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### Chapter 2. The Only Thing I Own Is a House, But It’s Worth $600,000
In the early twentieth century, America’s wealthy industrialists were said to have been extremely fond of European-style architecture.
“But selling this precious house? That’s madness!”
The hooked-nose lawyer, Selby Junior, practically screamed.
When he had first informed me about everything, he had seemed like an extremely cold and expressionless lawyer.
But while looking around the house, he was actually quite passionate.
Of course, that was because he did not want me to sell it.
But this house was far too unnecessarily large for me to live in alone.
“Hey, Selby.”
“Please call me Mr. Pierce! No matter how much you are my employer’s son, you should still show some manners. A gentleman!”
“A gentleman, my ass. Isn’t that something only the British care about? Anyway, Selby, how much would it cost to maintain this house?”
Selby, who had been following me around and practically bouncing from room to room, suddenly stopped.
“Well, let me see. It would probably cost around ten thousand dollars a year.”
“If ten thousand dollars is the amount at this point in time, what can you do with it? No, how much do you earn?”
“My salary? Well, people usually get paid weekly. Anyway, if we are talking about one month’s living expenses, around 123 dollars would be considered normal.”
I whistled.
“A lawyer lives on 123 dollars? Things are really cheap!”
Or was the value of one dollar simply extremely high during this era?
In other words, the average monthly living expenses for the middle class were around 120 dollars.
Of course, Selby immediately jumped.
“I didn’t say that I earn 123 dollars! I earn more than that! Of course, if I hadn’t gone down with your family when the Gould family collapsed, I would have been a thousand-dollar-a-month lawyer!”
So Selby was essentially the Gould family’s household lawyer.
If the Gould family were still a family of extremely wealthy people, he might have been managing the family’s businesses and living quite comfortably.
However, after George Gould ruined the business during the Panic of 1907, the Pierce family went down with them.
Afterward, although he managed to obtain work as a lawyer, it seemed there was hardly anything else for him to do.
From my perspective, though, that was fortunate.
I did not know anything about this era with any real precision.
It seemed the household staff had been taking care of my life until now, but perhaps because Howard had cut off the money, they had all left.
But I had a lawyer here, didn’t I?
Of course, he had originally come to get me to sign away my inheritance.
I chuckled and asked,
“Anyway, given my situation, is there any way I could earn ten thousand dollars a year? Do I have a degree, by any chance?”
“Uh, well, you haven’t even entered college yet. You’ve only ever been homeschooled.”
“What about getting into college through a donation?”
Selby suddenly became serious.
“The Gould family has never made any donations anywhere. Besides, their reputation isn’t, well, exactly the best. So probably not.”
Right, the American college admissions system.
For wealthy people, there was the possibility of gaining admission through donations.
You made a large donation and obtained a degree.
But even that required the family to have a respectable reputation.
If you were Morgan, Rockefeller, or DuPont, perhaps it would work.
But the grandson of Jay Gould, a man who made money by any means necessary?
Even I would reject the application.
“So, a robber, huh?”
“No, that is an insult to your grandfather! Everyone did it back then! Business isn’t something angels do!”
“Forget it. So, this is my choice.”
I spread both arms, making a gesture as if embracing the enormous fortress, no, a house that was practically a fortress.
“Sell it. There must be plenty of wealthy people who want this house, right? A Tudor-style house! It’s perfect for wealthy people with British aristocratic tastes! Just like our nouveau riche father!”
This house really was a fortress.
Tudor style?
That was the name of a British royal dynasty.
It was a magnificent mansion built in the style of the palaces of the British royal family during the sixteenth-century Renaissance.
It was the very embodiment of American nouveau riche taste.
But it was 1927.
Right before the Great Depression, during an enormous boom, there were countless wealthy people who did not know what to do with all the money they had.
There had to be someone willing to buy a European royal-style fortress mansion that perfectly suited the tastes of those wealthy people.
“There is one person who genuinely wants it.”
“As expected, there is. Who?”
“Daniel Guggenheim.”
Selby clenched his lips tightly before answering.
“He was the king of the mining industry. Back in the day.”
Apparently, he really did think the house was a shame to sell.
---
Then again, even in twenty-first-century Korea, people say you should never sell a house in Gangnam.
“Ten years! It was exactly ten years ago that I first wanted this house. My goodness, and only now has it finally come into my hands!”
And this was Long Island.
One of the most prime locations in New York, where real estate prices would eventually soar to astronomical levels.
Naturally, that would happen before the Great Depression and again after the recovery.
America was in an era of extremely rapid growth, with annual growth reaching nine percent.
A wealthy man known as the Mining King walked around the Tudor-style mansion.
Guggenheim?
I did not actually know him because of his reputation as the Mining King or anything like that.
There was another, much more famous name.
The Guggenheim Museum.
A famous New York landmark known as a mecca for modern art.
He did not establish it himself, though.
I flattered the elderly man who was inspecting the house with his secretary, leaning on a cane.
“Looks like you’ve finally found a proper owner. Mr. Guggenheim. Isn’t this a place fit for a king?”
“You mean it’s old, you brat!”
“What?”
The old man, Daniel Guggenheim, growled while waving his cane at me.
“Look at this. These decorations, this floor, this wallpaper! Back then, it was maintained so well that it looked brand-new, but look at it now! Ha, it’s grown old just like me! Oh, Tudor mansion!”
Daniel Guggenheim, born in 1856, seventy-one years old.
Commonly known as the Mining King.
He was the man who competed with the Rockefeller family and eventually carried out a hostile takeover of the mining company ASARCO.
He had dealt with everything from tin, copper, and gold to diamonds.
At one point, he had even controlled the entire Alaskan mining industry.
And now?
Because of internal conflicts within the family and the ASARCO embezzlement scandal, he had effectively been forced into retirement.
Even so, his total assets were estimated to be at least 300 million dollars, making him an enormously wealthy man.
Do you know how much the Gould family had at the height of its success?
Only 80 million dollars.
I stared at Daniel and smiled.
“Mr. Guggenheim, even so, the essence of this house remains unchanged.”
“What essence? It’s nothing but an ostentatious house built at great expense by the Gould family’s spoiled brat!”
“The only house of its kind in Long Island. A million-dollar mansion built in the Tudor style.”
Suddenly, I swept my hand around the entire house and exclaimed,
“Is there a house with a better location, more history, and a greater ability to make its owner look like a [King] than this one? As the mansion of the King of Mines, Daniel Guggenheim!”
Why was I so confident?
The reason was simple.
Daniel Guggenheim would have bought this house originally anyway.
Because this was the famous New York tourist attraction known as [Hempstead House].
And the original owner of this house was the Guggenheim family.
Before them, it had belonged to the Gould family.
Daniel, the Mining King of the Guggenheim family, twitched his eyebrows.
“Huh, you certainly know how to talk. You sound just like your father.”
“What? Uh, you know my father?”
“Hmph. Of course I do. That’s why I wanted to buy this house. But I refused because you were here at the time.”
Daniel stared intently at me and said,
“Even while calling you the bastard child of an affair, he never completely abandoned you. Your father is a strange man. Truly.”
Howard Gould, the fourth son of Jay Gould.
Like any rich man’s son, he had spent time with actresses and served as a director of financial companies by using his family name before fleeing to Europe ten years ago.
That was after filing for divorce from his wife.
At the time, he had even claimed that his wife had been unfaithful.
The problem was that his wife, my mother in this life, the actress Katherine Clemons, was pregnant.
Furthermore, her alleged affair was not accepted by the court.
So Howard fled to Europe, my mother left the house, and apparently I had lived alone ever since.
I smiled.
“Anyway, if you acquire this mansion, you’ll receive attention again.”
“Attention. Do you even know what situation I’m in?”
“ASARCO, the company you took from Rockefeller, the place that was your fortress. America’s largest smelting company. After losing it, you are effectively retired.”
Daniel’s expression hardened again, but I did not stop.
“You want it back, don’t you? Everything that was taken from you.”
The retired Mining King looked at me and bared his teeth.
“You’re saying this house can restore my position at my age?”
“At the very least, it can bring you attention. As far as I know, your younger brother has been investing in art, hasn’t he? Why do you think that is? To attract people’s attention through art instead of business.”
“Hah! I heard you had been cooped up inside the house, but you certainly know quite a lot. You even know about Solomon.”
Attention.
It was something no wealthy person could escape.
But didn’t truly wealthy people both hate and crave that attention?
Why had the Guggenheim family survived until now?
Because they invested in art.
They could no longer attract attention through business, so they sought attention through art.
Solomon Guggenheim was Daniel’s younger brother.
The founder of the famous Guggenheim Museum.
So, Mining King.
Don’t you want to buy this mansion and regain everyone’s attention?
Daniel shouted,
“I don’t need any of that! I only want my ASARCO! I want my company back!”
I swallowed dryly.
Of course, I was not worried that I would fail to sell the house.
I could sell it to someone else, even if I had to accept a bargain price.
But the person who could pay the highest price was standing right in front of me.
So I had to take the gamble.
“I’ll find it for you.”
“What?”
“Within three years.”
Daniel looked incredulous. Even his secretary and Selby, standing behind him, looked stunned.
“How? You? A guy who hasn’t even gone to college?”
I stared directly at Daniel.
“Buy this house. I’ll use the money to buy ASARCO. Then I’ll put you back in charge of it. Mr. Guggenheim.”
This was my resolve.
Three years.
When was that?
It was when the Great Depression would strike.
I had failed in the stock market, wondered about the temperature of the Han River, and then died in an accident.
Now, I had been reborn in the early twentieth century I had always longed for.
And the Great Depression was right around the corner?
If I failed to seize this opportunity, that would be madness!
“Puhahahaha!”
Daniel burst into insane laughter before finally managing to stop.
“You really are a crazy bastard. You resemble your grandfather more than your father.”
“Grandfather?”
“That’s right. The corporate raider. The Robber Baron, Jay Gould!”
Huh, was that Jay Gould, my body’s grandfather, really known by that nickname?
Robber Baron.
Well, it made sense.
Gould had been involved in stock manipulation, fake stocks, and even allegations of hiring someone to commit murder.
Rather than being intimidated, I raised my chin and asked,
“So, how much will you pay for this house? The grandson of a Robber Baron doesn’t take a loss.”
The former Mining King, who had been staring intently at me, replied,
“Six hundred thousand dollars.”
“That’s all? More than a million dollars was spent on this house. Not to mention how much the land alone has appreciated.”
“It’s very old. If it weren’t for me, there is no other wealthy person who would buy this house for that amount. Everyone already has their own mansion.”
Daniel planted his cane firmly on the floor.
“I’m the only one who doesn’t have one. I was too focused on business all this time.”
Indeed, he was a man who had spent his entire life knowing nothing but business.
This old man wanted something.
He wanted nothing more than to return to his own fortress and rule from there.
As the Mining King.
Even though it would ultimately become a sandcastle that would collapse during the Great Depression.
“What will you do? Sell it or not?”
I stared at him before speaking.
“Let’s write it down as 710,000 dollars.”
“I won’t budge.”
“No, we’ll do that, and I’ll return 100,000 dollars to you.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows, but I did not stop.
“Right now, you’re probably having trouble with inheritance taxes, aren’t you? You need money that the Internal Revenue Service can’t get its hands on. On the other hand, there is no capital gains tax on real estate yet.”
In 1927, America did not have a capital gains tax.
There was an inheritance tax instead.
Regardless of time or place, avoiding taxes was a natural instinct among the wealthy.
But if the payment was structured this way, Daniel would have to provide [cash].
In an instant, Daniel burst into laughter again.
“This really is a genuine robber! Hahaha!”
Done.
The moment my first deal was concluded.
In an era when a middle-class family spent 123 dollars a month,
I now had 610,000 dollars in cash in my hands!
---
Lawyer Selby stared blankly at me before asking,
“So, you received 610,000 dollars?”
“Yes. That’s 10,000 dollars more than what my father would have sold it for.”
“I don’t know if that is really the case.”
But this was a fact.
Because originally, Howard Gould had sold this mansion for 600,000 dollars.
Except that happened in 1917.
Apparently, he had been unable to sell it because I was born.
I shook my head to clear away my thoughts and held out an envelope.
Swish.
Selby blinked before asking,
“What is this?”
“You said you earn 120 dollars a month, right? That would be a little over 1,400 dollars a year. Your annual income.”
“123 dollars was simply an example of middle-class living expenses! I earn more than that!”
I tapped the envelope.
“Let’s make it one year. An annual salary. Work for me. Ten thousand dollars.”
Too much money to refuse, right?
Selby could not push it away and began trembling.
Perhaps Selby’s father, Pierce, could have easily handled money like this while being involved in business.
But Pierce Junior, Selby, had probably become a household lawyer after the Gould family declined and withdrew from business.
Then why would I pay Selby this much money?
“Like you said, there are many things I don’t know. I didn’t even attend college. But I have the name [Gould].”
“Uh, that name has, well, a rather poor reputation.”
“Robber Baron. Men who make money by any means necessary.”
I clenched my fist.
Robber Baron was not a nickname exclusive to Jay Gould.
During this era, from the late nineteenth century to the early twentieth century, the golden age of American capitalism, it was a mocking term used for people who made money by any means necessary.
Among them, Gould was practically synonymous with the term Robber Baron.
And now that was my name?
But, conversely, that meant a huge fortune I had never even been able to touch before was right in front of me.
Six hundred thousand dollars, right now!
“I have a natural brand that says I’m the kind of person who can make money that way. Now I’m going to make money. And to do that, I need a very capable lawyer. Become my lawyer. For now, one year.”
Selby stared intently at the envelope containing ten thousand dollars, took a deep breath, and nodded.
“Very well.”
“Then I’ll give you your first assignment.”
“What is it, Mr. Gould?”
I hesitated for a moment before asking,
“I want to trade on the New York Stock Exchange. How do I do that? Do I need to open an account with a brokerage firm?”
It was the 1920s, America’s golden age.
The stock market, where money-making was booming, was the best place to make money.
But this was still the early twentieth century.
In the twenty-first century, I could simply open an account remotely.
But how was I supposed to trade stocks now?
“Mr. Gould. You do not need to open an account with a financial company.”
“Why?”
“Because your father has an office at 195 Broadway in New York.”
Now that Selby had suddenly become my employee, he explained solemnly,
“He owns the second [seat] on the New York Stock Exchange. One of only 887 positions belonging to [traders] who can trade directly.”
I blinked and asked incredulously,
“What on earth has Howard Gould, no, my father, been doing all this time?”
No, what the hell had Howard Gould been doing until now?
During the greatest bull market in America?
:::