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“Yes, I’ve heard that as well,” Brown said. He seemed to relax after hearing that Edison had not brought him here for a reprimand, but he kept respectfully silent.

Edison continued: “Harold, as you know, the legislature passed an electric execution law. In the same session, they set up a committee to decide between using direct current or alternating current. My friends have gotten Dr. Peterson appointed as chair of the committee. I presume you’ve heard.”

“Yes. It shouldn’t take too much of Dr. Peterson’s time. We can continue our research.”

“Good. We need more newspaper articles to get our legislators off their duffs. First, we mold public opinion, then we use government power to squash Westinghouse and Tesla.”

“It will be my pleasure,” Brown responded.

“Yes, I believe it will.” Edison made a backward wave with his hand. “You may go. I’m sure you have important duties awaiting your attention.”

After Brown left, Edison fingered another paper he kept on the top of his desk. It was a letter from Westinghouse. Edison had taken the letter as a sign of weakness and had, of course, immediately rejected his rival’s feeble peace proposal. Westinghouse is crumbling , Edison thought. Now it was time to send him back to the simple world of railcars.

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

New Year’s Day, 1889

“The New York electrocution law goes into effect today,” Tesla said.

George Westinghouse frowned. “Not the best start of a new year, but we’re winning in the marketplace.”

“That is not enough,” Tesla countered.

“It is. Edison’s costs are high. City property is expensive. I build my generators on cheap land. Copper alone may bring him down.” Westinghouse paced his spacious office, speaking hurriedly as he walked. “That’s why he’s attacking me on safety. He needs a nonfinancial reason for cities to reject alternating current.”

Tesla remained still, watching Westinghouse wear a pattern in his Persian rug. “Copper prices will drop,” he said. “Probably soon.”

Westinghouse quit pacing. “Why do you say that?”

“The French cornered production channels, but they forgot about scrap. Every boy over six is scavenging copper. The consortium will fail and copper prices will collapse. Don’t count on that advantage lasting. You must defend alternating current against these safety attacks.”

“I wrote an article that was published in the New York papers doing exactly that,” Westinghouse replied.

“You defended Westinghouse Electric, you did not attack Edison.”

“I’ll attack in my next bid.”

“Sir, you must refute Edison’s claims or you’ll be branded a killer. Harold Brown and Dr. Peterson have the commission to design an electric chair under their thumb. You know what they will do.”

Westinghouse resumed pacing. He knew that Brown and Edison were up to no good when he had received a request from New York State to buy three Westinghouse alternating-current dynamos. He refused, but Brown—determined to execute someone with a Westinghouse dynamo—deceptively bought the generators through a third company that was in merger talks with Edison Electric.

Westinghouse knew he could handle the public indignity, but Edison’s minions were now working state legislatures all over the country. If they succeeded in restricting or limiting alternating current, Westinghouse Electric was doomed. He hated politicians, especially crooked or stupid ones, and he believed there were very few who didn’t fall into one of those two categories.

“I have my own plan, Nikola.”

“May I ask what it is?”

“I’m going to illuminate the World’s Fair.”

“Mr. Westinghouse—” Tesla was at a temporary loss for words. Finally, he sputtered, “Sir, that is four years away! It will be much too late.”

Westinghouse’s pace quickened. “Only three years until the contract is awarded. And it won’t be too late if I follow your advice. We’ll challenge Edison on safety. There’ll be many skirmishes during the next three years, but the deciding battle will be the World’s Fair. That is where we will establish alternating current as the way of the future.”

Westinghouse stopped directly in front of Tesla. “In the meantime, I’ve hired a lawyer with enough clout to bury the legislation in committees.”

New York City

July 1889

Thomas Edison scooted his chair closer to W. Bourke Cockran. He was infuriated, but he had to put on a good face.

“Would you please repeat the question?” Edison spoke loudly as he played with an unlit half-smoked cigar. “My hearing is not what it used to be.”

Cockran nearly yelled the question. “In your judgment, can alternating electric current be generated and applied in such a way to produce death in a human being in every case?”

“Yes!” he shouted back.

“Instantly?”

“Yes.”

Edison was pleased to see frustration on Cockran’s face even as he worked to keep his own expression blank. Cockran was a formidable foe. A former New York congressman and kingpin in the Tammany organization, he was now a powerful attorney with one of the most prestigious lists of clients in the city. Westinghouse had secretly hired Cockran to appeal William Kemmler’s death sentence by electricity. Unless someone intervened, Kemmler was going to be the first condemned man to die this way.

More than a dozen journalists were crammed into Cockran’s grand office in the Equitable Building, all there to report on an appeal that would determine if electrocution violated the constitutional restriction on “cruel and unusual punishment.” The hearing had been going on for nearly a week and Edison was losing. Cockran had called a string of witnesses who had survived accidental electric shocks or lightning strikes. Academics and government researchers had testified that Kemmler might be set on fire instead of killed instantly. And he’d even called Dash, a dog who had survived contact with a dangling Western Union line, as a witness.

Harold Brown convinced Edison that he needed to testify to turn the momentum around. But Cockran, Edison knew, would not go down easy; Westinghouse had done well to make him the public face defending alternating current.

“What is your relationship with Mr. Harold Brown?” Cockran asked Edison.

“He’s an independent engineer. I allow him to use my laboratories. I let many researchers use my labs. They’re the best in the world.”

“He is not in your employ?”

“No.”

Cockran looked amused. He leaned forward and struck a match to light Edison’s cigar. Edison took two healthy puffs and eyed Cockran quizzically.

“You’re excused,” Cockran said.

Edison stood to the screech of chairs all over the room, the reporters eager to follow him out. Since he hadn’t made a public appearance in the last eighteen months, he knew that he was the news, not this hearing.

Edison was pleased with himself. Cockran had tried numerous tactics to rattle him, but Edison either pretended not to hear or gave single-word answers. He didn’t dissimulate, volunteer extraneous information, or show any doubt in his answers.

Cockran controlled the questions, but Edison knew that was far less powerful than controlling the answers. If that’s all you’ve got, George , Edison thought to himself, then this is going to all be over faster than I thought .

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

February 1890

A loud noise at the door drew Westinghouse’s attention away from his work. Ernest Heinrichs stood at his door.

“Have you read this?” Heinrichs asked, still trying to catch his breath. Westinghouse had recently hired Heinrichs, a journalist, to write articles that presented the viewpoint of the Westinghouse Electric Company. He motioned for him to take a seat.