Three days later, a brief announcement appeared in the bottom right corner of the Wall Street Journal's financial section:
[Morgan Stanley invests in Pioneer Optics; the two companies will jointly build a new dye plant in Delaware]
The report noted that J.P. Morgan Jr. had announced a strategic investment in Pioneer Optics and planned to establish a joint research and development center in Delaware.
Project leader Richard Worth, senior technical advisor at Morgan Stanley, emphasized that the new technology would "completely revolutionize the way moving images are captured."
The still-wet newspaper lay on Shane's mahogany desk. He traced the seemingly mundane words "dye factory" with his fingertips before pausing on the name Richard Worth, a faint, knowing smile flickering across his face.
"Two days earlier than expected," Carterson remarked from the window, sunlight slanting through the blinds across his face. "Howard Hughes has already called twice, asking for details about the collaboration."
Shane retrieved a Cuban cigar from Panama from his humidor, inhaling the rich aroma without lighting it immediately.
"Tell Howard his projector upgrade contract can be signed next Wednesday," Shane said slowly, eyes narrowing. "And how are things with the other film companies?"
Carterson checked his notebook. "The United Artists and Musk agreements are signed, but Disney is hesitant. They seem to be observing."
Shane exhaled a wisp of smoke from his mouth, the glow of the unlit cigar flickering in the office light.
"Disney… Walt, that old fox," he murmured with a knowing smile. "He's waiting for the first batch of sample tests from Morgan."
"Shall we arrange a private screening?" Carterson asked, closing his ledger. "The 35mm test film from the Long Island lab last week..."
"No." Shane raised a hand. "Let Walter wait. Sometimes, the right amount of waiting lets the prey walk right into the trap."
He moved toward the French windows, watching the New York twilight unfold as neon lights began to outline the city's skyline.
Outside, a black Cadillac slowly drew up to the Morgan Building. Shane squinted, spotting Richard Worth hurriedly entering the car.
"Notify the lab," Shane said, a wisp of ash falling from his cigar onto the Persian carpet. "Enhance the depth-of-field effect of that shot in Hell's Angels by another 20%."
He inhaled deeply and exhaled a perfect smoke ring. "Since Walter wants magic, let's give him a performance he'll never forget."
"And keep a close eye on the doctor while I'm in Delaware."
Carterson nodded, fingers already on the dial pad. Bells from a Fifth Avenue church tolled in the distance, echoing across the twilight — a subtle countdown to a clandestine battle poised to reshape Hollywood.
After a four-hour journey, Shane and his entourage arrived at Wilmington, Delaware, aboard the Pennsylvania Railroad express. The train swept past Manhattan's urban sprawl, the smokestacks of New Jersey, and Philadelphia's harbor skyline, finally entering Delaware's flat, industrial landscape. Faint chemical odors began to drift through the train window.
The train screeched to a stop at the worn brick platform of Wilmington station. Workers in oil-stained overalls paused to watch the luxurious New York train carrying VIPs.
Shane adjusted his suit collar and stepped off first. The humid Delaware air, tinged with the river's moisture and industrial scent, immediately replaced Manhattan's bustle.
Behind him, Edwin Bryce, a Columbia Law School graduate, gold-rimmed glasses glinting, checked his briefcase containing contract documents.
Jay and Olki flanked Shane, forming an invisible defensive line. Seven or eight men in total, formally dressed yet still showing traces of travel fatigue.
"Thirteen minutes later than expected," Carterson muttered, pocket watch tucked away, his Oxford shoes clicking crisply on the platform — a metallic rhythm blending with the hiss of steam valves.
Shane's sharp gaze swept over sparse passengers and stacks of goods, finally resting on three black Packard luxury cars parked at the far end.
The welcoming party had clearly been waiting. Richard Worth stepped forward, silver-edged gray sideburns catching the morning sun.
"Mr. Cassidy, welcome to Delaware." He extended his hand in a deliberate, smooth gesture befitting an Eastern elite, firm yet polite.
"Governor Robinson and Senator DuPont are already at the factory. The 1911 Perrier-Jouët champagne is ready. Tomorrow's ribbon-cutting ceremony awaits your presence."
Jay leaned close, whispering: "Two men in gray hooded jackets by the newsstand have been watching since we arrived. Not officials… Chicago types."
Shane nodded slightly, then smiled with effortless composure, hiding the warning entirely.
"We hope our 'dye' contributes to Delaware's prosperity, Mr. Worth. It is an honor to join the Governor and Senators here."
The train rolled away, carrying Shane and his team through Wilmington's orderly streets, lined with sturdy brick buildings blending Georgian solidity and Victorian ornamentation.
Edwin Bryce gazed out at bronze bank and law firm signs and trams weaving through the streets, a soft sigh escaping him.
"Who would have thought," he murmured, "that in this quiet East Coast town, a technology capable of transforming the entire film industry would be born?"
Lena Voight touched her black alligator briefcase, which contained the final test footage of Pioneer Optics' core technology — worth far more than its leather exterior.
"When the old foxes at MGM see this," she whispered to Shane and Edwin, "even Wall Street sharks will start to stir."
In the distance, beyond the Delaware River's industrial outline, a brand-new factory emerged in the thin morning mist, its chimneys reaching skyward like a silent fortress.