In the underground wine cellar in the Red Hook district of Brooklyn, the air seemed to freeze as the match was struck.
David Burke wore the twisted smile of a fanatic, his fingers scraping fiercely against the side of the rough matchbox.
"Sss..."
A tiny, faint spark leapt out in the darkness, and the pungent smell produced by the friction between red phosphorus and potassium chlorate instantly filled the air.
Agent Higgins' heart almost stopped beating at that moment; he could even feel the fingers of Death touching the back of his neck.
In the corner of the basement, those few open barrels of volatile kerosene—if just a tiny spark touched them, the entire space would turn into a sealed combustion chamber, and everyone present would be set ablaze.
However, the anticipated explosion did not occur.
That tiny, faint spark struggled for less than half a second before emitting a dull "hiss" and turning into a wisp of greyish-white smoke, extinguishing completely.
The fanatic smile on David Burke's face instantly stiffened.
He stared in disbelief at the match in his hand, which was now nothing more than a charred stick, his wrist beginning to tremble uncontrollably.
"No... how did it go out?"
He struck the matchbox frantically several times, but the damp, softened match head not only failed to ignite, it snapped in two and fell into the coal ash on the floor.
"Bang!"
Before David Burke could react, Timmy lunged forward like a cheetah. A heavy leather boot kicked fiercely into the side of David Burke's knee.
Accompanied by a distinct sound of bone cracking, David Burke let out a scream, his body slamming heavily onto the ash-covered floor.
Two Secret Service agents immediately pounced, twisting David Burke's arms behind his back and locking cold, heavy steel handcuffs tightly around his wrists.
Timmy, breathing a sigh of relief, walked unhurriedly over to David Burke and slowly crouched down.
He reached out with his gloved hand, picked up the broken match from the ground, and examined it.
"Oh, shit. Did you learn your methods of silencing people from reading cheap novels, Mr. David Burke?"
Timmy's voice carried undisguised mockery.
He reached out and grabbed the still-lit kerosene lamp from the edge of the table, waving it in front of David Burke.
"It has been raining in Brooklyn for three whole days; the humidity in this basement is high enough to grow mushrooms. Those lousy matches you kept in your vest pocket have long since gone damp. You had a lit kerosene lamp right at your fingertips; all you had to do was wave your hand and smash it into the corner, and we might have been buried with you today. But instead, you stood there pretending to strike a match. Is your brain not working, you idiot?"
Timmy casually tossed the broken match onto David Burke's face.
David Burke was pinned tightly to the floor, the gunshot wound on his shoulder still bleeding.
He gasped for air, staring fixedly at Timmy, his eyes filled with extreme frustration after his plan failed.
"Fuck you!"
"Take him away."
Agent Higgins wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and issued the order, still shaken.
"Search the entire basement again. Even a scrap of waste paper or a strand of hair must be put into an evidence bag. The things here are enough to send Old Morgan to the gallows!"
The Secret Service agents moved quickly.
Ledgers, draft stubs, telegram receipts, and even the seals David Burke used to forge his identity were all sealed one by one.
At this moment, the core, ironclad evidence for this shocking assassination attempt against the President was finally secured.
Meanwhile, in the underground chamber on Capitol Hill in Washington, the distribution of political interests was nearing its end.
The Republican Party leadership present had reached a consensus on the resolution to request the extradition of Junius Morgan from the United Kingdom.
Although secretary of state Hamilton Fish was still somewhat reluctant, under domestic political pressure and the logical coercion from Felix, he had no choice but to compromise and agreed to let the State Department draft a diplomatic note immediately.
vice president Thomas Clark checked his pocket watch, closed the file in front of him, and prepared to announce the end of the meeting.
"Gentlemen, since the general direction has been set, everyone should perform their respective duties for the specific implementation. We must convey a unified voice to the outside world. We must calm the panic among the public and in the stock market as soon as possible."
"Thomas, wait a moment."
Felix suddenly spoke up, interrupting everyone as they were preparing to stand up.
He remained in his seat, fingers interlaced on the table, his gaze sweeping over every politician present.
"Regarding external enemies, we already have a unified strategy. But Gentlemen, cleaning the house shouldn't just mean sweeping outside; one must also sweep inside."
House Speaker James Blaine sat back down.
"Felix, what are you referring to?"
"I am referring to the fact that before we sat here today to uncover the truth, there were a few people in Congress jumping around quite enthusiastically."
Felix's tone was devoid of any warmth.
"I heard that less than two hours after the news of President Ulysses S. Grant's assassination reached Washington, Senator Archibald Vance from North Carolina and Congressman Reed from Maryland were the first to jump out. Without any concrete evidence, they directly claimed that the Argyle Family was the mastermind behind the assassination. They even openly colluded in the congressional hall, demanding the immediate seizure of my Imperial Bank and Railway Company?"
At this point, Felix sneered.
People must be made to understand that things that shouldn't be said must not be said.
"Isn't this reaction speed a bit too fast? Even out of political hostility, they shouldn't have been so eager to convict me before the Secret Service's preliminary report was even out."
Senator Roscoe Conkling frowned.
Although Archibald Vance and Reed were not from his faction, they belonged to the same congressional camp.
"Mr. Argyle, politicians often say outrageous things to grab attention during crises. This is the norm in Washington. You cannot demand a purge of congressmen just because of two comments attacking you."
"Stop. Senator Conkling, you seem to have misunderstood one point."
Interrupting him, Felix stared at him.
"I am a person who never cares if others insult me, but I do care if others take money from enemies to use against me."
As he spoke, he took a cigar case out of his pocket and pulled out a cigar.
"Old Morgan scattered millions of dollars across America in the end. David Burke traveled between New York and Washington and must have contacted a large number of politicians. Do you really think that money all went to the killers? Where would second-rate politicians like Archibald Vance and Reed get the guts to act as the Vanguard when the situation was unclear?"
"I think it's quite simple: they must have taken money from Old Morgan in advance. So, after the presidential assassination incident occurred, they immediately created chaos in Congress, splashing all the dirty water onto the Argyle Family to prevent me from escaping, and even making both sides hostile toward each other."
The atmosphere in the conference room became serious again.
Although they all knew this was likely a casual fabrication by Felix, just because he disliked those two and wanted to purge them.
But if what Felix said was true, then this was no longer a political attack, but treason.
"Do you mean you want to investigate them?" Thomas Clark asked.
"Not just investigate, but deal with them severely."
Felix lit the cigar, exhaled a puff of smoke, and then looked at Speaker James Blaine and the chairman of the Radical Republican caucus, Henry Wilson.
"I don't care which faction they belong to, but slandering someone who has made huge contributions to the country and the party in Congress is undoubtedly splitting the nation and the party. Therefore, Congress must strip them of their parliamentary qualifications."
Speaker James Blaine and Henry Wilson exchanged glances.
Since Felix had already spoken to this extent, and was also offering a huge investment from General Electric, discarding two second-tier congressmen was a very worthwhile deal.
"Fine, I will personally lead the establishment of an internal disciplinary investigation committee," Henry Wilson stated in a hoarse voice.
"If it is confirmed that they are suspected of splitting the nation and the party, the Republican Party will never tolerate it."
Felix nodded, stood up, and picked up his cane.
"It is up to you now."
The carriage traveled smoothly along the wide, yet still muddy, streets of Washington.
Since the municipal network renovation plan by General Electric had not yet officially begun, the gas streetlights on both sides of the street appeared somewhat dim. The coachman skillfully flicked his whip, steering the carriage toward Clark Manor located on the banks of the Potomac River.
To avoid suspicion, Felix went to Capitol Hill the moment he arrived in Washington. Now that the overall situation was settled, he could finally come to see Caesar and the others.
The black cast-iron gates of Clark Manor slowly swung open.
The carriage drove into the gravel driveway and finally stopped in front of the main house's porch.
The servants, who had been waiting on the steps, immediately stepped forward to open the carriage door.
Felix stepped out of the carriage and handed his cane and hat to the butler. He looked up at the hall, where a figure was standing in front of the double oak doors.
Anna Clark.
She was not wearing any elaborate jewelry, and her hair was tied up casually. In Washington's social circles, she was the suave daughter of the vice president.
But in front of Felix, she displayed a rare tenderness.
And at Anna's feet, a boy nearly two years old was stumbling about, grabbing at the hem of her skirt. That was Felix and Anna's child, little Caesar.
"You look even more exhausted than described in the telegram, Felix."
Anna looked at the man walking toward her, her tone carrying a hint of concern.
"Dealing with that bunch of old foxes in Congress is indeed quite draining."
Felix walked up to Anna and gave her a gentle hug.
Then he lowered his head, looking at little Caesar, who was tilting his face up and curiously examining him.
The boy had the same deep eyes as Felix; although he was not yet two years old, one could already see the rugged outlines of his future features.
Felix bent down and picked up little Caesar.
The little guy was not shy; instead, he giggled and reached for the bowtie on Felix's shirt.
"Has he learned to walk?"
Felix felt the heavy weight in his arms.
"He was able to walk the entire hallway by himself last month. It's just that he has a big temper; if he wants something, he must get it immediately. In that regard, he is exactly like you."
Anna led Felix toward the private living room on the second floor.
The fireplace in the living room was burning high-quality fruitwood.
Felix sat on the sofa holding the child, while Anna personally poured him a glass of whiskey without ice.
"Has the situation outside stabilized? They didn't give you a hard time, did they?"
Anna asked softly while sitting to the side.
Her political acumen was not at all inferior to those politicians, and she knew the sensitivity of Grant's assassination.
"It has stabilized for the time being; they are actually quite reasonable. Everyone knows that it is impossible that I was the one who assassinated Grant. We are just discussing how to catch the mastermind behind the scenes." Felix drank his whiskey and comforted Anna.
"If Grant can wake up, that would be best. If he cannot wake up, Thomas can also take over legitimately. In either case, the security perimeter of the Argyle Family has expanded compared to before."
Anna looked at Felix, "I heard about the assassination on Fifth Avenue. I couldn't sleep at all for those few days. This kind of street assassination has no bottom line."
"That is why I want to completely solve the source."
Felix's fingers gripping the wine glass tightened slightly.
"According to the meeting, the extradition note will be sent to London via telegram this afternoon. I am going to drag Junius Morgan out of his comfort zone."
"Will the British government buy it?" Anna asked with some concern.
"As far as I know, the weight of the United States of America in the eyes of Downing Street is not even as much as a province in India."
"Of course, your father and Hamilton Fish think the same way."
Felix put down his wine glass and teased little Caesar in his arms.
"But I never counted on the British government to show kindness. What I am relying on is the selfishness and fear inherent in the bones of the British people."
Just as Felix and Anna were chatting in front of the fireplace.
Thousands of miles away in London, the heart of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.
Downing Street, the Prime Minister's residence.
Prime Minister William Gladstone sat behind his massive desk piled high with documents.
This Prime Minister of the empire, who held the power of the world's number one superpower, was tapping his fingers carelessly on an urgent document that had just been sent by the Foreign Office.
The cover was stamped with the emblem of the State Department of the United States of America.
"Extradition note."
Gladstone looked at the Foreign Secretary standing opposite his desk, a look of undisguised contempt curling the corners of his mouth.
"For the sake of an assassinated American president, those bumpkins in Washington actually dare to directly ask the British Empire for someone. And the person they want is a financier of the level of Junius Morgan. Who do they think they are?"
The Foreign Secretary bowed slightly.
"Prime Minister, the current situation in America is very turbulent. They claim to have obtained conclusive evidence proving that Mr. Morgan orchestrated all of this."
"Evidence?" Gladstone snorted coldly.
"In London, only the court of Her Majesty the Queen can determine the validity of evidence. Do those politicians in Washington think they can just take someone with vast assets away from our land with a few pieces of paper? It is simply wishful thinking."
Gladstone tossed the extradition note to the corner of the desk, as if he were throwing away a piece of waste paper.
"Suppress this matter for now; there is no need to pay attention to them. Let the Americans argue amongst themselves. The more chaotic they are, the more favorable it is for our trade expansion in America."
The Prime Minister paused, as if remembering something.
"And a few days ago, Mr. George Peabody personally visited me at the residence."
Hearing the name Peabody, the Foreign Secretary's expression became serious.
George Peabody, although he was also an American, held an extremely lofty status in the London financial world.
He had long been engaged in philanthropy, and even Queen Victoria treated him with great courtesy. As for Old Morgan having his current status, Peabody was the greatest guide.
"Although Mr. Peabody has retired, his influence is still not to be underestimated. He used the connections he had accumulated in London over decades to ask me to help his old friend. He said that Morgan just suffered setbacks in his business in America and got into some trouble."
Gladstone picked up his pipe.
"Since Mr. Peabody has spoken, I must give him this face. Tell the ambassador in Washington that the extradition procedure is extremely complicated and requires a lengthy review by the Supreme Court of the British Empire. Use diplomatic language to brush them off."
In Gladstone's view, this was just an insignificant trifle.
The British Empire had the absolute strength to ignore any request from America.
He thought he could easily protect Old Morgan.
But he did not know that a huge net woven from dollars, newspapers, and panic had already been cast silently over London.
Felix's intelligence network never played by the rules of politicians.