The cigar smoke hung stagnant in the air of the study.
Felix crushed his half-smoked cigar into the brass ashtray with a fierce motion.
Sparks flew instantly.
"Old Morgan, that damned old bastard."
Felix's voice was not loud, but every word dripped with a chilling malice.
Timmy stood before the desk, observing his boss's rare display of anger.
He knew very well how calm his boss usually was when facing business competition, but this time was different.
This time, it was a complete attempt to uproot the very foundations of the Argyle Family.
"Boss, the source of their funds this time is that batch shipped over earlier. However, this time it's all operated through shell companies and anonymous funds. If we want to use Washington to invoke the 'Foreign Capital Restriction Act' to seize them, the courts won't find any concrete evidence pointing to London."
Frost analyzed the current disadvantages from the side.
Felix stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window of the study; outside was the pitch-black night sky of Long Island, and he gave a cold laugh.
"Seize them? Using the law to deal with Old Morgan? That's impossible to even imagine; he wouldn't leave such a huge loophole."
"Edward. Do you really think Old Morgan spent so much money and put in so much effort to encircle me on four fronts just for commercial profit?"
Felix turned around and looked at his intelligence chief.
"He is taking revenge."
Timmy was stunned for a moment.
"Revenge? Is it because we caused the run that collapsed the United Trust Bank on Wall Street?"
"No, it's not for the bank."
Felix's eyes became extremely dark, as if returning to that night on the Atlantic Ocean many years ago.
"It must be because of his youngest son, John Pierpont Morgan."
When Timmy heard this name, his pupils contracted sharply.
He certainly knew about this incident.
After all, his own men were the ones who personally handled the aftermath back then.
"But how does he know it was us who sent people to do it?"
Timmy's voice was very low.
"Old Morgan is a fox in the financial district; how could he not know?" Felix walked back to the desk.
"Back then, the younger Morgan plotted behind the scenes in New York to find a gunman to assassinate me. He failed in the end and fled onto a cruise ship back to London. I could never let such a viper, which could bite me at any moment, return to England alive."
Thinking of this, Felix braced his hands on the desk, a cruel smile on his lips.
"So I sent people to finish him off on that cruise ship. I faked it as a robbery and murder case during a theft."
"When the body was transported back to London, Old Morgan didn't go crazy, and he didn't call the police to accuse me. He held a funeral and even published a restrained statement in the newspapers. That was when I knew that this old man had swallowed this blood debt. The calmer he is, the more viciously he bites."
Felix sat back in his leather chair and let out a heavy sigh.
"I didn't pay attention to the little tricks he had Clive Cavendish pulling in Philadelphia before. I didn't stop him from sending people to poach Edison to work on Westinghouse Electric. I didn't even care about him trying to win over Carnegie."
"Because I knew that Alternating Current could never be developed by the brute force of blind trial and error like Edison does. Without an extremely advanced mathematical model theory of the Rotating Magnetic Field, even if he burned up all the rubber in Philadelphia, that AC motor wouldn't turn."
"As for Carnegie, I know very well what kind of person he is; he will fall out with the British sooner or later. As it turns out, Carnegie is already firing up blast furnaces for me now."
Felix's tone suddenly deepened.
"But I didn't expect the resentment from Old Morgan's grief over losing his son to be this great. He would rather sacrifice the Morgan Family's liquid assets in Europe just to fight a war of attrition in America without any bottom line for profit."
"Supporting independent steel mills, supporting military workshops, and even supporting medical charlatans."
Felix slammed his fist on the desk, quite annoyed.
"This guy Old Morgan is declaring to me that as long as the Morgan Family still has allies and money, the Argyle Family will never get a good night's sleep in America."
Timmy sensed the killing intent radiating from his boss and made a throat-slitting gesture.
"Boss, should we resort to extreme measures?"
"Clive Cavendish is in Philadelphia right now. I just need to send a team over, and I can have him dead in the Delaware River tonight. As long as Clive Cavendish dies, those shell companies and financial networks of Old Morgan and his people in North America will immediately fall into paralysis."
"Idiot, of course we can't do that!"
Felix scolded him without reservation.
"Even if you send people to kill Clive Cavendish, so what? London could send ten Smiths and ten Juniors over in a few days."
"Old Morgan is far away in London; do you think you can assassinate a top banker of the British Empire on the streets of London?"
"That would be equivalent to declaring war directly on the British government. By then, the police from Scotland Yard and the Royal Navy would sink all of our Metropolitan merchant ships at sea!"
Felix took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down from his anger.
Business is business. Blood debts are blood debts.
This is purely a capital strangulation now, which is different from that business with the younger Morgan.
Since the other side has set the stage and intends to use money to crash the market.
Then I must crush them at the poker table with even more brutal means.
"Since he wants a total war in business."
Felix relit a cigar, the glimmer of the match illuminating his cold face.
"Then I will give him a massacre."
Felix looked at Timmy.
"Go... go downstairs and call Catherine to the study, and don't disturb the children."
After understanding, Timmy nodded.
"Understood, I will call the Madam up immediately."
Timmy retreated.
The study returned to silence once again.
Felix leaned back in his chair.
His brain began to race; he needed to formulate a counter-strangulation tactic.
The opponent wants to drag him down with a price war, so he must cut their arteries directly.
Not long after.
The sound of high heels came from the hallway.
The study door was pushed open, and Catherine walked in.
She had changed out of her loungewear gown, and her expression was somewhat puzzled.
"Felix, what happened? Timmy looks like a soldier who just received the bugle call to charge."
Catherine walked to the desk.
"Sit down, Catherine."
Felix pointed to the chair opposite him.
"Those two generic drug factories you complained to me about in the study a few days ago. The Sterling Brotherhood in Boston and Apotek in New Jersey."
Felix looked at Catherine.
"They are about to receive an anonymous capital injection of one million dollars. The other party is not only paying for all their legal fees but also helping them build factories. They are demanding that they lower the prices of carbolic acid and laudanum even further."
Catherine's expression changed instantly, and she stood up abruptly.
"One million? And they want to lower prices?"
"That's impossible! That price has already pierced the cost floor of the raw materials. Are they trying to perish together with Umbrella? Who is backing them?"
Seeing Catherine's reaction, Felix could only give a calm reply.
"London, the Morgan Family."
Catherine understood the gravity of the situation the moment she heard "Morgan Family."
This was not a commercial competition between two regional pharmaceutical factories, but a battle between multinational financial conglomerates.
"If they really get this money and drive the prices down to that point..."
Catherine braced her hands on the desk, gritting her teeth.
"Then the orders for the Western clinics will likely be lost entirely. While it wouldn't cause Umbrella's cash flow to break, our Far East expansion plan in the Great Qing Empire would likely come to a complete standstill because of the fire in our backyard."
"I won't let them get the orders so easily."
Felix sat in the shadows, his voice cold.
"Catherine, when you return to the company tomorrow morning, have the lawyers drop all patent lawsuits in Boston and New Jersey."
Catherine was stunned.
"Drop the lawsuits? Felix, tell me why? Dropping them is equivalent to admitting the legality of their counterfeiting. They'll become even more unscrupulous!"
"Squabbling in court won't change anything. Even if we win the lawsuit, they can just change their name and keep selling."
Felix flicked the ash from his cigarette.
"I want you to abandon the courts and shift your focus to the supply chain."
Felix stood up and walked over to Catherine.
"The Sterling Brotherhood and Apotek can steal your chemical formulas, but they can't steal the raw materials."
"Manufacturing carbolic acid disinfectant requires large amounts of coal tar extracts, and manufacturing laudanum requires high-purity raw opium paste. Not to mention that manufacturing quinine requires cinchona bark from South America."
Felix's gaze was extremely oppressive.
"Metropolitan Trading Company indirectly controls sixty percent of America's ocean shipping routes. I will give the order to Bill tomorrow. Prohibit any Metropolitan merchant ship from transporting these specific raw materials to the ports of Boston and New Jersey."
Catherine's eyes lit up.
"Not only that," Felix continued to lay out his tactics.
"Use all of Umbrella's current cash flow. Go to the futures market and buy out all the coal tar, raw opium paste, and cinchona bark available for the next six months. Even if we have to pay a twenty percent premium, buy it all up!"
"What's the use of Old Morgan giving them a million for a factory?" Felix sneered.
"I want to ensure not a single drop of medicine can be brewed in their reactors. I want their newly built factory buildings to become empty shells for raising spiders. As long as the raw materials are cut off, even with Morgan's checks in hand, they'll only be able to buy waste paper!"
This was the truly ruthless monopoly strategy, strangling the opponent's breath at the source.
It was unclear if Old Morgan would be able to react in time.
As for the claim that Great Britain had significant power in South America, that was the entire Great Britain.
It wasn't something the few companies represented by Old Morgan could decide.
"I understand. I'll have the procurement department go sweep the market tomorrow."
Catherine's eyes regained their sharpness.
After handling the pharmaceutical front, Felix looked at Timmy, who had been standing at the door the whole time.
"Now let's talk about steel and military industry."
Felix walked back behind his desk.
"Cavendish wants to consolidate those independent steel mills on the verge of bankruptcy and form the Federal Steel Company to fight a price war against Lex."
"Tell Hayes and Carnegie in Pittsburgh that Lex Steel will not lower prices. Carnegie's Braddock Steel Works will not lower prices either."
Timmy was a bit worried.
"But boss, if we don't follow suit with price cuts, the orders from those railroad companies will definitely flow to that so-called Federal Steel Company."
"Railroad orders? Who do you think calls the shots on America's railroads?"
Felix acted as if he had heard a joke.
"Our railroad construction in the Midwest is all funded by loans from the Imperial Bank. Go notify the bosses of those railroad companies. Whoever dares to purchase a single pound of rails from the Federal Steel Company, the Imperial Bank will withdraw their loans the very next day and choke off their capital chains."
"This way, most railroad companies won't place orders. Even if some companies don't have loan business with the Imperial Bank, I doubt many would dare to place orders with them directly."
Felix's fingers tapped heavily on the desk.
"As for the Pennsylvania Railroad, I am the controlling shareholder. I will have the board of directors issue a resolution directly prohibiting the purchase of external steel. When that time comes, the Federal Steel Company's warehouses will be piled high with unsold rails. How long can Old Morgan's money help them fire their blast furnaces!"
Timmy recorded it quickly in his notebook.
"What about the military industry? Boss. If Colt and Winchester lobby in Washington, Pioneer Military Industry's orders from the Department of the Army might be in trouble. Washington politicians, for the sake of electoral balance, might very well split the orders with them."
"Politicians?"
A trace of disdain flashed in Felix's eyes.
"Those vampires in Washington don't care about electoral balance. They only care about who stuffs more dollars into their pockets."
"Notify Anna and have her take action in Washington immediately."
Felix mentioned Anna, who had been active in the political center.
"Have Anna contact the quartermasters of the Department of the Army and the chairman of the Congressional Military Committee. Tell them that Pioneer Military Industry's political contributions will double next year. Not only that, we will add three thousand jobs at our factories in their districts."
"I want Congress to pass a special 'Army Firearm Standardization Procurement Act.' Add extremely harsh tolerance standards and rifling requirements to the Bill. Formulate it entirely according to the production line parameters of Pioneer Military Industry right now, and lock the standards directly."
Felix bit on his cigar.
"Colt and Winchester taking European loans to buy new lathes? By the time their lathes arrive and they produce their first batch of rifles, they will find that their guns don't meet the new procurement standards issued by Congress at all. They won't even have the qualifications to bid."
"If the weapons can't be sold, those low-interest loans they borrowed will turn into life-threatening shares. I want to ensure that not only do they fail to get revenge, but they also completely lose their family names in the process."
"It just depends on whether they are truly the new Old Morgan."
In the study.
As each of Felix's instructions was issued.
An unprecedented commercial counter-encirclement tactic had taken shape.
There was no squabbling in court or gentle negotiations.
It was all naked capital crushing, utilizing absolute scale, supply chain blockades, and political rent-seeking.
The web Old Morgan had laid in London was being cut to pieces, segment by segment, by Felix using even cruder iron pliers.
Timmy closed his notebook, feeling his palms sweating.
He seemed to see the countless factories on the land of America about to close down in the next few months, and the businessmen going bankrupt and jumping off buildings.
"Instructions all recorded, boss. I'll send them to the managers via the dedicated line tonight." Timmy straightened his body.
Felix finished smoking the last bit of his cigar.
He stood up and walked to the very center of the study.
He stared blankly at the massive oil painting of the North American continent hanging on the wall.
His chest rose and fell slightly.
The rage suppressed in the bottom of his heart had now completely transformed into a fighting spirit to destroy everything.
He thought of that stubborn old man in London sitting in front of the fireplace issuing orders.
He also recalled the corpse of the younger Morgan, which had long since turned into white bones.
Felix turned around abruptly.
His eyes revealed a kind of arrogant and cold-blooded aura of ruling the world.
"Old Morgan thinks that just because there's an Atlantic Ocean between us, he can bury me alive in America with pounds Sterling."
Felix's fist slammed heavily onto the desk.
"Since that's the case, then let's fight!"
Timmy had already left, leaving only Edward Frost in the study.
"Boss. Since Old Morgan wants a war of attrition, our current cash flow is more than enough to support Lex Steel and Pioneer Military Industry in implementing counter-price cuts."
"In fact, as long as we squeeze the profit margins, those bankrupt enterprises they are propping up won't be able to seize any market share, even if they get the British money."
Felix turned around and sat down in the leather chair behind the desk.
"But defense never wins a war, Edward. Even if we block them with price cuts, Old Morgan still has millions of pounds sitting in Philadelphia. That money is a ticking time bomb as long as it stays there."
Felix pulled a cigar from the box again and sniffed it at the tip of his nose, but did not light it.
"Since he's willing to send money to America to invest in those assets, let's give him a hand and double his investment costs."
Felix threw the cigar back into the box.
"Send a telegram to Pittsburgh later to contact Tom Hayes. He should still be at the Braddock Steel Works settling accounts with Carnegie."
"You want to use the funds of the Patriot Investment Company?" Frost looked up, beginning to understand.
"Exactly."
A flash of cunning crossed Felix's eyes.
"Didn't Old Morgan have Cavendish send people to contact Ohio Valley Steel and Susquehanna Iron Works? Doesn't he want to inject capital into Colt and Winchester? He wants to pick up bargains in the shadows and recruit them at the lowest cost. There's no such thing as a free lunch; I won't let him have his way."
"Have Hayes, in his capacity as President of the Patriot Investment Company, immediately organize four professional M&A teams. Have them take credit vouchers issued by the Imperial Bank and catch the night train to Ohio, Hartford, and New Haven."
"Find the owners of those factories. Whatever price Cavendish's people offer, Hayes's team will simply add fifty percent to that figure. Bid against the British face-to-face."
Frost had an 'as expected' look on his face.
"But Boss, if we offer a high price and Cavendish's people don't follow, the owners of those bankrupt steel mills and outdated munitions factories will definitely sell to us. But what do we do with those assets? Lex Steel's current capacity is already massive."
"So what?"
Felix gave a breezy laugh.
"It's only enough for now, Edward. Even if we acquire them, there's no great harm."
"And do you think Cavendish will give up easily? Knowing Old Morgan's character, he'll definitely give him a death order. So he must take those factories to form an alliance against me. When we raise the acquisition price by fifty percent, Cavendish will have no choice but to bite the bullet and keep raising the bid."
"The main task of Hayes's people isn't to buy factories; it's to act as shills at an auction. They need to drive up the price of those scraps of iron to a suitable level. It would be best to force Cavendish to buy those factories at double or even triple the price."
Felix's calculation was extremely shrewd.
If they bought them, it would increase production; if they didn't, it would obstruct the opponent.
"If Cavendish admits defeat and doesn't follow, it doesn't matter. We'll buy them, dismantle the blast furnaces and lathes, and ship them back to Pittsburgh to increase Carnegie Steel's leverage. It'll supplement Lex's scrap capacity and temporarily sever Old Morgan's foothold in America."
"This is what you call a win-win. Either swallow his pieces or bleed him dry."
After hearing this, Frost couldn't help but marvel.
This was the highest level of play.
You think the opponent wants to buy, but they actually just want you to keep bleeding.
"I understand, Boss. What about the Sterling Chemical Brotherhood in Boston and Apothecary United Pharmaceuticals in New Jersey? Didn't Cavendish also send people to give them money? Should Hayes also send bidding teams to intercept them?"
Frost prepared to continue his notes.
"No, don't worry about the pharmaceuticals."
Felix raised his hand, stopping Frost.
"Why? They are also a direct threat to Umbrella."
Frost was a bit puzzled.
Felix recalled Catherine's extremely protective and angry look in the study earlier, and a smile couldn't help but curl at the corners of his mouth.
"Because the president of Umbrella is Catherine. Those two pharmaceutical companies stole her formulas and want to use price cuts to take away her livelihood. Her anger is even greater than mine right now."
Felix leaned back in his chair.
"Old Morgan sending money to those two pharmaceutical companies is actually sending them a death warrant. The pharmaceutical industry is different from steel; without raw materials, even ten million won't conjure up medicine. Catherine will definitely sweep up all the coal tar and cinchona bark on the futures market these few days."
"That's her hunting ground; let her enjoy the pleasure of strangling her competitors herself. If I interfere, she'll feel dissatisfied instead. I have to ensure my partner's mood remains pleasant, don't I?"
Frost nodded understandingly.
"I'll go send an encrypted telegram to Hayes immediately and have him select M&A specialists overnight."
"Go on. Tell Hayes not to be soft with the money. As long as he can make the British shell out one more dollar, he's done a good job."
...
Night in Pittsburgh, Braddock Steel Works.
In the office.
Tom Hayes was checking the accounts for the past half-month with Andrew Carnegie.
"All the liquidated damages have been paid in full, Hayes."
Carnegie pushed the thick ledger to the middle of the table.
"Starting tomorrow, all blast furnaces will switch to producing standard structural steel at Lex Steel's market price. Finally, no more bleeding."
Just as Hayes was about to speak, there was a knock on the office door.
"Come in."
A confidential clerk from the Patriot Investment Company walked in, holding a telegram that had just been decoded.
"Mr. President, a top-priority urgent telegram from the New York headquarters. It's an instruction issued by the Boss himself."
Hayes immediately took the telegram.
He was a bit curious; wasn't today Master Finn's birthday?
Why would an urgent telegram be sent?
He scanned the contents of the paper quickly.
On his originally calm face, an irrepressible excitement slowly emerged.
This was the expression of a bloodthirsty capitalist seeing his prey.
"What happened?" Carnegie looked at Hayes.
"Is Mr. Argyle changing his mind again?"
"Not changing his mind, Andrew."
Hayes slapped the telegram on the table.
"Old Morgan's people went to Ohio Valley and Susquehanna. You should know who they are. He wants to continue the same tactic he used when investing in you—using funds to support others to fight a price war."
Carnegie froze for a moment, then became furious.
"Those Brits haven't given up yet? The equipment in those two factories is even more dilapidated than ours. Is Old Morgan blind?"
"He's certainly not blind; he just needs cannon fodder."
Hayes stood up and grabbed his coat from the chair.
"Andrew, you keep an eye on the production here in Pittsburgh. I have to get to work."
"What work?"
Hayes walked to the door and looked back with a grin.
"To make the British bleed, of course. The Boss gave me the authorization to bid. I'll make Cavendish understand that buying junk on American soil requires paying a heavy tax."
Vienna, Austro-Hungarian Empire.
The wind swirled fallen leaves across the empty streets outside the Hofburg Palace.
The sky was so gloomy it felt as though it might collapse at any moment.
In a luxurious but slightly aged mansion in this capital of classical music, the former heir to the French throne, Louis Philippe Albert, Count of Paris, stood by the window of his study.
He held a glass of red wine in his hand, but he hadn't taken a single sip.
He simply stared fixedly at the grey sky outside, his eyes filled with an irrepressible anxiety and the panic of being chased by time.
As a servant opened the door,
his uncle, Duke Antoine, was led inside.
However, Antoine's complexion was poor, and a deep exhaustion lingered in his eyes.
"Philip, I just returned from the salon."
Antoine walked to the fireplace and held out his hands to the fire, trying to dispel the chill that had seeped into his bones.
"What did those Austrian bankers say?"
Philip asked in a dry voice, without turning around.
Antoine shook his head with a bitter smile.
"Excuses, all of them. The Vienna branch of the Rothschild Family refused our loan extension for the next quarter. They say Prussia's industrial expansion is siphoning off a massive amount of liquidity. No one is willing to throw money into the political quagmire of France."
Antoine turned around and looked at his nephew.
"Furthermore, this morning's 'Vienna Daily' reported it. Bismarck announced a massive national telegraph network and railway upgrade plan in Berlin. Although the newspaper didn't name the supplier, I know it must be Argyle's handiwork."
"The Germans are using French reparations to arm their own country."
Antoine's tone was tinged with deep despair.
"Philip, we don't have much time left. If Bismarck's industrial machine starts running at full capacity, even if the Thiers Government falls and the Bourbon Family returns to Paris, they will be taking over a vassal state at the mercy of others."
Philip turned around abruptly.
The wine glass in his hand was nearly crushed.
"I know time is short; I know our current situation better than you do!"
Philip suppressed his anger and strode to the desk.
He stared intently at Antoine.
"What about Isabella? It's been nearly a week since that highest-level authorized telegram was sent. Does she not even have the courage to find an opportunity to have a showdown with that American upstart?"
Antoine avoided his nephew's gaze and walked over to sit on a nearby sofa.
Although he was displeased with his nephew, Bella was already involved, and he didn't want anything to go wrong.
"Gaston hasn't sent back any substantive progress."
Antoine sighed.
"He only said Isabella is still looking for the right timing. Philip, you must understand that oligarchs who hold the power of life and death aren't easily moved by a few promises. If Bella is too impatient and exposes her identity, it might have a negative effect."
"Looking for an opportunity? When does she want to wait until? Until the factories in Berlin have finished building their cannons?"
Philip slammed his fist onto the desk.
He could not understand his cousin's delay.
After all, when they were in Vienna, his cousin had believed his words implicitly; how could she not even handle this small matter?
Moreover, in his view, the Bourbon Family had already shown the utmost sincerity.
National concessions across France, collateral from the Bank of France, and even a hereditary title of Count.
With conditions sufficient to drive any upstart mad, what reason would Argyle have to refuse?
"Uncle, you are too indulgent with her."
Philip's expression became extremely ugly.
"Has she become too comfortable in that New York villa? Has she forgotten that the blood of the Bourbon Family flows in her veins? Has she forgotten that her father and brother are still living in exile in Vienna, dependent on the whims of others?"
Antoine snapped his head up, glaring at Philip.
"Watch your words, Philip. She went to climb into that American's bed for the sake of your throne. You are the person least qualified to criticize her!"
"I am reminding her to face reality!" Philip shot back without backing down.
"On the chessboard of politics, there are no comfortable seats. There is only life and death."
"We cannot wait for her so-called 'right timing' anymore. The situation worsens every day; we must give her a push."
Philip walked behind the desk and looked at the silent servant nearby.
"Coste, take this down. Send a telegram directly to Gaston in a moment. Have him read it to Isabella verbatim."
"Tell Isabella that Germany's industrial expansion has begun. The window for the restoration of France only has a few months left; this is the final moment for the survival of the Bourbon Family."
"Tell her not to worry about Argyle's defensiveness anymore. Use every means to have a showdown with him immediately. Lay the national concessions and the collateral for the Bank of France on his desk. Tell him this is a rare opportunity to become a European aristocrat."
"Most importantly, tell Isabella..."
Philip paused here.
He looked up at the bitter-faced Antoine.
"As long as she secures Argyle, as long as the first installment of funds arrives, she will be the greatest hero of the Bourbon Dynasty's restoration. French history will forever remember her contribution. Her name will be carved into the stones of the Panthéon, just like Joan of Arc."
Antoine listened to these grand but hollow promises without much reaction.
He only felt a churning in his stomach.
"These are all empty checks, Philip." Antoine stood up.
"You have no idea what she has actually experienced in America, yet you use this 'greater good' to kidnap her. You will drive her mad."
"If she doesn't get the money soon, it won't be long before we all die in Vienna."
Having said that, he looked at the servant, Coste.
"Go to the communication station and send it via the encrypted channel. This is not just my command; it is the will of all the exiles of the Bourbon Family."
Antoine looked at that thin slip of paper, feeling it was heavier than lead.
He did not argue further.
Because it was meaningless.
In the face of the temptation of royal power, family affection had long since been squeezed of its last drop of moisture.
Antoine walked out of the study with staggering steps.
Philip remained alone in the study.
He picked up the untouched glass of red wine and drained it in one gulp.
The crimson liquid flowed down his throat, looking very much like the blood that was about to flow in France's future.
"You must succeed, Isabella."
Philip looked at the dark clouds outside the window and murmured in a low voice.
"We already have nothing left."