novelSusiti Chapter 309 Meeting with the King of Wall Street
Chapter 309 Meeting with the King of Wall Street
Chapter 309 Meeting with the King of Wall Street
Savile Row in London, a gentleman's club with an unassuming facade and no sign.
This is the exclusive domain of a tiny elite at the very top of the power pyramid in the British Isles. Heavy Persian carpets swallow all footsteps, and the air is filled with the unique aroma of top-quality Cuban cigars and century-old whisky.
Inside the deepest room, the mahjong room was filled with smoke.
Four people sat around a green velvet poker table, silently playing a game of Whistbridge. The most striking of them all was a man with a burly, bear-like build.
He was John Pierpont Morgan.
The king of Wall Street.
Even just sitting quietly, his domineering, regal aura filled the room with a sense of oppression. He wore a custom-made vest, his fingers thick and strong, holding a card with steady movements. Most striking was his unusually large, purplish-red nose, caused by a skin condition, which added a touch of ferocity and savagery to his imposing face.
The three card-playing friends beside him were all big shots who wielded great influence in the City of London or the industrial world, but they all seemed somewhat reserved in front of Morgan.
During a break in the card game, a waiter knocked on the door and entered, followed by U.S. Ambassador Thomas Bayard and a tall young man.
Constantine.
Morgan merely lifted his eyelids from the card table and glanced at the newcomer. He scanned Constantine from head to toe, finally settling on the man's handsome face with a sharp and direct gaze.
His eyes revealed undisguised contempt and impatience.
again.
Another fallen European beggar with a fancy title. Bearing ridiculous titles like "prince" and "duke," but actually penniless, they want to swindle a few coins from this American upstart to repair their leaky castle.
Morgan withdrew his gaze and returned it to the cards in his hand, not even bothering to utter a single word.
The atmosphere in the room was somewhat awkward. Ambassador Bayard coughed, trying to break the silence: "Mr. Morgan, this is His Highness Constantine of the Kingdom of Greece. He has some business ideas about new areas and hopes to discuss them with you."
Morgan didn't respond. He slammed an Ace of Diamonds onto the table with a rough motion, the card making a dull thud as it hit the velvet.
One of his card-playing partners, a British railway tycoon, tactfully stood up, a polite smile plastered on his face: "Your Highness, it's a pleasure to see you. We've just finished this game, how about we go to the lounge for a drink?"
Constantine was not intimidated by Morgan's aggressive aura. He didn't even bother to look at the railroad tycoon who had come to his rescue.
His gaze remained fixed on Morgan.
He calmly sat down on an empty sofa next to the card table, a spot directly opposite Morgan.
His movements were composed, his back straight, as if this were not the private domain of the King of Wall Street, but his study in the Athens Palace.
The waiter was very perceptive and immediately brought him a glass of whiskey with ice.
"Mr. Morgan, thank you for taking the time."
Constantine spoke, his voice steady and calm. Unlike other European nobles, he didn't launch into a long list of titles, nor did he offer insincere flattery about the other's status in the financial world.
He got straight to the point.
"I know you're not interested in those stale political games in Europe; they're as dull and meaningless as the fog in London. So, let's not talk about politics."
He picked up his wine glass, and the clear liquid shimmered with a golden halo under the light.
"Let's talk about the future."
These words made Morgan pause in mid-air as he prepared to draw the next card.
He finally raised his head and looked directly at the young man for the second time.
The other person's gaze was clear and firm, without the slightest trace of the fear or fawning he often showed when facing him. It was an equal gaze, even tinged with a hint of scrutiny.
interesting.
Constantine didn't give him much time to ponder. He took a document wrapped in brown paper from his black briefcase, placed it on his lap, but didn't open it immediately.
Before we talk about the future, I'd like to ask you a question.
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on Morgan's piercing eyes.
Do you believe that Edison's invention of the direct current system was truly the ultimate solution for urban electrification?
This question instantly broke the silence in the card room.
The expressions of the other three tycoons at the poker table all underwent subtle changes.
The relationship between Morgan and Edison was no secret on Wall Street. They were both close business partners and wary competitors. The "War of the Currents" was currently the hottest topic in the entire technology and finance world.
Morgan's purplish-red nose seemed to have deepened in color. He was well aware of the fatal flaws of direct current—the high cost of copper wires and the enormous transmission losses. This technology was enough to light up a few blocks in Manhattan, but to use it to light up the entire United States, or even the whole world, was nothing short of a pipe dream.
This is the Emperor's New Clothes, a secret everyone knows but no one dares to point out directly to Morgan.
Constantine did not wait for his answer.
He picked up the document from his lap and gently pushed it across the card table in front of Morgan.
The movements were slow, but every inch they moved felt like measuring the boundaries of the old era.
"My friend, a genius named Nicolas Dimitrios, has a completely different view on this issue."
The document was placed securely in the center of the table.
Morgan's gaze was drawn to the document. The kraft paper cover had no superfluous decorations, only a single, clear, and prominent English title typed out.
—On the application prospects and commercial value analysis of alternating current systems in long-distance high-voltage power transmission.
Alternating current.
These three words instantly struck Morgan's mind.
He certainly knew about alternating current, and he knew about Nikola Tesla, the arrogant Serbian who was an enemy of Edison. But he always regarded it as an impractical and dangerous heresy.
However, the title of the report in front of him struck a nerve with what he considered his most sensitive nerve as a capitalist.
"Business Value Analysis".
This isn't a scientist's fantasy; it's the language of a businessman.
For the first time, Morgan's massive body slowly sat up straight.
His disdain, which had been so dismissive of him as if he were a beggar, quietly faded away. In its place was a cautiousness and inquisitiveness befitting an apex predator.
He reached out his thick, muscular hand and picked up the report.
Then, I turned to the first page.