Kicking Away the Ladder (2)
The more capitalism advanced, the more inevitable it became that the ranks of workers would swell.
And it was beyond debate that human beings only grew stronger the more tightly they banded together.
“Wooooh! Factories must guarantee our livelihoods right now!”
“Guarantee us rest breaks! We are not machines!”
As the number of workers multiplied, the frequency and ferocity of strikes grew exponentially. For factory owners it was a time of pure disaster, yet one man sat alone in the midst of that chaos, smiling.
Allan Pinkerton.
Head of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, the firm that had risen to become the premier detective outfit in America after capturing an assassin who had tried to kill the president in the very act.
“Good. Very good. You beautiful bastards.”
He counted a thick wad of cash while savoring the workers’ roars drifting through the window as if they were a symphony.
This world, where strikes erupted every single day, was nothing short of paradise made manifest.
“Director, this month’s revenue has hit an all-time high. The factory owners are screaming for us to send agents immediately.”
“Of course they are. The police are useless and slower than molasses. When their own factories grind to a halt and their machines start getting smashed, who else can they trust but us?”
Pinkerton watched his agents beat striking workers and drag them away, a victorious grin spreading across his face.
Long live capitalism. Long live the workers.
Truth be told, he didn’t dislike these strikers at all. The more people like them there were in America, the more money he would make, wouldn’t he?
With the war over, the Pinkerton Detective Agency’s overwhelming primary revenue stream was, naturally, cracking workers’ skulls and crushing strikes. Handling the lawless chaos of western expansion with their expert agents came second.
But the latter was ultimately just a tidy side income. Providing capitalists with the manpower to shatter strikes was by far the most efficient business.
The fame earned by catching Lincoln’s would-be assassin on the spot had given them what amounted to a monopoly over the market.
“Director, you have visitors.”
“Are they expected? If not, send them away.”
“It’s a delegation from the Boston Associates.”
Pinkerton’s hands froze.
Not a single Boston textile mill, but the giant coalition they had forged together had come in person?
“Well, that changes everything. Show them in. At once.”
A moment later the office door opened and in walked none other than Amos Lawrence. The head of the New England Textile Association and living symbol of Northern capital had personally stepped across the threshold of a detective agency.
“Welcome, Chairman Lawrence. What an honor to have you visit our humble office.”
“Good to see you, Director Pinkerton. We’re both busy men, and I already know your reputation well, so I’ll skip the pleasantries and get straight to business.”
Lawrence ignored the coffee Pinkerton offered, pulled an envelope from his coat, and laid it on the table.
“The fact that I came here myself should tell you how important this request is.”
“Say the word. Kidnapping strike leaders? Or shall we torch a competitor’s factory?”
“No. I want the agency’s true specialty. Investigate someone for me. Thoroughly.”
“That’s what we do best. We can tell you how many times a week he visits his mistress. Whose dirt would you like?”
Lawrence finally picked up the coffee cup. His eyes glittered as he whispered the name.
“James Serget.”
At the unexpected mention of such a heavyweight, Pinkerton’s eyebrows twitched. That was currently the hottest—and therefore most dangerous—name in America.
“Understood. You want his background dug up. The price will be rather steep. Is that acceptable?”
“Of course. For reference, what we want is evidence and testimony that he abused slaves before the war.”
So they were going after the past sins of the man now called the true ruler of the blacks… Pinkerton could roughly guess their aim.
Even so, he said nothing, simply chuckled and nodded.
“You know our creed. We never ask clients why. Pay us and we’ll find the president’s secret bastard if you want. However…”
“However?”
“If this turns into all-out corporate war, we provide information only. We will not take responsibility for the mudslinging that follows. Serget Cotton is no pushover.”
“Don’t worry. We expect nothing more. All we need is solid proof to rip the mask off his face.”
Just from his voice it was obvious whose ass was on fire.
Lawrence added quickly, afraid Pinkerton might miss the point.
“As you know, right before the war Serget ran a facility in the South called the Rehabilitation Center.”
“Of course I’ve heard of it. The place that housed runaway slaves sent back from the North, correct?”
“Yes. They called it a rehabilitation center, but in truth it was probably a hellhole of torture and brainwashing. Most of those released were hired by Serget Cotton and keep their mouths shut, but…”
Looking back, the reason Serget had hurriedly shaken out his purse to hire masses of black workers was obvious.
A man born with the soul of a capitalist to his marrow—what possible regret could make him offer such generous terms to those black bastards and bind them to his company?
It had to be to hide the ugly things he had done before the war. That was Lawrence’s conclusion.
“There must be some who didn’t fall for his sweet talk and fled north instead. Find them. People who hold a grudge against him.”
“Hmm.”
“And one more thing. If you can reach the North’s most famous abolitionist, John Brown, I suggest you do so. That fanatic would despise a hypocrite like Serget more than anyone.”
In fact, it was fairly well known that Allan Pinkerton was a radical abolitionist and extreme ascetic. Therefore even a child could predict that a man like him would never look kindly on James Serget, a former slave owner.
Lawrence had been certain from the start that Pinkerton would carry out this task better than anyone.
And sure enough, Pinkerton reacted exactly as expected.
“Understood. Leave it to me. I will prove that our reputation as the best in the business wasn’t won at a gambling table.”
“Good. I’ll look forward to your results.”
With a satisfied smile, Lawrence departed, saying he trusted the capabilities of the nation’s finest detective agency.
Left alone in the office, Pinkerton flipped through the request sheet and let out a strange laugh.
Slaves this, justice that—no matter how loudly they shouted, the reason they were scurrying about so frantically was, from beginning to end, only one thing.
Serget Cotton was about to begin full-scale textile operations in New Bedford. They wanted to cut the sprout before it could take proper root.
The breathless dollar war waged between corporations. His favorite form of entertainment.
“I’m in such a good mood, I ought to go see a friend’s face today.”
He had received a generous down payment, and the thought of how much profit this job might bring made it impossible to stop the cheerful humming that kept escaping him.
After all, they said joy doubled when shared.
Pinkerton decided to gladly share this pleasure with his close friend Carnegie.
It is only natural to be met with jealousy and envy when one is doing too well. So one must be cautious in every action?
No matter how carefully you tread, those who wish to bite will always appear.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. The saying exists for a reason.
Human creativity has no limits. If someone sets their mind to it, they can tear down and slander anyone on earth.
Even if something isn’t true, once public opinion is shaped so that it feels true and the blows begin to land, the majority of people cannot help but waver.
Even if the truth comes out later, the damage suffered in the meantime cannot be undone. Thorough preparation is therefore essential.
“It really is exactly as you predicted, Chairman.”
“See? You watch yourself too. Once your business grows, people will definitely try to drag you into the mud.”
“Paying Pinkerton in advance was the correct move. Even if they’re friends, he’s the type who draws a strict line between personal and professional matters.”
Carnegie, who had rushed south as if his tail were on fire, poured out everything he had heard from Pinkerton in a torrent before he had even caught his breath.
“Of course, he must have finished calculating long ago which side would benefit him more in the long run. After all, it was thanks to you informing him about the presidential assassination plot that Pinkerton was able to seize that market so quickly.”
Yet Pinkerton was a true professional who followed the iron rule of prioritizing the first request received.
That was why the man—who had already received a large consulting fee from me—had very discreetly yet unmistakably leaked the fact that someone was digging into my past.
“However, since he also took their money, he flatly refused to reveal the client’s exact identity, citing the agency’s duty to protect client confidentiality. A more professional swindler you will not find.”
“So you just came back empty-handed?”
“Of course not. Right before I left he casually asked, ‘By the way, Andy, are the textile machines you’re building in New Bedford running smoothly?’”
There was no company with stricter client-identity protection than theirs.
Yes, yes, how kind of them to worry whether my textile factory was operating well. Such consideration.
New Bedford. Textile factory. The forces digging into my background.
If a person couldn’t draw the obvious conclusion after being handed that much, they deserved to go bankrupt.
“The Boston Associates… Our dear old gentlemen must be feeling the heat.”
Here I was, struggling alone for the future of the Union, yet evil forces were rising to obstruct me. It was more than regrettable; it was positively lamentable.
“Chairman, shouldn’t we immediately deliver the hammer of justice to those rat bastards?”
“Hmm… Yes. I suppose we should.”
“Then why are you thinking so hard? Let’s just reveal everything. If we open the books showing how well you’ve treated the black workers—education, medical support, all of it—their slander will collapse into nonsense.”
“No.”
I shook my head firmly.
“That might calm Northern public opinion, but it would flip the South upside down. If the rumor spreads that ‘James Serget turns out to be a lover of blacks,’ my support base in Dixie won’t sit still. They’ll tremble with betrayal and probably start a riot.”
Someday it might be possible, but the time was not yet right.
Until I had complete control of the South and remade their thinking, I still had to wear the mask of a strict, conservative Southern businessman.
Carnegie, quick as ever, understood my meaning at once and nodded.
“True, those Southern bumpkins are rather simple-minded. So how far do you intend to respond?”
“Moderately. I need to walk a tightrope on a delicate line—neither too virtuous nor too vicious. Perhaps we should frame it as discipline rather than abuse?”
“Discipline…”
“That said, they must pay a clear price for daring to put a knife to my throat. We can’t let this slide for free.”
Carnegie’s eyes gleamed coldly. He drew a finger across his throat.
“You’re saying we smash them completely. Leave it to me. I’ll rip out their factory pipes, tear up their railroad rails—”
“No, no. I told you that won’t do. Let’s handle this with dignity.”
Smash them completely?
A righteous businessman like me, who loved peace, would never use such a crude expression.
I rather like the phrase When they go low, we go high.
Since they choose to go low, we shall soar above them.
And conveniently, those very bastards have kindly provided the stepping stone for us to kick off and launch ourselves higher.
That is, I believe, the correct usage of the phrase.