive in New York alive.
They will be delayed, die, and rot on the way due to various accidents.
Your expensive investment will ultimately turn into a pile of stinking garbage."
"So, you're here to threaten me?" Allen's tone remained calm as he took a sip of the tea on the table.
"No, no, no," the man waved his hand, "How could I threaten a 'patriotic businessman'? I'm just here to offer you a more friendly solution."
"Sell your cattle to us," he finally revealed his true intentions.
"We can purchase all your stock at market price, and then sell the cut, chilled meat back to you at a 'reasonable' price.
Afterward, we will use the Eastern Railroad Alliance's trains to transport it to New York for you.
This way, it solves your immediate problem and maintains the stable and harmonious business order that we in Chicago have established over many years. What do you think?"
Allen looked at him and smiled.
"I don't think much of it; it's a very… terrible proposal."
He stood up and walked to the window.
"Gentlemen, please leave. My cattle will not be sold, and you don't need to worry about how they will be transported."
"That's a terrible decision. You'll regret it, young man."
The man left with that threat, taking his people with him, looking disgruntled.
When the office door closed, Flynn, who had been silent, finally spoke, "Sir, is what they said true? Can they really control the railways?"
"Of course they can," Allen's answer was firm, "But don't worry, I will take care of these matters."
The next day, Allen did not go to the exchange or the bank.
He took Flynn and O'Malley in an inconspicuous carriage to a dilapidated industrial area on the banks of the Chicago River.
This was the headquarters of the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company.
However, rather than a headquarters, it was more like a repair shop filled with the smell of engine oil and coal dust.
An old man with white hair but a straight back was holding a large wrench, working with several laborers to repair the boiler of a steam locomotive.
He was the owner of this railroad company, Charles Reeves.
"Mr. Reeves?" Allen walked up to him.
"That's me. Who are you?" Reeves asked without looking up, his attention entirely on the machine.
"My name is Allen Williams. A businessman from New York," Allen said, "I'd like to discuss a deal with you."
"A deal?"
Reeves finally straightened up and wiped his hands with a greasy rag. He scrutinized Allen from head to toe, his gaze filled with the peculiar scrutiny and suspicion of an engineer.
"All I have here are rusty tracks and money-losing ventures. I'm afraid there's nothing that would interest you."
"Quite the opposite, Mr. Reeves," Allen smiled, "I am very interested in your tracks. I am even more interested in your courage to challenge the entire railroad oligarchy."
These words made a glint flash in Reeves's eyes.
"Can we find a place to talk privately?"
In Reeves's simple office, cluttered with blueprints and parts, Allen directly presented his cooperation proposal.
"Mr. Reeves, I need your help. I have a batch of five hundred live cattle that need to be transported to New York immediately. And I know your railway is the only route to the East that is not controlled by those large companies."
"My railway?" Reeves gave a self-deprecating laugh.
"Young man, you've probably come to the wrong person. My railway can barely pay its workers' wages right now, let alone undertake a long-distance transport across half of America."
"Money is not an issue."
Allen placed a five-thousand-dollar bank draft on the table.
"This is your prepaid freight charge. I believe it's enough to cover all the expenses for this transport, and it might even make your company's books look better for a while."
Reeves looked at the bank draft, his eyes filled with struggle.
He needed this money like a traveler in the desert needs water.
"Why me?" he asked hoarsely.
"You should know that using my railway is tantamount to declaring war on the entire Eastern Railroad Alliance. They will use every means to retaliate against you."
"I don't care," Allen's reply was full of ease.
"Because I came to Chicago precisely to declare war on them. And you, Mr. Reeves, will be my most important ally in this war."
"Because what I need is not just this one transport," Allen looked at Reeves, saying each word distinctly.
"I need a long-term, stable transportation lifeline. I will exclusively entrust all future freight orders from my company, from the West to the East, to you for carriage."
"My freight volume will be an astronomical figure in the future. It's enough to revitalize your rusty railway and give you enough capital to continue fighting those oligarchs."
Reeves, an idealist who had been stubborn his entire life, was completely moved by Allen's powerful and visionary promise.
He looked at Allen as if he saw his younger self.
"Good!"
He slammed his hand on the table and stood up.
"Young man, I like your guts! I'll take this deal. I'll have my trusted men lead the team, and even if we have to lay tracks to hell, I guarantee I'll deliver your cattle to New York, not a single one less!"
"Then, a pleasant cooperation, Mr. Reeves."
"A pleasant cooperation, Mr. Williams."
A satisfied smile appeared on Allen's face; he had obtained the crucial rusty key to open the western passage.
That evening, Allen's hotel suite once again received an encrypted telegram from Blackwood.
"Five thousand shares acquired. Prey is unaware. — B."
Allen burned the telegram.