Baltimore, Maryland.
Inside the president's office on the third floor, John Garrett sat behind his desk.
His fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of a silver snuffbox. Since the enactment of the railway safety and standardization act in Washington, he had postponed all his vacations.
Sitting across the desk was Harris, the company's chief legal and financial advisor.
"The Treasury Department's first renovation loan has been issued."
Harris flipped open a page of accounts.
"Three million dollars. After deducting the costs for purchasing new sleepers and expanding the locomotive plant, we currently have 1.2 million dollars available for purchasing steel rails. According to the plan, we are to complete the roadbed renovation of two hundred miles of the Eastern Main Line within two years."
Garrett opened the snuffbox, inhaled a small amount of powder, and sneezed.
"1.2 million dollars. That won't buy enough steel rails." Garrett closed the lid.
"What is the latest quote from Lex Steel Company?"
Harris pulled out a letter.
"The quote provided by William Coleman is sixty-five dollars per ton for standard steel rails. This price is a ten percent increase over last year. They claim it is due to blast furnace maintenance and rising coal prices. If we go by this price, we will have a funding gap."
Garrett slammed the snuffbox in his hand onto the desk.
"That's highway robbery. Argyle knows we've received the government loan and are in urgent need of replacing the rails. He wants to suck all the money we borrowed into his own pocket."
There were two knocks at the door.
The secretary pushed open the door.
"President, Mr. Andrew Carnegie has arrived. He brought a heavy wooden crate with him."
Garrett waved his hand, not particularly concerned.
"Let him in."
Carnegie walked into the office, followed by two porters carrying a pine crate.
The porters placed the crate on the carpet and then withdrew.
Carnegie walked over to the crate, pulled out the iron nails, and lifted the wooden lid. Using both hands, he picked up a three-foot section of steel rail and placed it on Garrett's desk.
The heavy metal pressed onto the mahogany desktop with a dull thud.
"Mr. Garrett, Mr. Harris."
Carnegie brushed the wood shavings off his hands.
"This is a sample from the first batch of steel rails produced by Braddock No. 1 Blast Furnace."
Garrett was not too surprised; instead, he stood up and took a magnifying glass from his pocket.
He leaned down to observe the cross-section of the rail. There was no obvious fibrous layering like that of wrought iron; the texture was uniform.
"It certainly looks like the product of a Bessemer converter." Garrett straightened up.
"The air holes are well-controlled, better than I expected."
"Of course, this rail underwent a drop-weight test after cooling." Carnegie pointed to the middle of the rail.
"A one-ton iron hammer fell freely from a height of twenty feet. Although it bent, it did not break. If laid on your main line, its service life will be five times that of ordinary iron rails."
Garrett sat back in his chair, fingers interlaced.
"But Andrew, you know that quality isn't the only issue. You're well aware of the current situation; we need to complete a large amount of rail replacement in a short time. Funds are limited, and the price given by Lex Steel is sixty-five dollars a ton. How much can you offer?"
Carnegie did not answer immediately.
He pulled over a chair, sat down, and looked Garrett directly in the eye.
"Mr. Garrett. Before I answer about the price, we need to clarify one thing. We are allies. Argyle is trying to strangle you with the Gauge Act while cutting off my transport lines. We both face the existential pressure brought by that empire."
Harris interjected from the side.
"Mr. Carnegie, first of all, it was you who dragged our company down, which led to Argyle's strangulation. Furthermore, business cooperation is built on numbers. If your price has no advantage, as a railroad company responsible to its shareholders, we can only choose the supplier with the lower quote. Even if that supplier is Lex Steel."
Carnegie turned to look at Harris.
"Fifty-eight dollars."
Carnegie quoted the price, completely ignoring the point about whether the Baltimore Railroad was dragged down by him.
Garrett's eyebrows twitched, quite surprised.
"Fifty-eight dollars? Andrew, have you calculated your costs? As far as I know, the price of high-quality coke in the Pennsylvania region has been rising. At fifty-eight dollars, your steel mill will have almost no profit margin. Will Drexel and Morgan in London agree to you doing this kind of charitable business?"
"They don't need to agree."
Carnegie leaned forward, using a mix of persuasion and cajolery.
"This order doesn't need to go through the subsidy process of the Drexel account. This is the net price I'm giving you."
Garrett looked at the section of steel rail on the desk, his mind racing.
Fifty-eight dollars a ton, compared to Lex Steel's sixty-five dollars, saves seven dollars per ton.
For two hundred miles of railway, this meant a saving of hundreds of thousands of dollars in expenses.
"Andrew, can you guarantee production?"
Garrett asked after thinking it through.
"Two thousand tons can be delivered within a month."
Carnegie gave the figure he had already prepared.
"Subsequent months will increase by twenty percent; my blast furnaces will operate on a twenty-four-hour shift system. As long as your coal wagons are not delayed, my supply of steel rails will not be interrupted."
Garrett picked up the pen on the desk and dipped it into the ink bottle.
"Excellent, I see no reason to refuse. Harris, draft a procurement contract. The first batch of two thousand tons at fifty-eight dollars. The delivery point will be the Cumberland Yard."
Harris nodded and began writing on a blank piece of parchment.
Carnegie leaned back in his chair and exhaled.
The order was secured.
The steel mill now had the momentum for continuous production.
In these fifty-eight dollars, although the profit was slim, it could maintain the operation of the machinery and the proficiency of the workers.
Garrett finished signing and pushed the contract to Carnegie.
"Andrew. By seizing Lex Steel's orders with this bottom-line price, Argyle will soon get word of it. He holds a large number of enterprises and banks in his hands, and his cash flow is much deeper than yours. If he orders Lex Steel to drop the price to fifty dollars, or even forty, what will you do?"
Carnegie signed his name on the contract.
"Fighting a price war is all about cost control."
Carnegie tucked away his copy of the contract.
"Argyle has spread himself too thin. His Lex Steel needs to support 'General Electric' and pay the salaries of politicians in Washington. It's impossible to maintain sales below cost for a long time."
Carnegie stood up and picked up the empty wooden crate.
"As for my costs, Mr. Garrett. Next, I will make the mine owners around Pittsburgh who haven't been swallowed up by Argyle understand who their real buyer is."
"Fuel and ore. As long as the prices at these two ends are suppressed by me, even if Argyle drops the steel rails to fifty dollars, I can play the game to the end with him."
Carnegie's steps toward the door suddenly stopped, and he looked back at Garrett.
"Mr. Garrett, perhaps you should prepare more wagons. In the coming year, the Baltimore Railroad will transport more coal and iron ore than anywhere else in all of America."
After securing orders from the Baltimore Railroad, Andrew Carnegie rushed to a tavern in Wellington.
He sat at the head of the private room, with his chief accountant, Henry Phipps, to his left.
On both sides of the table sat four men with calloused hands. They were all independent coal and iron mine owners from the western side of the Appalachian Mountains.
Sitting directly opposite Carnegie was a coal mine owner named Jeremiah. He was missing the pinky finger on his left hand, a mark left by a mine cave-in.
"Mr. Carnegie."
Jeremiah picked up the wooden mug in front of him and took a sip of ale.
"You've come all the way from Pittsburgh to Wellington to treat us to this sour ale; surely it's not just to hear us complain about mine seepage?"
Carnegie placed both hands flat on the table.
"Of course not, Mr. Jeremiah. I'm here to buy coal—lots of it. And iron ore, naturally."
An iron mine owner named O'Connor, sitting next to Jeremiah, let out an exaggerated laugh.
"Oh my God, buy ore? Mr. Carnegie, have you come to the wrong place? Haven't you heard that people from Saineng Mining Company were just here last week? They offered a purchase price of two dollars and fifty cents per ton of coal. Though the price was squeezed low, they promised cash settlements. Small mines like ours need cash to pay the miners."
Phipps opened his ledger and adjusted his glasses.
"Mr. O'Connor, is it? Saineng Mining Company belongs to Felix Argyle. Their offer of two dollars and fifty cents is based on a monopoly of transportation. Have you done the math? If you sell your ore to them, they'll deduct the freight costs for using the Pennsylvania Railroad. The actual money in your hands would be less than two dollars per ton."
Jeremiah slammed his mug down.
"So what can we do? The Pennsylvania Railroad controls the only way out of the mountains. If we don't use their trains, are we supposed to use mules to carry coal to Pittsburgh?"
Carnegie's gaze swept across every mine owner present.
"Not mules, of course. Barges."
Carnegie pulled out a piece of parchment with a map of the Ohio River and Monongahela River systems and spread it on the table.
"Gentlemen. Argyle controls the rails, but for now, he cannot control all the rivers. My steel mill is built on the banks of the Monongahela River. Your mines are all within ten miles of the shipping docks on the Ohio River."
Carnegie traced a waterway on the map with his finger.
"If you are willing, stop selling your ore to Saineng Minerals starting today. Load all your goods directly onto flat-bottomed barges and ship them downriver to my factory's private dock. I will give you a price of two dollars and eighty cents per ton. Also settled in cash, with no delays."
The four mine owners looked at each other.
"Two dollars and eighty cents."
This price was thirty cents higher than Saineng Minerals'.
For a mine producing tens of thousands of tons a year, this was a massive difference.
O'Connor rubbed the stubble on his chin.
"But water transport is slower than rail. And in winter, the rivers freeze, so the barges can't move."
"That's fine. In winter, I will use Baltimore Railroad freight cars to pick up goods from your mining areas."
Carnegie answered decisively, though he wasn't certain if Garrett would be so accommodating when the time came.
But considering they were allies, he likely wouldn't refuse.
"I have already reached an agreement with President Garrett; he will provide dedicated bulk freight cars then. I will cover the shipping costs. You only need to be responsible for digging the ore out of the ground."
Jeremiah stared into Carnegie's eyes.
"But Mr. Carnegie. By doing this, you are openly competing with Argyle for supply. Those security teams from Saineng Minerals are no pushovers. They have guns and cannons from Vanguard. If they blow up our mining equipment or intercept our barges on the river, who will protect us?"
"Guns? I'll have them too."
Carnegie pulled a Drexel Bank draft from his coat pocket and slapped it onto the table.
"This is fifteen thousand dollars. This money isn't for buying ore. It's a special fund for you to buy Winchester rifles and hire veterans as guards."
Carnegie stood up and leaned his hands on the table, looking like a wolf baring its fangs.
"Gentlemen, Argyle is squeezing you dry like slaves. He lowers the purchase price and raises the freight. Within two years, your mines will go bankrupt due to a broken capital chain. Then, Saineng Minerals will take the court's judgment and buy your ancestral businesses for a few hundred dollars."
"Do you want to dig coal for him your whole life, only to be kicked out in the end?"
Jeremiah grit his teeth, his four remaining fingers clenching into a tight fist.
"Of course not, but..."
"Then ally with me!"
Carnegie interrupted bluntly, extending his right hand.
"Let us build a supply chain completely independent of Argyle. You provide the fuel and raw materials, I'll handle the steelmaking, and Garrett will handle the transport. We will form the Appalachian Alliance."
"As long as my blast furnaces aren't extinguished, your mines will never stop working."
The back room of the tavern fell into a brief silence, everyone stunned by Carnegie's boldness.
One must know that in all of America, there was currently no one who dared not give Argyle face, yet this man was daring to challenge him head-on.
He truly had some guts.
As time passed, the shouts of drunks and the sound of breaking glasses drifted in from outside.
O'Connor snapped out of it, stood up, and extended his rough hand to grasp Carnegie's right.
"To hell with Saineng Minerals, I'm with you."
"Starting tomorrow, all my iron ore goes on ships. Not a single ounce of slag will be left for Argyle."
O'Connor spat. He had been unhappy with Saineng Minerals for a long time and was finally swayed by Carnegie today.
Of course, the most important thing was that he had looked into Carnegie.
He knew Carnegie was backed by European capital—even the mess with the Baltimore Railroad was something European capital could handle.
His strength wouldn't be inferior to Argyle', and joining now might even bring benefits.
Jeremiah also stood up and shook Carnegie's hand. The other two mine owners followed suit.
Five hands clasped together tightly in the dim tavern on the banks of the Ohio River.
Phipps closed the ledger.
He knew this wasn't just a few procurement contracts.
It was a substantial counterattack against the Argyle Family's monopoly.
Thus, a defensive line composed of steel, coal, and flowing water was quietly established on the western side of the Appalachian Mountains.
Carnegie withdrew his hand and picked up his top hat from the table.
"Phipps, stay behind and verify the specific delivery volumes and barge schedules with everyone. I must rush back to Pittsburgh to see the first batch of iron ore enter my blast furnaces."
The heavy velvet curtains slid open to both sides, pulled by brass rings.
The morning light of Long Island pierced through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting clear checkered spots of light onto the Persian rug on the floor.
Outside, the frozen surface of the fountain reflected a cold white light, but there was no chill inside the master bedroom. Brass pipes within the walls circulated hot water from the basement boiler, maintaining the entire room at a comfortable temperature.
Felix stood before a walnut dressing mirror, his fingers skillfully tying the knot of his silk cravat.
Today, he wasn't wearing the dark, double-breasted "battle armor" he used to arm himself on Wall Street; instead, he had changed into a soft-textured tweed morning gown.
On the other side of the room, Catherine was sitting in a large velvet armchair.
She unfastened the front of her morning gown and lowered her head to breastfeed Elizabeth, who was in swaddling clothes. The firelight from the hearth reflected off her profile, outlining a serene silhouette.
"Not going to Manhattan today?"
Catherine gently patted the infant's back and looked up at her husband.
"No."
Felix smoothed the hem of his cravat, turned to walk to his wife's side, and pulled over a cushioned wooden chair to sit down.
"Hayes and Frost will keep an eye on the clearinghouse accounts; the overall situation is settled. For these few days, I need to detach my brain from those fluctuating numbers. At least for today, I am just a husband and a father."
He extended his index finger and gently touched Elizabeth's tiny, clenched fist.
The infant seemed to feel the touch; her lips stopped sucking, and she made a faint humming sound through her nose before continuing to feed.
A knock sounded at the door, its rhythm steady.
"Come in," Felix said, withdrawing his hand.
Elena, the housekeeper, pushed open the door, carrying a tray covered with a silver thermal lid.
"Sir, Madam."
Elena placed the tray on the mahogany round table.
"Representatives from Tiffany & Co. arrived at the manor half an hour ago. They brought the item you ordered."
"That cradle?"
Catherine looked up, adjusted her gown, and held the well-fed Elizabeth upright against her shoulder to burp her.
"Did they really build a cradle out of solid gold?"
"To be precise, the main frame is gilded brass and black rosewood to ensure structural strength."
Felix picked up the black coffee Elena had poured.
"But those decorative vine patterns, the nameplate, and the sapphire-encrusted base are solid gold. Have them move it to the nursery."
"Yes, sir," Elena said with a slight bow.
"Also, Master Finn is already waiting in the dining room. He refused to eat his oatmeal, insisting on waiting for you to cut the grilled sausages together."
Felix stood up, holding his coffee cup.
"Let's go see our boy. Elena, move breakfast to the sunroom. Have Mrs. Higgins come over to look after Beth."
A moment later, in the sunroom on the east side of the manor.
Here, three of the walls were made of large panes of plate glass, with the roof supported by a cast-iron frame.
Although the lawn outside was still covered with patches of snow, the sunlight poured in without obstruction, illuminating the long dining table set with silver cutlery.
Little Finn, over four years old, sat in a bolstered high-back chair, holding a sterling silver blunt-tipped butter knife and gesturing at the golden-brown grilled pork sausage on his plate.
He wore a miniature set of wool suspender shorts, and the collar of his linen shirt was slightly askew.
Seeing his parents enter, Finn immediately dropped the butter knife.
"Daddy! Mommy!"
Finn slid down from his chair and ran to Felix's legs.
"Elena said you aren't going out to deal with those 'bad guys' today."
Felix leaned over, picked up his son, and placed him back in the high-back chair.
"Who told you those people are 'bad guys'?"
Felix sat at the head of the table and spread a napkin over his knees.
"Uncle Rambo."
Finn picked up his fork and poked it forcefully into the sausage.
"He said you're fighting a war in New York. You don't use guns, but you're more powerful than those who do. Anyone who wants to steal our things is a bad person."
Catherine sat across from Felix and picked up a cup of black tea.
"Rambo shouldn't be telling the child such things," she said, looking at Felix.
"Finn is only four; his world should consist only of toy soldiers and wooden blocks, not the intrigues of Wall Street."
"But his last name is Argyle, Catherine."
Felix unhurriedly cut into a fried egg.
"Sooner or later, Finn will have to deal with those machines, rails, and banks. I think letting him understand the rules of how this world works early on is much more useful than reading fairy tales about chivalry."
Felix turned to look at his son.
"Finn. If you have a piece of cake and your neighbor is hungry and wants to take it, what should you do?"
Finn stopped chewing, his large eyes darting around.
"I would hide the cake."
"A terrible choice."
Felix forked a piece of sausage into his mouth.
"If he's starving, he'll break down your door and ransack your cabinets. Hiding it is useless."
Finn put down his fork, his brow furrowed.
"Then... should I give him half?"
"That's not right either," Felix said, taking a sip of coffee.
"If you give him half, he'll find himself even hungrier after eating it, and he'll know you have food here. He'll likely bring more people to take the other half."
Catherine set down her teacup, her brow tightly knit.
"Felix. Teaching a child monopoly thinking at the breakfast table is a bit much."
"I'm teaching him survival."
Felix didn't stop, continuing to stare at his son.
"Finn, listen carefully. When someone wants to steal your cake, you tell him that you not only have cake but also a bakery. You can hire him to sweep the floors and knead the dough, paying himhis worth a day in wages."
"That way, not only will he not steal your cake, but he'll also help you fend off others who want to. Because if your bakery goes out of business, he won't even have that loaf of bread to eat."
Finn nodded, seemingly understanding but still a bit confused.
"I see, I should make him work for me."
"Exactly. That's called a contract. And it's the rule."
Felix patted his son's head with satisfaction.
"Now, eat your sausage. After you're done, I'll show you something new."
Sunlight pierced through the glass, spilling onto the dining table.
The silver knives and forks reflected the light.
Elena and the maids stood quietly in the corner, ready at any moment to serve more hot fried bacon.
In this Long Island manor surrounded by ice and snow, there was no smoke of war, no urgency of telegraph machines. There was only the aroma of bacon grease and the gentle conversation of a family.
After breakfast, Felix held Finn's hand, with Catherine walking beside them, as the family headed to the nursery on the second floor.
Pushing open the double oak doors, they found the nursery floored with a thick plush carpet.
Mrs. Higgins was standing next to a dazzling object.
That was the cradle sent by Tiffany & Co.
The gilded brass frame radiated a luxurious luster under the light of the gas wall lamps. The edges of the cradle were carved with intricate ivy patterns, and the base was encrusted with twelve perfectly cut deep-sea sapphires. The white silk lining was as soft as a cloud.
Little Elizabeth was lying inside, sleeping soundly.
Finn leaned over the edge of the cradle, his eyes wide.
"It glows."
Finn reached out to touch the sapphires but was gently stopped by Mrs. Higgins.
"This is your sister's bed, Master Finn. You mustn't break it."
Felix walked to the other side of the cradle and looked at his sleeping daughter.
"Excellent craftsmanship; it seems Tiffany's skill hasn't declined," Felix remarked. "What's the bill?"
"Twelve thousand dollars, sir."
Elena, the housekeeper, reported from the doorway.
"It has already been settled from your private account."
Catherine sighed.
"Sigh... twelve thousand dollars. In Lower Manhattan, that's enough to buy two apartment buildings."
She looked at Felix, her tone somewhat speechless.
"You're spoiling her. When she grows up, if she's used to sleeping in gold, she won't be able to sleep in an ordinary bed."
"What does that matter?"
Felix acted as if he hadn't heard, his expression one of natural entitlement.
"If I can't even let my own daughter live as she pleases, then what was the point of annexing all those railroads and banks?"