Free The Titanic Plan by Michael Bockman, Ron Freeman Page A

moment, just before the final ascent, the path opened and revealed the chateau of Biltmore in all its glory, perched on a hill with a backdrop only God (or Olmstead) could have devised. Little brother George had out-Vanderbilted all the Vanderbilts. They stood in awe as George greeted them with an understated “Merry Christmas,” all the while watching their stunned reactions with a subdued delight.
     
    13 years later George sat alone in Biltmore’s 20,000-book library staring at a portrait of his grandfather, Cornelius Vanderbilt, the founder of the Vanderbilt dynasty. Within the family the first Cornelius Vanderbilt was simply known as “The Commodore.” Unlike most of his offspring, he was a handsome man. The portrait showed The Commodore in his later years, with white hair and huge white muttonchops, sitting in a formal dress coat with a high collared white shirt and a silk tie knotted at his neck. He looked calm, benevolent and wise. In fact, he was none of these things. Cornelius Vanderbilt was a foul-tempered, mean, vulgar, son-of-a-bitch who cared about one thing and one thing only: money. His last words to his family as he lay dying were “Keep the money together, hey.”
    George knew his grandfather would probably hate him. The Commodore had a reputation for viciously demeaning his children. Yet George often glared up at that portrait of the wise looking man and silently asked his grandfather for guidance. In this case, it was about Astor’s proposal. Despite what he told Astor, he thought the idea was absolutely cracked. Vanderbilt faced overwhelming obstacles in building one great house. He knew that to build cities from scratch, even if they started small, was near impossible.
    And yet greatness often begins with a foundation of the impossible . He looked up at his grandfather again. Cornelius Vanderbilt was an illiterate farm boy who started building his fortune by ferrying people from Staten Island to Manhattan. He did the impossible by acquiring steamboats when everyone said it was folly. And then George looked around. Twenty years ago, the very spot he sat was a muddy marsh in the middle of a forest. And now it was the grandest home in America.
    The one thought he tried to avoid, the secret no one else knew, was that building America’s grandest home had practically bankrupted him. He had sunk so much money into the mansion that his funds were almost drained. While he kept up an elegant façade, his world was crumbling. The reason to get involved with Astor was not to achieve greatness; that was Biltmore . The reason to join Astor was to save him from going completely broke.
     
     

CHAPTER 9
     
    I t had been almost a year since Archie visited Charles Bonaparte and Stanley Finch at the Department of Justice. The earnest young agent Finch had maneuvered himself into the top position of the nation’s newly created intelligence agency, the Bureau of Investigation.
    “ Hello, Captain,” Finch said crisply as Archie entered the office. When they shook hands, Archie was reminded of Finch’s cold, bony grip.
    “ A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Finch,” Archie said.
    “ My new title is Director. Director of the Bureau of Investigation”
    “ Congratulations are in order then, Director.”
    “ Have a seat, Captain. I have a few questions I must ask you.”
    Archie sat. “So, how can I help you, sir?”
    Finch remained silent. The fingers on his right hand tapped his desktop in a rhythmic roll, his fingernails clicking rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat . “You might start by coming clean with me.”
    Archie was taken aback by Finch’s abruptness. “Of course, Mr. Finch.”
    “ Director Finch. If I refer to you by your rank, Captain, I would like the respect of being referred to by my rank. ” Finch crossed his office to a large wooden filing cabinet that stood against the far wall. He pulled an outsized key ring from his pocket and began exhaustively shuffling through the keys until he found the