After passing through three heavy fire doors, Edwin finally loosened his tie in relief.
"My God… they say this is a dye factory from the outside, but inside, it's like a bank vault."
He was right. The core experimental area was a perfect ring, with walls of half-meter-thick reinforced concrete, and all windows made of German-imported bulletproof glass.
Twelve heavily armed guards stood watch at every corner. Ostensibly, their duty was to prevent theft of chemical raw materials, but in reality, they were protecting the priceless optical equipment at the center of the laboratory.
Lena Voight, accompanied by her assistants and Morgan's technical engineers, stood before three enormous roller dyeing machines.
The newly appointed head of chemical engineering at Pioneer Optics wore a custom chemical protective mask, her slender fingers twisting the control valve with precision.
"Add another 0.3 ppm to the cyanine magenta concentration," she instructed her assistant.
The deep purple liquid swirled violently, a silver-blue sheen forming at the vortex's center. Morgan's engineers immediately snapped open their notebooks, writing so fast it seemed they might tear the pages.
"The governor asked when we can ship the first batch," Richard Worth said, wiping sweat from his brow. "He wants to show voters that the economy is moving."
"Next Wednesday," Shane replied, placing the film test sample back into its velvet tray. "Just in time for the Senate hearings on the Motion Picture Industry Standards Act."
The centrifuge hummed steadily, Lena's burette suspended mid-air, while the Morgan engineers' pens occasionally left small ink blots.
Everyone knew that if Morgan could deliver revolutionary technology before the hearing, Hollywood's six major studios would have no choice but to accept the new rules of the game.
Suddenly, Worth's assistant burst through the airtight laboratory door, sweat soaking his shirt. He hurried to Worth's side, whispering urgently.
Worth's gray sideburns twitched as he processed the news, then he approached Shane, lowering his voice:
"Warner's Coleman managed to take photos under the main bearing of the conveyor belt during his tour of the bottling line. Should we handle it?"
Shane's eyes scanned the massive centrifuge, its red indicator lights blinking rhythmically.
"Let them take the photos. Wait until they see the conveyor belt is just carrying dye…"
He lifted a test tube of freshly sealed indigo, the thick liquid swirling slowly.
"…His expression should be far more amusing than this bucket of wastewater."
Before he could finish, the centrifuge emitted a piercing metallic shriek, suddenly slowing. The drum trembled violently. On the dye's surface, a rainbow-colored oil film solidified and spread rapidly, like flowing silk.
Everyone gasped. Lena removed her gas mask, sweat-dampened blonde hair clinging to her pale forehead.
"The first batch… it's done."
The centrifuge ground to a halt. Worth opened his mouth, glanced at Shane's calm profile, then at the brilliant dye — and swallowed his surprise.
A week later, at Warner Bros. Labs in Los Angeles, Technical Director Hollis stared at the analysis report, pale.
"This is impossible…" His fingers trembled. "These dyes are 40% more stable than our current formulas, with no heavy metal contamination."
His assistant leaned over the microscope, adjusting focus rapidly.
"Even stranger is the molecular structure of this indigo pigment…"
Under the lens, crystals formed a perfect hexagonal honeycomb, refracting an eerie iridescence under polarized light.
"I've never seen this arrangement before."
Hollis slammed the report shut and grabbed the phone.
"Connect me to Los Angeles headquarters — immediately!"
That evening, in Pioneer Optics' office on the 27th floor of the Wrigley Building, twilight settled over Los Angeles. Neon lights lit up the skyline, bathing it in a soft purple-red glow.
Shane stood by the window, holding a freshly opened telegram. Outside, Debussy's Clair de Lune floated from the spinning gramophone, notes crystal clear in the quiet office.
"Warner held an emergency board meeting this morning," Carterson said, setting his coffee down on the mahogany desk. "They're sending their vice president to Nevada to 'discuss cooperation.'"
Volker, still dusted from the New York trip, frowned. "Do we need to intervene…?"
"No need," Shane said, folding the telegram with meticulous fingers. "Let Warner's people pass the message to the other studios."
He paused, a faint smile at the corners of his mouth. "This will make it easier to coordinate with Howard Hughes' technology alliance."
The clock struck seven. Before the final chime faded, hurried footsteps sounded outside. The secretary knocked softly, and Jay entered, eyes gleaming.
"Sir," he whispered, barely audible but brimming with excitement. "Lena sent a telegram — the MGM train left Los Angeles this morning, arriving in Nevada tomorrow. The hearing is still five days away."
Carterson wiped his glasses, meeting Shane's grey-blue eyes, which flickered in acknowledgment.
"RCA leaked information this morning," he added. "They're saying Morgan is lobbying senators to make our technology the new standard for American cinema."
Silence fell. Everyone understood: once the bill passed, Hollywood's studios would either pay exorbitant patent fees or leave the industry.
Shane lit the telegram in the ashtray. The paper curled and turned to ash, rising in a delicate wisp.
"Inform Lena," he said, back to the team, voice calm as the surface of Santa Monica Bay at night. "Prepare the second batch of dye samples."
Outside, Los Angeles shimmered under twilight, while an invisible storm — destined to reshape Hollywood — quietly brewed.