July, 1910
The midday sun beat down on the Kingston Studios lot, but the shaded balcony of Michael's office offered a cool, commanding view of the sprawling production below.
Michael sat at a small iron table, calmly cutting into a piece of grilled fish. Below him, the production of the studio's latest romance was in full swing. He could see Evelyn standing near a painted backdrop of a Parisian street.
She wasn't just an actress anymore; The Count of Monte Cristo had made her a star. The Count of Monte Cristo had already pulled in $1.5 million at the box office, and it would soon surpass the $1.8 million record set by Crimson Glory.
The door behind him opened, and Jack stepped in. He hesitated for a moment, seeing Michael mid-meal, his eyes fixed on the set below.
"Should I wait, Mr. Kingston?" Jack asked, clutching his notepad.
"My ears are free, Jack," Michael said, not looking away from Evelyn. "Just report it."
Jack opened his small notepad, flipping past the scribbles of the morning's logistics. "The Matrangas are falling in line. My guys on the street say they've stopped shaking down the grocery stores and bakeries entirely. The shopkeepers are confused—some even think it's a trap—but they're happy. It seems Sam is actually listening to you."
Michael didn't even blink. He waved his fork dismissively.
"I don't need the daily weather report, Jack," Michael said, his voice flat. "I gave them a decree. I expect them to follow it. I don't want to hear about it every time they manage to act like civilized human beings. Manage the small things yourself. Only bring me the disasters."
Jack nodded quickly and closed the notepad. "Understood. No news is good news."
Michael cut another piece of fish, savoring the silence for a moment before shifting gears. "Tell me about the Wilmington refinery. Are we fully operational?"
"It's running hot, Mr. Kingston," Jack said, his tone shifting from caution to genuine excitement. "We are operating at 100 percent capacity. We are refining 22,000 to 25,000 barrels a day. We are officially neck-and-neck with Union Oil and giving Standard Oil a run for their money in the state of California."
Michael took a slow sip of his orange juice, the glass cool against his hand. "That is good."
"But there is a bottleneck," Jack admitted. "We're selling everything we refine, but the Lake View gusher is producing more crude than we can handle. The storage tanks are filling up. And the demand for gasoline... it's going through the roof. Between the new Kingston M-2 models and the Fords, we can't refine it fast enough to keep the pumps full."
Michael set his glass down. "Then we expand," Michael decided. "But do not rush it. Expansion invites errors. Make the changes methodically. As for the excess crude from Lake View... do not let it sit in the tanks. Lease railcars if you have to and ship the unrefined oil to independent refineries in Nevada and Arizona. If we can't refine it, we will sell it to those who can."
Jack flipped the page of his notebook. "Next item is the new farming company, Kingston AgriCo."
"Go on," Michael said, taking another bite of his fish.
"We are officially incorporated in California now," Jack reported. "We have started buying and leasing land in the San Joaquin Valley. We are also building our own grain silos near the train tracks to store wheat and barley."
Kingston AgriCo was designed not just for profit, but to stabilize the food supply chain. By buying and leasing thousands of acres in the fertile San Joaquin Valley, the company could farm wheat and barley on an industrial scale.
The strategy centered on the construction of massive concrete silos along the railway lines. These storage facilities were going to be used to regulate the market and stop profiteers from manipulating prices. Unlike the brokers who preyed on desperate farmers, Kingston AgriCo was going to use these silos to buy surplus crops at fair rates during the harvest. By storing the grain and releasing it steadily throughout the year, the company could prevent price crashes and ensure that hoarders couldn't artificially inflate the cost of bread during the winter.
Michael nodded. "Good. Build more. And not just in California. But no rush. Take it slow. We are busy enough as it is. The priority is finding trustworthy people to be in charge of them."
"I have the resumes of all the people who applied for the manager and in-charge posts," Jack said, tapping a thick manila envelope. "You need to make a decision on them."
"I will get on it," Michael said. "Send the files to the house."
Michael always selected the people for authoritative positions himself. It wasn't just about qualifications; he relied on his gift to see past the paper. To him, a manager wasn't just an employee—they were a representative of the Kingston brand, and he refused to let a weak link compromise the reputation he was building.
Michael set his fork down and leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he shifted his focus to the retail division. "Now, tell me about Kingston Stores," Michael said.
Jack pulled out a fresh set of notes. "We've looked into the flagship models you suggested. If you want to compete with the giants, you're looking at a massive investment. To build something on the scale of the Marshall Field and Company Building in Chicago or the Macy's Herald Square in New York, we're going to need at least $10 million per location."
Michael didn't flinch at the number. "It is a necessary cost. If we want their loyalty, we must build them a palace."
To attract the upper middle class and the wealthy, Michael was modeling his new flagship stores after the two greatest "Cathedrals of Commerce" in America. The Marshall Field and Company Building in Chicago was a massive structure covering an entire city block, standing twelve stories high with three basement levels. It wasn't just a store; it was a self-contained world featuring the famous Walnut Room for fine dining, a library, and a nursery. Its crown jewel was the Tiffany Favrile glass dome, which gave the interior the feel of a grand cathedral. Michael admired Field's philosophy of "Give the lady what she wants," and intended to adopt it so that no customer ever heard the word "no."
Meanwhile, Macy's Herald Square in New York City offered a different kind of inspiration. Built in 1902 at a massive cost, spanning over one million square feet and featuring modern innovations like wooden escalators to move massive crowds. It specialized in "departmental" shopping, offering everything from high-end Parisian fashion to imported home goods under one roof. Located in the heart of Manhattan, it stood as the ultimate symbol of urban luxury and high-volume retail.
"Thirty million for three cities," Michael calculated, his voice calm. "We will build them in Chicago, New York, and Boston. I want the finest granite, the best elevators, and staff trained better than diplomats."
"The budget is high, Mr. Kingston," Jack warned, looking over the figures one more time. "Thirty million is a staggering amount of capital to tie up at once. Why don't we try with just one location? We could build in Boston first and see how the market reacts. In Boston, we have a unique opportunity—there is no direct competitor on the scale of Marshall Field or Macy's. We can own that city from day one."
Michael looked out from the balcony, his eyes following the movement of the actors on the lot below. He didn't turn around when he spoke.
"Because this is a statement," Michael said firmly. "We aren't just opening a shop; we are announcing that Kingston Stores has moved into the luxury market. I want the public to know we are confident enough to compete with the established giants on their own ground."
He turned back to the table, his expression calm but certain.
"Hire the architects. Draft the designs. I want to see the blueprints for all three stores by next month," Michael said, ending the discussion on that topic.
"There is one more thing," Michael added, stopping Jack before he could leave. "I asked you to look into something. Did you find what I was looking for?"
"I did," Jack replied. "As you ordered, I looked into the generic drug formulas that have either expired or are expiring soon."
He opened a folder and turned a page. "I've had a few chemists look into the current market. You wanted products that are safe, effective, and—most importantly—not tied up in long-term patents."
Michael leaned forward. "Precisely. What is available to us?"
Jack laid out the report, explaining that in 1910, the world of medicine was in a state of chaos. While many "secret formulas" were sold in colorful bottles, the truly effective drugs were often basic chemical compounds that had existed for years and were now public property.
He first noted that they could produce Quinine Sulphate. It was the only effective treatment for malaria and various fevers, and the formula was centuries old. Every household in the South and the tropics required it, and it was a stable, high-volume commodity.
Next, he pointed to Morphine Sulphate. While the government was starting to tighten regulations, it remained the gold standard for severe pain. The patents had long since expired, and any certified laboratory could produce it as long as they followed the new purity laws.
For digestion and general health, Jack suggested Bismuth Subsalicylate and Milk of Magnesia. These were simple chemical salts that were extremely safe and cheap to manufacture. He also highlighted Tincture of Iodine and Carbolic Acid—essential antiseptics for the growing number of industrial hospitals and home first-aid kits.
"The formulas for these are all in the public domain," Jack explained. "The issue isn't the recipe; it's the quality. Most companies are cutting costs by using low-grade ingredients and poor filtration. They are prioritizing margins over safety."
"The key," Michael said, "is the 1906 Pure Food and Drugs Act. The public is scared of these 'miracle cures' that are often laced with undisclosed poisons. They want to know exactly what they are swallowing. We have to market our products with the ingredients clearly listed and a seal of purity. The brand itself will be the protection. People will buy Kingston medicine because they trust our name more than a traveling salesman's secret elixir."
"I want a laboratory set up in Wilmington, near the refinery. We have the chemicals; we have the shipping lines. Let's start with the basics: pain relief and digestion. And find out exactly when that Aspirin patent hits the public domain. I want to be the first one to flood the market when it does."
With that, Michael had given all the instructions he needed to give. Jack understood the cue and left the room. Michael looked at the lot again, his face not showing what he was thinking.