Manhattan, Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company headquarters building.
The president's office was eerily quiet.
Felix sat on the sofa with a furrowed brow, clutching that red urgent telegram. His gaze lingered on the short line of text on the telegram for a full minute.
Beside him, Catherine was also filled with shock and disbelief.
"The presidential train encountered a large-scale armed ambush... President Ulysses S. Grant is seriously injured and in a coma..."
Catherine muttered, repeating the contents of the telegram.
Just ten minutes ago, she was still discussing the promotion of new drugs and the construction of joint hospitals with Felix.
They were still planning how to use the power of capital to crush the European academic world.
And now, this telegram from Indiana had completely disrupted all their plans.
Chief Secretary Edward Frost stood before the coffee table, cold sweat dripping down his cheeks.
"Boss, supplementary news has come in from our insider in Washington. Congress is in chaos. Grant's people are attacking us frantically in the conference room, and they are even demanding that someone be sent to New York immediately to arrest you."
Frost's voice trembled slightly.
Felix did not speak; after gently placing the telegram on the coffee table, the corners of his mouth curled into a cold sneer.
"Arrest me? What a brain-dead proposal. Just based on the spittle of those politicians?"
"But, Felix."
Catherine's brows were tightly locked together.
"This matter is too strange. You were just assassinated on Fifth Avenue two days ago, and not long after, Grant was shot in Indiana. If these two things are linked together, there will definitely be people outside who think you are carrying out a crazy political retaliation."
"What? Me?"
Felix turned his head to look at Catherine, his eyes revealing a sense of absurdity.
"If I really wanted to kill Grant, why wouldn't I have done it sooner? Why wait until after I was assassinated at my own doorstep, and then rush to send people to Indiana to open fire? This is logic worthy of a moron."
Felix leaned back against the chair, his brain beginning to spin rapidly, attempting to sort out a clear clue from this tangled mess.
"Shit... There are too many people who want to kill Grant."
Felix shook his head distressingly as he analyzed.
"How many Southern plantation owners and Confederate veterans did he offend during the Civil War? In the two years he's been at The White House, how many corruption cases has his cabinet stirred up? Any Southern fanatic driven to a dead end or a bankrupt businessman could have taken a potshot at him at the station."
Felix tapped the armrest of the sofa, his eyes revealing a dissatisfied glint.
"But that is not the most critical point. The most critical point is the last sentence on the telegram."
"A large number of weapons standard to the Southern Development Company were found at the scene."
Hearing this, Catherine's complexion changed instantly.
"How is this possible?" Catherine exclaimed.
She knew all too well what those weapons with the emblem meant.
That was the lifeblood of the Argyle Family in the South.
Felix stood up and paced slowly in the office, his tone becoming extremely severe.
"When the Civil War just ended, several Southern states were in a complete mess. Those unruly black people and wandering remnants of the Confederacy often stole supplies from our railroad construction. To effectively manage our plantations and businesses in the Southern states, and to prevent weapons from being untraceable after being stolen—"
"I specifically instructed Vanguard Military Industry that all firearms sent to the Southern Development Company must have the exclusive crossed-wheat-ear gear emblem engraved on the side of the receiver, and every gun must have an independent serial number recorded in the register. If a gun was lost, where it was lost, and which security team was responsible for the problem, they would be punished by association."
Speaking to this point, Felix stopped his steps and turned to look at Frost.
"This is a rigorous weapon control system! If the assassins were holding weapons with our emblem, that means this batch of guns most likely really flowed out of our Southern armory!"
The air in the office instantly solidified somewhat.
"This is by no means a small matter."
Felix's voice was cold enough to chip ice.
"I can't afford to take the blame for assassinating the president, and I don't want to. But the issue with this batch of guns, if not investigated clearly, means that the foundation we have painstakingly operated in the South has already been torn open from the inside!"
A name emerged in Felix's mind.
Silas.
The general manager of the Southern Development Company.
The trusted subordinate he had personally promoted and sent to the South to expand territory back then.
"What is Silas doing?"
Felix's tone revealed his dissatisfaction with Silas.
"The security personnel's guns were lost. As the highest person in charge in the South, why didn't he report it to the New York headquarters! Is he blind to this level of dereliction of duty?"
Frost heard the murderous intent in his boss's words and hurried to explain.
"Boss, there have been too many telegrams from the East Coast and Europe these past few days. Perhaps there is a problem with the communication lines in the South, or Silas hasn't realized it yet..."
"Hasn't realized it? Someone stole a batch of weaponry from his territory that could be used to assassinate the president, and he, the general manager, actually hasn't realized it?"
Felix waved his hand mercilessly, interrupting Frost.
"That's an excuse!"
Felix's keen business intuition told him that something must have happened in the South.
The fact that those firearms with the emblem appeared in Indianapolis could absolutely not be achieved by a few petty thieves.
There must be something behind this.
Old Morgan's bounty order, the purge in Washington, plus the loss of weapons in the South.
Everything was like a huge net closing in on the Argyle Family.
"Go send a telegram immediately!"
Felix walked to the desk, pointing at Frost to issue the order.
"Use the company's secret line to send an urgent telegram to Silas of the Southern Development Company, and ask him what exactly is going on with the armory over there! Also, ask if there have been any anomalies in the plantations and railroad sections in the South recently. Tell him to roll in front of the telegraph machine immediately and report the latest situation to me personally!"
"Understood, Boss, I'll go do it right away."
Frost picked up his briefcase and ran out in a hurry.
"Wait..." Felix called out to him.
"By the way, go tell the guards outside to have Timmy come see me immediately."
After Frost left, Felix sat back down at the desk, his hands folded against his chin.
Catherine walked to his side and gently placed her hand on his shoulder to massage it.
"Felix, if the South is out of control, then our cotton and railroads there..."
"Rest assured, no one can take my things away."
Felix patted the back of his wife's hand, his eyes devoid of any fear, only pure iron-blooded determination.
"No matter who is pulling the strings behind the scenes, if they want to use this method to drag me into the water, they are making a huge mistake."
Half an hour later, the office door was pushed open.
Timmy, the head of the Intelligence Department, walked in quickly, the exhaustion on his face not yet fully faded.
"Boss, you were looking for me. Has Washington caused more trouble again?"
Timmy walked to the desk and asked, forcing himself to stay alert.
Felix didn't beat around the bush; he pushed the red telegram directly in front of Timmy.
"Take a look at this, and tell me your thoughts once you're done."
Timmy picked up the telegram.
When he saw the sentences "President Ulysses S. Grant is seriously injured" and "Standard-issue weapons of the Southern Development Company," his usually dull, dead-fish eyes widened sharply.
"This... how is this possible?"
Timmy blurted out subconsciously.
"Of course it's possible; the bullet has already hit the President's lung."
"Timmy, you are in charge of the entire family's intelligence network. Tell me. Why did the standard-issue weapons of our Southern Development Company end up in Indiana to assassinate the President?"
Timmy frowned upon hearing this, his brain working at high speed.
"Boss, our weapon control in the South is very strict. If it were a small amount missing, it might be sporadic reselling on the local black market. But a dozen or so guns—it's very likely that some security team collectively sold them or something went wrong."
"However, if a conflict of this level occurred, the local informants should have reported it to headquarters immediately. But it seems headquarters hasn't received any important intelligence."
"That is exactly the question I want to ask you!"
Felix's tone became extremely stern.
"Timmy! What exactly is the Intelligence Department doing? Every day we watch the movements in Europe, the private lives of politicians in Washington, and every street in New York. And what's the result? We are blind to a huge hole being poked in our base in the American South!"
Faced with his boss's questioning, Timmy lowered his head in shame.
"I'm sorry, Boss. This is my serious dereliction of duty."
Timmy didn't make excuses and admitted his mistake with extreme honesty.
"For the past six months, our main energy has been focused on the capital war with Old Morgan. Most of the elite of the Intelligence Department have been transferred to major cities on the East Coast and Europe. Although the reconstruction of the South is chaotic, it has been relatively stable under Silas's management."
Timmy explained the reason for the formation of the intelligence blind spot.
"Moreover, the communication lines in the South are backward, and many remote plantations can only rely on horses to deliver messages. I thought that as long as the security teams and militias were there to keep things in check, there wouldn't be any major trouble. So, I did relax the highest-level monitoring of the South. I only kept some peripheral informants responsible for collecting routine intelligence on executive personnel."
Felix took a deep breath to suppress his anger; now was not the time to assign blame.
"Now that we know, it's not too late," Felix said, tapping the desk. "But we cannot continue to be blind."
Felix issued an extremely clear order.
"Immediately send out all available intelligence personnel and activate all hidden informants we have in the Southern states. I want to know exactly what has happened in the South recently that we are unaware of. Have large groups of unidentified armed personnel entered? Have our warehouses been looted? Have there been riots along the railway lines?"
"I don't care what method you use. Bribe the local telegraph office or use carrier pigeons. I must get the most accurate summary of intelligence from the South in the shortest possible time!"
"Understood, Boss. I will immediately initiate the highest-level emergency plan."
Timmy straightened his posture and then told Felix some good news.
"By the way, sir, news came from Echo that Old Morgan no longer has any descendants. They are planning how to reasonably make Old Morgan leave."
Hearing this, Felix's brow finally relaxed.
There was finally some good news.
"Alright, I understand. Tell them not to let the British government catch them in the act."
Just as Timmy accepted the order and was about to turn and leave to arrange the tasks.
Felix suddenly remembered something and called out to Timmy.
"Wait."
In this series of chaotic and crazy events, there seemed to be a thread running through it all: Old Morgan's crazy bounty and revenge plan.
And as for Old Morgan's agent in America, he had previously asked the Intelligence Department to capture him.
"Didn't I ask you to send someone to Philadelphia to capture Cavendish a couple of days ago? Is that guy captured yet?"
Timmy, who had turned back to receive orders, thought it was something else; it turned out to be this matter.
"Boss, the action team already set out yesterday. Counting the time, if everything went smoothly, they should have already raided Cavendish's residence in Philadelphia."
Timmy glanced at the wall clock.
"Although Cavendish has a few bodyguards, they are no match for our elite from the Intelligence Department. Once we catch him, we will transport him back to New York overnight in a cargo carriage. By tomorrow morning at the latest, he will be tied to the interrogation chair in the basement of the Metropolitan warehouse."
"Good, I trust you to handle it."
Felix nodded with satisfaction.
His eyes revealed a sharp, analytical gaze.
"Cavendish is Old Morgan's white glove in America. Whether it's the one-million-dollar political poisoning or the flow of funds for Old Morgan's subsequent hiring of assassins, he must be involved, or at least know some inside information."
Felix's fingers tapped lightly on the desktop.
"The loss of weapons in the South, the assassination of the President, plus the ambush I encountered earlier. Everything is happening too densely, too abnormally. There must be an invisible hand pushing this behind the scenes; I don't believe it's a coincidence. I have a feeling it's Old Morgan."
"As long as we pry open Cavendish's mouth, we will know how much of a storm Old Morgan has stirred up in America's underground black market. We will also know who it was in the Southern wilderness that laid a hand on our armory."
Felix waved his hand, signaling Timmy to get to work.
"Go, go and establish the intelligence network in the South. Then tell the interrogators in the basement to prepare their most specialized tools. Once Cavendish arrives, I want him to spill everything, even the time he spied on the maid bathing when he was a child."
"Yes, Boss."
Timmy walked quickly out of the president's office.
Felix sat in the large leather chair, looking through the floor-to-ceiling window at the gray sky outside New York.
The political scene in Washington is tearing itself apart for power, the fires of war may have already ignited in the Southern wilderness, and the kill order in Europe has already been issued.
This massive war of attrition, sweeping across America and Europe, has completely entered an abyss of no return.
"Trying to drag me into this?"
Felix picked up the coffee on the table that had already gone cold and drank it in one gulp.
"You're really overthinking it."