"J… Jones?" Gable's eyes bulged.
"Are you the Jones who used to follow Mr.… Argyle?"
"Yep, that's me."
Jones, the president of Argyle & Co. Foods, dropped his usual airs in front of this old acquaintance and offered a gentle smile.
He stepped around the counter and gave Gable a solid bear-hug.
"Long time no see, Mr. Gable. I've missed the taste of your pickles."
"Good heavens…" Gable flustered.
"Jones, you're a big shot now; I've seen your photo in the papers. Here, sit, please."
He tried to fetch a chair, only to realize the shop had nothing but high stools used to reach the top shelves.
"Mr. Gable, don't trouble yourself."
Jones waved his hand, signalling an attendant to close the door and hang up the "Closed for Break" sign.
"I'm here today on behalf of the chairman… the Boss—to see you."
"Felix… he still remembers me?"
Gable's voice trembled; he'd assumed the lofty figure above the clouds had long forgotten him.
"Of course he remembers."
Jones pulled a set of blueprints from his briefcase and spread them on the counter polished by countless coins.
"The Boss says you're the second good man he met in this cold city. Good men deserve good rewards."
Gable lowered his gaze to the sheet.
It showed a grand building with huge plate-glass windows and several floors, labelled "Universal Department Store."
"What is this?" he asked, puzzled.
"This is the future." Jones tapped the drawing.
"The Boss wants to build a super-store in New York. It'll sell everything, from needles to pianos and carriages—like stacking a hundred of your groceries into one."
"He wants you to manage the company."
"Me?" Gable waved his hands in alarm.
"No, no, impossible, Jones—you're joking. I only sell sugar and canned flour; running this tiny shop is already hard work. I couldn't handle that scale, not at my age…"
"Mr. Gable, the Boss said—"
Jones cut him off, his tone turning serious.
"He doesn't need you to keep the books; professional accountants will do that. Nor to move goods; hundreds of workers will handle it."
"What he needs is your heart—the kind that never cheats young or old, the kind that knows what customers want. You'll teach that spirit of service to thousands of employees."
Jones clasped Gable's weather-worn hands.
"Mr. Gable, surely you don't want to spend your life guarding this twenty-square-metre shop? Imagine standing behind the plate-glass windows on Fifth Avenue, watching thousands of customers leave with smiles—how would that feel?"
Gable was speechless; it would feel wonderful.
He glanced around the little shop that had accompanied him half a lifetime—every plank, every can familiar. It was his safe haven, yet also his cage.
He recalled the young man who once pushed a cart through the rain to deliver those cans.
"Felix really thinks I can do it?"
Gable lifted his head, misty eyes flickering with emotion.
"Absolutely—everyone believes you can." Jones nodded firmly.
"In the Williams Family, trust outweighs ability, and you're one of the men we trust most."
At length old Gable drew a deep breath, as though making the biggest decision of his life.
He untied his waist-apron, folded it neatly, and set it on the counter.
"All right," his voice steady now.
"Since Felix thinks this old dog still has worth, I'll go."
"But—"
Gable pointed at the row of pickle jars on the shelf.
"I'm taking the recipe. The ladies of Fifth Avenue will love it."
Jones burst out laughing, clapping Gable's shoulder.
"Ha-ha… of course, take it all. If you like, Universal's first flagship product can be pickles!"
Ever since the executive-committee meeting ended, its directors had been lost in delicate reflection.
Each held a "ballot" in hand.
Felix had given them the power to nominate the manager of the newly formed Federal Realty Company.
It was more than a post; it signified one's voice before Felix and the future influence the manager would wield once admitted to the committee.
Miller, president of Vanguard Military Industry, sat in his office toying with a freshly assembled new-model revolver.
"Frank, think about it."
He spoke to Frank Cole across the desk.
"The Boss wants to build houses and deal with those City Hall leeches. Who in the company can handle that?"
Frank pondered. "An architect? Or a contractor?"
"Pah!" Miller spat.
"Architects are arts-mad loons—like that Hunt on Long Island, always wanting something, spending money like water. Contractors? Too small-minded; all they know is cutting corners."
Miller rose and walked to the window overlooking the bustling arsenal.
"I say we need military. How about that retired engineer-regiment colonel? Knows tech, can command men, and obeys orders."
Frank shook his head in wry reminder.
"President, the Boss said the man must know law and handle politicians. Military men… too blunt. Last time, when we evicted that hold-out, he almost brought up artillery. Can't do that in downtown New York."
Miller scratched his head, vexed.
"But I don't trust those suit-wearing lawyers. Forget it—looks like I'll abstain. I'm not recommending some loser just to get scolded by the Boss."
Miller was no fool; he knew his strength lay in violence and execution. Subtle political-commercial games weren't his forte.
Recommending the wrong person would only lower Felix's opinion of him… Meanwhile, in a Wall Street café.
Tom Hayes, president of Patriot Investment Company, was elegantly stirring his coffee. Across sat a young man of about thirty.
Arthur Hamilton.
Impeccably dressed in a modest, well-tailored navy suit, hair combed to perfection, eyes sharp and cool, a freshly signed land-transfer agreement before him.
"Mr. Hamilton," Hayes said with a smile.
"That negotiation was brilliant. I'm curious—how did you get that stubborn convent to relocate? Erie Railroad Company had coveted that plot for ages without success."
Hamilton put down the files in his hand, his tone calm, without the slightest hint of boasting.
"It's simple, Mr. Hayes. I didn't negotiate the price with the monastery, nor did I talk about God. I went and checked the historical records of the deed."
"I discovered that during an expansion fifty years ago, the monastery inadvertently encroached on the adjacent cemetery land. Although it was only three feet, legally, it meant that a portion of their main building was 'illegal construction'."
Hamilton took a sip of black coffee and continued:
"I took the City Hall's demolition order for illegal construction and went to see the abbot. I told him that if they refused to relocate, City Hall would legally tear down that wall. And that wall happened to be right behind their sacristy."
"Of course, I also gave them a respectable way out. Patriot Investment Company was willing to purchase the land at 1.2 times the market price and donate a sum of money to help them renovate the new site. The abbot considered it the will of God and signed."
The smile in Hayes' eyes deepened.
This was the person he was looking for.
He understood the law but wasn't constrained by it; his methods were ruthless, but he knew how to save face for others; most importantly, he could accurately find the opponent's weakness to achieve his goal.
"Hamilton, how much do you earn a year at your current law firm?" Hayes asked.
"About two thousand dollars. With the commission from successful cases, it can reach three thousand in a good year."
"My God... that's far too little." Hayes shook his head. "Your talent is completely wasted."
"Listen to me, Mr. Hamilton. Mr. Argyle is forming the Federal Real Estate Company, and it needs a manager. Someone who can help us carve out the largest slice of the New York pie."
Hearing the surname "Argyle," Hamilton's pupils slightly contracted.
In New York, that surname signifies unlimited resources.
"A salary of three thousand dollars a year." Hayes laid out the terms.
"Plus commission on projects. Furthermore, you can mobilize the Williams Family's legal team and... certain special connections."
Although Hamilton wasn't Hayes' subordinate, the Boss never specified that they must hire internally.
Besides, the other party has actually been helping Hayes with legal matters, so wouldn't that count as a subordinate?
Hamilton was silent for a few seconds, then raised his head, ambition visible in his eyes.
"When is the interview?"
...On the other side, Charles Reeves, president of the Mississippi and Eastern Railroad Company, was also looking for candidates.
He had dealt with many land brokers and planners during railway construction.
"Boss, I think that planner named Parker is good," the assistant suggested.
"He helped us plan the land around the station in Cleveland; he has great foresight."
Reeves shook his head.
"Parker is too academic. When planning a station, he considers 'urban landscape' and 'resident convenience.' The Boss wants profit and control. We need a crocodile, not a thrush."
Reeves sighed.
"It looks like we'll have to rely on Hayes. That guy works on Wall Street and has met more clever scoundrels than I have."
Finally, the deadline for nominations arrived.
Miller abstained, stating he couldn't find a suitable candidate.
Reeves recommended a veteran railway land acquisition officer, but even he felt uncertain.
Jones and Catherine stated they were focusing on their primary duties and offered no recommendations.
Only Hayes confidently submitted the resume of Arthur Hamilton... Empire State Building rooftop.
Felix sat behind the desk, holding Arthur Hamilton's resume.
"Graduated from Harvard Law School, worked for two years at the New York City Hall Land Planning Bureau, then transitioned to real estate law. Skilled in handling property disputes and land acquisitions."
Felix read the key information on the resume and looked up at the young man sitting opposite him.
Although the selection wasn't internal as he had hoped, Felix understood that the various companies still lacked deep foundations and sufficient talent reserves.
They also didn't dare to casually fool him, which is why they found someone who could marginally be considered internal.
Arthur Hamilton showed no excessive nervousness; he sat upright, meeting Felix's gaze with neither arrogance nor servility.
"I hear from Hayes that you are a man who can 'kill' people using legal statutes?"
Felix put down the resume, his fingers lightly tapping the desk.
"Mr. Hayes's statement is somewhat exaggerated. Law is just a tool, Mr. Argyle. Like a saw in a carpenter's hand, or a gun in a soldier's. The key is what the person holding it intends to do."
"Is that so?" Felix leaned back.
"Then, if I hand the Federal Real Estate Company over to you right now, what do you plan to do?"
Hamilton was clearly well-prepared.
He didn't offer empty slogans but instead pulled a map of Manhattan directly from his briefcase.
"Mr. Argyle, I have studied your current asset distribution. You possess significant cash flow, but this money is currently flowing mainly into the stock market and industry."
"However, I believe that land in Manhattan is undervalued."
Hamilton pointed to the large area on the map east and north of Central Park.
"With the completion of Central Park, the wealthy are moving north. Fifth Avenue is becoming the golden axis. However, current land ownership is highly fragmented. Most of the plots are held by declining Dutch families and small, speculative vendors."
"My plan is..." Hamilton held up three fingers.
"First is the 'Divide and Conquer' acquisition. We cannot purchase openly under the Argyle name, as that would double the price. I will register dozens of shell companies to acquire adjacent plots separately. Once they are connected, we will merge and develop them."
"Second is the 'Abandoned Project' strategy. Although the economy is gradually recovering now, there are still many unfinished building projects that stalled due to the war. Those developers are eager to divest. We can acquire them cheaply and use your capital advantage to rapidly complete, sell, or rent them out."
"Finally, and most importantly."
Hamilton's finger landed on the location of the Lower East Side slum.
"Affordable housing."
"This area is now packed with hundreds of thousands of new immigrants, and there may be more in the future. They need places to live. The current affordable housing environment is terrible, with frequent fires. If we can build standardized, unified brick-and-stone apartment buildings with basic sanitation, they will rent out completely, even if the rent is slightly higher, and the demand is massive and extremely stable."
"And the most crucial point."
Hamilton revealed a shrewd smile.
"Once you control enough affordable housing, you control hundreds of thousands of votes. This is a massive supplement to your influence in Washington. I know you have a good friendship with President Lincoln, but... he will be stepping down in two years."