Chapter 138
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 138
Chapter Title: Fall of the Giant (8)
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If you saw someone running toward the edge of a cliff, the right thing to do would obviously be to grab them.
But what if that person was shouting at the top of their lungs, "I can fly! I'm the American Big Eagle!"?
And what if you alone foresaw them plummeting to their death instead of soaring into the air?
But the distance was too great to grab them, and stopping them from leaping off the cliff meant shooting them in the leg. If you fired, they'd come limping after you, not thanking you for saving their life, but trying to blow your head off.
What kind of otherworldly dilemma was this?
Since I was the only one who could see the future, I was probably the only one agonizing over something like this.
My mind was already made up.
Just look at Hoover in the original history—he'd been branded the culprit of the Great Depression for nearly a century, cursed generation after generation. Even though Hoover wasn't incompetent at all, he'd missed the timing to prevent it by a mile.
Even if I got kicked out of the house, even if I had to shed tears and sleep on the sofa for two or three years, it was still better than my father-in-law eating shit for a hundred years.
After this, he'd probably writhe in betrayal. Dorothy might not cook for me anymore and kick me out. And there was no telling if Coolidge, who already eyed me warily, would stay quiet.
In the end, with my chest stuffed full of pent-up frustration, I went to meet Henry Ford.
And just like that, my worries vanished into thin air.
"Long time no see, Colonel Kim. You look great—must be because your father-in-law's been doing so well. Even your complexion's improved."
"You're joking, right? I'm sweating bullets inside."
He naturally lit a cigar as if it were breathing, and I did the same with a cigarette.
From the moment he stiffly called me "Colonel Kim," every hair on my body stood on end.
And my hunch came true.
"Curtis's campaign promises are a bit concerning."
"I don't know much about politics, but didn't the farmers really suffer? I heard the government encouraged them to take out loans."
"Ha. Sure, encouraging loans might stimulate the economy. But does the basic principle that investors bear their own risks not apply to ignorant farmers?"
Henry Ford, who had gleefully sold tractors to those very farmers who'd taken out loans, said it without a hint of guilt. And I, who held a hefty stake in that tractor company, found my mouth glued shut like it'd been sealed with bonds.
Curtis had to know.
Some of the debt those struggling farmers were drowning in had ended up in my pocket. He probably hadn't mentioned it to me on purpose.
"Rare day when Detroit and Manhattan see eye to eye. Even those monstrous Jews can't stomach their hard-earned tax dollars being spent on hillbillies."
"Aren't they taxpayers too?"
"Ridiculous. Did the government ever help when I invested in my workers' welfare? Did they bail out my company when times were tough? Helping just because they're weak? That's Bolshevik bullshit."
Before I could respond, Ford continued.
"Curtis's farm relief policy means tax hikes. Tax hikes? Doesn't he know the boom we're enjoying comes from Harding and Coolidge's tax cuts?"
"He warns of recession and pushes feel-good policies, but the tax hikes to fund them will cause the recession themselves."
Chicken or egg?
To people of this era, "the egg comes first" must sound awfully appealing.
I hit a wall.
There was only one reason Ford was criticizing Curtis's policies at such length.
And sure enough, he declared it more solemnly than ever.
"In this election, we're backing Hoover."
"'We'... you mean?"
"The businessmen of Detroit."
Cigar smoke wafted over. My stomach churned.
"Businessmen, financiers, the administration, the press... everyone's reveling in this boom. Even ordinary citizens! We can't let Curtis ruin the party."
"You plan to use The Sun?"
"Think of it the other way around. If The Sun goes after Curtis this time, no lunatic will think there's any collusion between you, Curtis, and the paper."
My inner turmoil washed away clean.
With the capitalists banding together to pummel my father-in-law like this. How much did they hate welfare?
"This doesn't mean the end of our partnership. Curtis could drop dead anytime. Just face reality. If he drops that damn farm bill, we won't hit him this hard."
"When you get down to it, didn't Curtis betray me first? Know how many dollars we slipped into his pocket to make him a big shot? Sure, his district's rural, so I figured he'd look out for them, but I never dreamed he'd turn out to be such a shameless Bolshevik. Then again, if he had shame, he wouldn't be one."
This was bad.
Keep my face neutral. Neutral.
Before I could even suggest beating up my father-in-law myself, these robber barons were already stirring. What a gift.
I bit the inside of my cheek hard to suppress my rising smile. Bit so hard tears welled up.
Yeah, better cry. Cry quick. Frog boy bampabam, frog boy bampabam, when I cry, it rains in Washington D.C.—
"...Sorry about this."
"No, no... I understand your position all too well."
When pure-hearted Eugene's gentle, calf-like eyes welled up with moisture, even the bloodless, tearless Henry Ford looked flustered for a moment.
"Damn, never pegged you for the sensitive type. That's the world for you. Only the tough survive—people who'd stab their own father for gain. And you're crying over mere father-in-law?"
"No, I'm not crying. And what would your son say?"
"Edsel? He's putting up with me playing regent while I keep him as a figurehead CEO. If I were him, I'd have buried my old man in the town cemetery ages ago. No guts, that kid."
What, like a lion tossing its cub off a cliff? That's a myth anyway.
A textbook self-made robber baron. Dropping out of school and building an empire amid monsters without proper education breeds that mindset. The spicy side of capitalism a century ago exceeded my imagination.
"And personally, I think this is for your own good."
"Me... you say?"
"Yeah. Why on earth are you defending hillbillies? You're California business stock at heart—should be on our side. How else will you make it to the White House?"
What the hell?
White House? Me?
"Why would I go to the White House?"
"No need to play coy with me. Do you think a man like Henry Ford—who built this steel kingdom amid sneers and finger-pointing for being uneducated—hasn't seen through your grand ambitions?"
No, no, this is a huge misunderstanding.
While I gaped in disbelief, Ford happily spun his brain-fart theory.
"Democracy's a dangerous beast. Reds—yeah, those Judas spawn Jews-Bolsheviks—stir up the idiots, saying kill the hardworking rich and fatten workers and peasants with their money."
"In this fine country with its fine system, without a steadfast politician like Hoover, they'd sway to the sheep and pigs' votes. Who else but us to protect him?"
"I'm a soldier defending the world's greatest democracy, the United States."
"Of course, of course. But if the people destroy democracy themselves, don't we need... a strong leader?"
"Mr. Ford!"
"Ability to handle the masses, foresight for the future, powerful charisma, undeniable achievements. Colonel Kim, you already have it all."
The story from Ford's mouth was taking shape.
An authoritarian, charismatic national leader propped up by popular appeal and capitalist backing.
"Like in Italy?"
"Italy? Oh, that Mussolini guy. He's a dictator. That doesn't fit America's ideals."
Ford denied it, but I couldn't shake it off.
The massive ideology dominating the interwar world after the Great War.
The shadow of fascism might have been... right beside me.
Unbelievable.
Sure, I'd stirred up all sorts of things, some too dark to reveal.
But fascism? Come on.
Ford probably just meant a "slightly stronger" president. Americans' spinal cords itch for the shotgun at home at the mere whiff of dictatorship.
At the meeting with Ford, I desperately milked tears from my eyes and got a promise to go easy on him.
I'd thought using The Sun meant they planned to half-cripple someone, but luckily, that was just my worry.
"Crazy talk. With the money I've invested, you think I'd let it go bankrupt? Curtis is a smart politician—he'll learn this lesson that our support is essential for the presidency and snap out of it."
"My father-in-law's gotten a bit desperate lately."
"I know. Politicians lose their minds at the sight of the White House key. Why didn't you rein him in, with all that devotion?"
"If he could be reined in, would he be a politician?"
"Fair point."
True to his ultimatum, the next day, newspapers nationwide unleashed a barrage of attacks on Curtis.
—Maximum rights! Minimum responsibility!
—Farmers have a right to immunity from investment failure: Curtis's Bolshevik thinking!
—In this greatest of eras, are the hungry truly our responsibility?
"Farmers throwing another tantrum on full stomachs."
"Tsk tsk. If they'd bought U.S. Steel stock with that money, they'd have yachts by now. Poor folks."
"Others chase the American Dream, build families, live well—even if they stumble. These people just whine. Time to break the habit."
"All because of that red dye in the water."
The mood in Washington D.C. was anything but friendly.
From the looks of it, Curtis's chances of being nominated as the Republican presidential candidate were slim to none.
Even without me lifting a finger, things had turned out this way—the perfect option for me.
Now for the next move.
I took leave and headed with my family to Warm Springs, Georgia—a quiet town not too far from D.C.
For a Georgia backwater, it had some fame thanks to its hot springs, which had become a tourist spot.
With cars in every garage, what locals once kept secret was now a draw for anyone in the Southeast who could spare a day.
"What's with the hot springs trip?"
"Uh... quality family time?"
"Don't lie."
"Meeting someone."
Her intuition was uncanny.
After checking into the inn, Dorothy took the kids to the springs first, and I slipped into a local dive bar I'd heard about.
"We're closed."
"I have an appointment."
"Ah, you're the one. Head that way."
The presumed owner gruffly pointed to a corner, and I strolled over to a table where a disheveled man waited.
"First time meeting. Eugene Kim."
"Shall I call you the Hero of Amiens, or the son-in-law of a presidential candidate? Nice to meet you. Sorry I can't stand."
I bent down for a light handshake.
"Franklin Delano Roosevelt."
Time to get acquainted with a new era.