The grand glass dome of the Palais du Commerce in Havre had seen thirty years of private backroom deals, speculative trading, and high-stakes financial leverage.
Tonight, under the blinding white light of dozens of newly installed arc lamps, it held six hundred men and women—delegates from union locals, railway brotherhoods, shipping guilds, and reformed municipal councils from every major port between London and Yokohama.
Outside, a light cold rain fell over the harbor, reflecting the red and green navigation lights of the Vanguard, which sat anchored at the main quay like a silent sentinel of steel and steam.
Inside, the noise was deafening.
A clump of thirty former mercantile officers and displaced syndicate bankers held the high marble dais, led by Lord Reginald Croft—a former senior director of the Anglo-Far East Line. Croft's dark frock coat was immaculate, but his face was pale, his hands shaking as he banged a silver gavel against the marble podium.
