A secluded villa on the east side of Manhattan's Central Park.
Two o'clock in the afternoon.
Sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling onto the Persian rug in the second-floor living room.
The room was filled with a warm and lazy atmosphere.
Isabella, dressed in an extremely soft white cashmere lounge dress, sat curled up barefoot in a large velvet sofa. An English copy of A Tale of Two Cities lay on her lap, but it was clear she hadn't turned a page in a long time.
Looking at the bare branches in Central Park outside the window, Isabella's gaze was somewhat dazed.
This past half-month had been the most comfortable and stable time she had experienced since the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War and her forced exile to Vienna.
There were no spies from the Thiers Government lurking in the shadows, no humiliation of having to endure the tempers of bankers to raise living expenses, and none of the endless family arguments or fanatical speeches about restoration.
In this villa, she was the absolute mistress.
The servants were deferential and respectful toward her.
Every dinner consisted of the finest ingredients, and her wardrobe was filled with clothes custom-made by the best tailors in New York.
More importantly, there was that man.
Felix Argyle.
Although he had her under house arrest here and did not allow her to freely enter his business social circles.
Although he still maintained that suffocating desire for control in bed.
But Isabella had to admit.
This man gave her an unprecedented sense of security.
It was an absolute sanctuary that no destitute European aristocrat could ever provide.
As long as he was there, on this continent called America, no one would dare touch a single hair on her head.
"Miss Martin."
The door to the living room was pushed open gently, and Gaston walked in. His expression was very solemn, and he held a small envelope in his hand.
Isabella withdrew her gaze from the window.
Seeing the expression on Gaston's face, she felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of irritability.
She knew that another urging from Vienna had arrived.
"Gaston, oh God, didn't I say I wanted some peace and quiet this afternoon?"
Seeing that Isabella didn't reach for the envelope, Gaston walked to the sofa and bowed slightly.
"Your Highness, this is an encrypted telegram that just arrived from Vienna. It was dictated and sent by the Count of Paris himself."
Gaston placed the envelope on the coffee table by Isabella's hand.
"The Count says in the telegram that Germany's industrial expansion has already begun. It's clear that Argyle's previous rhetoric is now outdated. We have very little time left. He demands that you immediately have a showdown with Mr. Argyle and lay out all our bottom-line conditions. He also said..."
Gaston paused, seemingly finding the next words difficult to say.
"Said what?"
Isabella's voice turned cold.
"The Count said that as long as you accomplish this, you will be the greatest hero in the restoration of the Bourbon Family, and your name will be remembered just like Joan of Arc."
Hearing this, Isabella suddenly let out a short, mocking sneer.
She picked up the envelope from the coffee table, not even opening it, just toyed with it in her hands.
"Joan of Arc? But... her ultimate end was being tied to a stake and burned to death."
Isabella leaned back against the sofa, staring at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling.
"Philip's empty promises are becoming more and more practiced. Does he really think the throne of France is already reserved for him?"
To be honest, she had come here voluntarily; after all, it was for the glory of the Bourbon Family.
But it hadn't even been a month yet, and he was already so desperate for money.
This was clearly treating her like a piece of merchandise.
I can be willing, but you cannot force me.
Gaston lowered his voice, a hint of anxiety in his tone.
"Your Highness. Although the Count's words were a bit much, the family's situation is indeed extremely critical. If we cannot secure this funding before the Germans do, we will completely lose all hope of a comeback in Europe."
Gaston looked at her, his eyes sincere.
"You have been with Mr. Argyle for over half a month. The servants in the villa have all seen his affection for you. I believe that as long as you speak up now and offer the entire French market as collateral, how could a profit-seeking businessman like him not be tempted?"
Isabella suddenly sat bolt upright.
She glared fiercely at Gaston.
"Affection? You call this affection?"
Isabella's voice trembled slightly.
"Gaston, you have no idea what kind of man he is."
With that, she threw the envelope onto the coffee table.
"He does return to the villa every day and even allows me to buy expensive jewelry. But he has never let me touch a single piece of paper in his study! His vigilance is higher than that of a hound."
A complex mix of emotions flashed through Isabella's eyes.
There was fear, but even more so, an indefinable worry.
These days of intimacy, though full of the push and pull of conquest and being conquered...
...she found that the obsession in her mind regarding restoration and the glory of the Bourbon Family was being slowly eroded by this man's warmth and dominance.
She was beginning to get used to the occasional exhaustion he showed at the dinner table, and the unreasonable demands he made in the dark of night.
She was beginning to feel afraid.
"The interests offered by the Bourbon Family might seem like a grand blessing to Philip."
Isabella shook her head with a bitter smile.
"But in Felix's eyes, it's just an IOU that could become worthless at any moment. The Thiers Government is still in power, and France is still in turmoil. Why would he offend the newly unified German Empire, which holds five hundred million in gold, for the sake of an exiled Count who hasn't even taken the throne yet?"
Isabella looked at Gaston.
"And if I were to run to him now and tell him that I approached him only to swindle his money to fight a Civil War, how do you think he would look at me?"
Isabella's hands gripped her skirt tightly.
"A man like him hates being schemed against most of all. He would think all my submissiveness over the past half-month was just a disgusting performance. When that time comes, he won't hesitate to throw me out of this villa."
Gaston caught the implication in Isabella's words.
This proud Princess had actually begun to care about what that American nouveau riche thought of her.
This was too dangerous!
"Your Highness."
Gaston took a step forward, his tone becoming extremely serious.
"You must not forget your lineage, nor can you forget that Duke Antoine is still in Vienna, at the mercy of others. Your stability in this villa is built upon the sacrifices of the family. You have no way out!"
Gaston gritted his teeth and stared intently at Isabella.
"Tonight, when Mr. Argyle returns, you had better follow the instructions from Vienna and make everything clear. This concerns the future of France."
At this point, Gaston straightened his posture.
"May I ask, Your Highness, are you prepared?"
The living room fell into silence.
A piece of wood in the fireplace let out a sharp crackle.
Isabella looked at the sealed envelope on the coffee table.
A fierce battle raged in her mind.
On one side were the heavy mission bestowed by her family and her father's expectations.
On the other was the fake yet addictive warm nest she had built over the past half-month.
She was afraid.
Afraid that once she spoke, she would lose everything she currently had. But if she didn't speak, every day in this villa felt like a betrayal of her surname.
After a long while.
Isabella slowly closed her eyes.
She let out an extremely faint sound, filled with powerlessness and worry.
"I... I will give it careful consideration."
Looking out from the manager's office of the Ohio Valley Steel Works.
Thirty percent of the blast furnace fires had been extinguished, and the factory grounds were permeated with the desolation brought by the work stoppage.
The manager, Arthur Vance, sat behind a dilapidated wooden desk, clutching a debt collection notice. His hair was as messy as hay, and his eyes were bloodshot.
Across the desk, Silas, a commercial agent for the Morgan Family, was taking a document out of his briefcase and pushing it in front of Vance.
"Mr. Vance, this is a debt-to-equity swap agreement for three hundred thousand dollars."
"As soon as you sign it, our shell company established in Delaware will immediately repay your bank debts. We will also provide funds to buy the latest open-hearth equipment from Europe for you. That way, your factory can relight its furnaces very soon."
Vance looked at the document, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
He looked up and said in a dry voice.
"But you want to restructure my factory and require it to join the Federal Steel Company. Moreover, the ex-factory price must always be five percent lower than Lex Steel."
"This is equivalent to making me the cannon fodder to draw Lex's fire. If Lex Steel follows suit and lowers its prices, I won't even have my pants left."
Silas let out a series of cold laughs.
"Listen, buddy. You don't have any pants to wear right now. You owe eighty thousand dollars in loans, and next week the local court's bailiffs will come to seal your factory."
"So what do you have to worry about?"
"Even if money is lost, the one filling the hole is our Lon... is our shell company's money. You just need to manage the factory steadily."
Vance's fingers trembled as he slowly reached for the fountain pen on the desk.
He knew this was a devil's bargain, but he didn't want to watch the foundation passed down from his ancestors be auctioned off by the court as scrap metal.
Just as the tip of Vance's pen was about to touch the paper.
"Knock, knock, knock!"
The wooden door of the office was knocked upon and then pushed open.
A man carrying a leather suitcase and biting an unlit cigar strode in, followed by two expressionless security personnel.
"Sorry, I think we can wait a moment, Mr. Vance. I mean, put that damn pen down."
The newcomer walked straight to the desk and pulled out a chair to sit down unceremoniously.
The suitcase landed on the desk with a "thud."
Silas stood up abruptly, glaring at the uninvited guest.
"Who are you? We are discussing a confidential business merger. Get out!"
The newcomer ignored Silas.
Instead, he pulled a business card case from his pocket, took out a card, and flicked it in front of Vance.
"Carter, Senior M&A Specialist at Patriot Investment Company."
Hearing the words "Patriot Investment Company," Silas's face changed instantly.
He naturally knew whose money bag this was.
Felix Argyle's lackey was actually biting so hard!
Vance picked up the business card, feeling a bit lost.
"Mr. Carter... I remember Patriot Investment Company is also Mr. Argyle's property. Lex Steel has already snatched all my orders. Why is your investment company here now? To see me make a fool of myself?"
"No, no, no, don't misunderstand, Mr. Vance. Business competition depends on one's own ability." Carter leaned back in his chair.
"I'm here to bring you money. How much did this guy just offer to buy your plant? Three hundred thousand?"
Seeing that Carter seemed to be there to bid, Vance replied immediately.
"Three hundred thousand dollars."
Carter let out an exaggerated laugh.
"Hahaha~ Oh my god, three hundred thousand dollars? In America, that's not even enough to buy a decent racetrack. Mr. Vance, he is clearly robbing you."
Then Carter opened the suitcase.
Inside were stacks of cashier's checks stamped with the seal of the Imperial Bank.
"Patriot Investment Company offers four hundred and fifty thousand. A direct buyout. You take the money and buy a farm in Florida to retire. Leave the plant to us." Carter threw out his offer.
Silas gritted his teeth, not expecting the other party to be serious and even directly increasing the price by fifty percent.
"Carter, you are maliciously disrupting the deal!" Silas stared at him.
"The equipment in this plant isn't worth four hundred and fifty thousand at all. If you buy it back, it can only be used as scrap metal."
"Wow~ buddy, is that any of your business?"
Carter bit his cigar and looked at Silas provocatively.
"This is a free market, buddy. If you can't afford the money, take your crappy contract and get lost."
Silas knew he couldn't back down.
Cavendish had issued a death order; they had to take these independent steel mills to form an alliance.
"Five hundred thousand!"
"We offer five hundred thousand dollars!"
Silas gritted his teeth and quoted a new figure.
Vance sat in the middle, watching the two men raise the price in his office like a rocket, and he was completely stunned.
In his heart, there was also a sense of joy—competition is good!
Carter didn't even flinch, his fingers tapping the edge of the suitcase.
"Six hundred thousand, cash. Immediate closing."
"You're crazy!" Silas roared.
"What does it have to do with you? My checkbook has no limit." Carter stared at Silas.
"Six hundred thousand, are you following? If not, Mr. Vance will sign now."
Silas's breathing became rapid.
Six hundred thousand dollars to buy a dilapidated plant on the verge of bankruptcy.
Fuck! This was simply a crime.
But if he went back empty-handed, Cavendish would skin him alive.
"Mr. Vance, please wait ten minutes. I need to send a telegram."
Silas turned and rushed out of the office to find the nearest telegraph office.
Of course, Vance didn't mind.
A few hours later, in Philadelphia.
Cavendish paced back and forth in his office like a wild beast trapped in a cage.
The telegraph machine on the desk rang incessantly.
His assistant, Bates, held the transcript, his face pale.
"Sir, everything is in chaos!"
"Silas encountered people from Patriot Investment Company at the Ohio Valley Steel Works. The other party raised the price to six hundred thousand. Garrick encountered the same situation at the Susquehanna Iron Works; the other party directly offered eight hundred thousand!"
Bates flipped to the next telegram.
"And the military industry side! The agent we sent to New Haven to contact the Winchester Family reported that a representative from Patriot Investment Company rushed into Oliver Winchester's office."
"As long as we propose investment terms, the other party immediately increases the stakes! They even said they would use one point five million dollars to buy Winchester's workshop to use as a warehouse."
Cavendish punched the wall, trembling with rage.
"Argyle, that damn bastard!"
He saw through Felix's trick.
"Their main purpose isn't to buy. Argyle is using his cash flow as bait. He likely already knows I have Old Morgan's six million pounds, so he wants to use malicious bidding to consume our funds as much as possible."
"Then should we still follow, sir?" Bates asked cautiously.
"If we follow the inflated prices... our budget, which was originally intended to acquire ten factories, has nearly tripled in cost!"
Cavendish closed his eyes.
There was no turning back in this matter.
If he didn't buy, he wouldn't even have the entry ticket to form the Federal Steel Company and the military industry alliance.
Old Morgan would directly cut off his funding authorization.
"Follow!"
Cavendish ground his teeth.
"Telegraph Silas, Garrick, and the others. No matter how much Patriot offers, add ten thousand dollars to their quote. Must take those factories; they are our bridgeheads!"
Over the next few days.
An extremely absurd capital carnival played out on the East Coast and in the Midwest of America.
Those factory managers who were originally prepared for bankruptcy suddenly found their factories had become the darlings of two major capital forces.
After several days of extremely fierce open and secret struggles.
The Morgan Family's agents finally succeeded in signing three independent steel mills, as well as investment agreements for Winchester and Remington.
But this was not a victory.
When Cavendish looked at the final bill, his heart was bleeding.
To acquire these assets, he had spent a full one point five million pounds.
This was more than triple his expected cost.
Old Morgan's secret reserves in Philadelphia were directly drained by nearly half.
And this was even without the pharmaceutical company being interfered with.
Meanwhile, at the Empire State Building in New York.
Carter reported the results to Hayes with a look of pride.
"Mr. Hayes, we successfully made the British bleed. They bought a bunch of high-priced junk."
However, Hayes frowned as he looked at the report.
"Most of it was completed according to plan, but something went wrong over in Hartford."
Hayes pointed to a name on the report.
"Colt Company. The people we sent back news that Morgan's people didn't take that weapons company."
"Didn't take it? Did Cavendish run out of money?" Carter asked.
"No. It's Colt's widow, Elizabeth Colt. She rejected Morgan's debt-to-equity swap and instead agreed to our Patriot Investment Company's request for investment."
Saying that, Hayes rubbed his temples.
"But she set conditions that make me a bit troubled. I need to report to the boss."