The afternoon of January 17, a weary Paul entered through the front door of 3 Broad Street. He had been fortified with three cups of coffee to defend against his two hours of sleep. There was a caffeinated twitch in his fingers as he marched to Morgan’s private office. There was no longer any need for subterfuge; if Edison found out, it was far too late for him to do anything about it.
Paul had come to Morgan’s office to preside over the final signing of the contracts. It was not a crowded room. Only Westinghouse, Morgan, and a few of Morgan’s attorneys were present for the end of the current war. Westinghouse and Morgan were both wealthy enough to assume a comfortable familiarity with each other, despite having only met on brief occasions over the years. Neither had ever been the object of the other’s animosity. Now they were partners.
The tall windows let in light from Wall Street, while on Morgan’s great maple desk lay a single unlit electric lamp. It was a generation behind the present technology. It had been the first indoor electric lamp commercially sold in America. Not just this model, but this exact lamp. When Thomas Edison had finally finished his first working device, all those years ago, he’d sold the thing to Morgan. At a price that he alone could afford. And now it rested here, an unused symbol of a well-known history.
Morgan’s office housed many other treasures, from Old Kingdom Egypt to ancient Mesopotamia. The world’s first light bulb was but the latest addition to a few millennia’s worth of riches.
Morgan signed his name. Charles Coffin’s signature had been affixed in Massachusetts at dawn. And the war was over.
“Congratulations,” said Morgan to the room. Westinghouse stepped back from the desk hesitantly, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. There was a dissociative discrepancy between the magnitude of the event and the smallness of the moment. Every man present knew its importance, knew that what they had done would reverberate for generations. And yet here they were, a few men of middle age—and one much younger—standing silently in a smoky office. Gabriel’s trumpet went unblown.
Westinghouse turned to Paul, his thumbs tucked into his vest pockets. He nodded solemnly. “You did it” was all that he said, but in his eyes a great deal more was communicated. Paul nodded back. There was so much that could be said, too much. And so nothing would be.
“We did it, sir.”
Paul felt a strange sensation: He wished that his father were there. Erastus would never understand what Paul had just done. But he hoped that somehow his father would still be proud.
With an unexpected creak, the office door opened.
The man who stood in Morgan’s doorway was tall. His gray hair was strewn haphazardly around his scalp. He wore a suit and vest but no tie. The top few buttons of his white cotton shirt were loose and his gray vest was askew. On his haggard chin was stubble. His face was ashen.
It was Thomas Edison.
I think if we ever reach the point where we think we thoroughly understand who we are and where we come from, we will have failed.
—CARL SAGAN
EDISON’S LIPS QUIVERED as he looked across the room at the men who had just taken his company out from underneath him.
“Thomas,” said Morgan, seizing authority, “I hope you’re not here to make a scene.” He came around from behind his desk as if to create a barricade between Edison and the newly signed contracts. But Edison paid no mind to the paperwork. He devoted the weight of his ruined stare to the men who’d done the deed.
“So it’s true,” he said.
“It’s business,” replied Morgan. “I’m sorry to be the one to remind you that it always was.”
Paul braced himself for Edison’s uncontainable ferocity. He looked instinctively behind Edison’s shoulder for the sight of Charles Batchelor with a firearm. But the office door revealed only a placid office outside.
To Paul’s great surprise, no well of rage burst forth from Edison. There was no anger in his face, no muscular tension in his posture. Instead, he appeared deflated. He looked as if he were held up only by some thin rod running through the center of his body. He’d been beaten, and he knew it.
“Please,” Edison said quietly, “just tell me the part about the name isn’t true.”
It took Paul a moment to figure out what Edison was referring to.
“Blame Coffin for that,” answered Morgan. “He was the one who wanted your name off the thing.”
“You took my name off the company I built from nothing.”
“Charles Coffin took your name off the company I own.”
“It is my name.” He stepped toward Morgan as his plea became more direct. “I’ll make you a deal for anything I have left. But please. Don’t take away my name.”
Edison was about to lose unfathomable millions of dollars, and the part that tortured him was that Edison General Electric would now be plain old General Electric?
“I’m sorry, Thomas,” said Morgan. “You have nothing else that I want.”
“George,” said Edison, turning to address his enemy as his peer. “You understand this. These men”—he gestured to Morgan and the lawyers—“they don’t. They’ve never built anything. They’ve never bent down and with their own two hands molded something that did not exist before. Something that no one even believed could exist before. Tell them to leave my name in place. Our war? You win. Do you hear me? I will say publicly that you win.” He bowed his head formally, the salutation of a losing general to a victorious one. “The country can run on A/C. You want everyone to know that your devices are better? So be it. Maybe they are. But do not let them say that mine did not exist.”
Westinghouse’s expression was sympathetic.
“They won’t, Thomas,” he said. “General Electric is not going away. It’s going to grow. If anything, this will burnish your legacy, not banish it. Everyone will know it was yours. I promise you.”
Paul was horrified. Edison deserved many things, but sympathy was not among them. This was the man who’d hurt them both so much.
“I hope they forget about you by the morning,” said Paul. A bitterness had been festering inside him for two years, and now at last it could be released. “You lied. You cheated. You stole. You spied. You tried to kill Tesla. You almost killed me. You bought off the police. You bribed a state legislature. You paid off a judge. You promoted a horrific instrument of death in an attempt to convince the public of something that was not true. You would knowingly install an electrical system across the cities of the United States that would kill thousands per year. And those are just the crimes I know about. You deserve a punishment far worse than this.”
The room was silent as Paul finished. He’d given everything to beat Edison. He’d committed his own sins to prove that Edison’s had been greater. He’d pushed away the one person he’d grown to love. Now he had only his anger.
It felt good.
“Paul,” cautioned Westinghouse, “enough.”
“I’ve done things that I should not have,” said Edison. “I won’t deny it. But not everything you’ve accused me of is true.”
Paul wanted to rebut this, but Westinghouse interrupted:
“I’m sorry, Thomas. But you won’t be forgotten. Your name will live on. I give you my word.”
To Paul’s great shock, both men reached out and clasped hands.
“Thank you, George. And for what I’ve done I’m sorry as well.”
“You can start again. Like the old days—just you, a hot iron, and a dusty laboratory.”
Edison gave a tight, rueful laugh. “My God. I can’t even remember.”
“It’s not as if you’ll be a pauper,” said Morgan. “You can hire a staff. You’ll own stock worth a hair over two million dollars.”
At this, Edison shrugged. He turned back to Westinghouse and they exchanged a look.
“Businessmen,” said Edison. It was Westinghouse’s turn to laugh.
With that, Edison turned to go. There were no goodbyes, no acknowledgment that this might very well be the last time he would see any of these men again. However tired Paul felt, Edison looked twice that. He slunk out of the room.
Westinghouse shut the door and the room was quiet. The victors were left alone to their silent spoils.
After a few moments, Paul was the first to speak.
“I don’t understand. How could you apologize to him? After everything he’s done.”