Chapter 24. Groundwork

Syngman Rhee, aboard the passenger liner bound for Hawaii, kept his lips tightly pressed together and stayed holed up in his cabin.

Where the hell did it all go wrong?

He'd asked himself that question a dozen times already, but as always, no answer came. He tossed it out there again anyway.

At first, he'd seen him as a promising young sprout.

Water that sprout well, and both the sprout and his old man would look favorably on him—solidifying his influence in San Francisco. So he'd watered it diligently. And damn if that sprout didn't grow like wildfire.

But what the hell was this?

Had he picked up nothing but bad habits at West Point? The sprout was rubbing elbows with senators and big-shot entrepreneurs.

The reliable friends he'd carefully introduced? The kid brushed them off so coldly it embarrassed even Woo-nam himself. Yet somehow, he'd cozied up to these total nobodies and was laughing and chatting away like old pals!

A fresh-faced kid just stepping into society—what could he possibly know? Sure, he might feel he needed connections in politics.

So wasn't it only natural to at least hear out his patron, the one who'd nurtured him with every ounce of effort? Good lord, Curtis? When there weren't enough truly great men like Professor Woodrow Wilson, with his scholarship and character, to go around—hanging out with that flashy half-breed with dirty Indian blood? It was beyond belief for a young man destined to shoulder Korea's future.

So, swallowing his tears, he'd raised the rod of discipline.

A stern talking-to, and surely the boy would heed his mentor and get back on the straight path.

"I'm a citizen of the United States, sworn to give my life for its peace and security. You're saying some mighty dangerous things that could make folks question my loyalty."

Grind.

His teeth ground together involuntarily.

Only then did it hit him.

This wasn't some cute little sprout. It was a Paris green seed, rotten from the start.

Just like those infamous traitors from ancient China—gaining the trust of their superiors, then switching sides once grown, devouring their masters. With new patrons like Curtis and Ford in the picture, the kid's plan must've been to wipe out all the patriotic nuisances who got in his way.

But this was all a trial from God.

The Lord had personally anointed Syngman Rhee, chosen him as the savior of the pitiful Korean people, pulling him from that nightmare cell under Emperor Gojong.

Sure, that devil Eugene Kim was rampaging now like he owned the place, but with God on his side, divine punishment would come eventually.

"Goddamn it."

Unable to stifle the rage boiling inside, he pulled out the booze. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Without its fire, sleep seemed impossible.

As the sweet alcohol slid down his throat, the fury ebbed, and cold reason reclaimed its throne.

Eugene Kim was no Park Yong-man hothead or half-baked An Chang-ho. He had a wolf's heart, a snake's tongue, a fox's cunning—devious enough to fool even Syngman himself. Brazen, ruthless, driven by endless greed for power and success. You couldn't just square up against a guy like that.

The moment he'd set foot in Hawaii, he'd seen it clear as day.

The Koreans here were just poor, pitiful wretches who'd crossed the Pacific for a bowl of rice.

So he'd dangled the moderate banner of diplomacy to scratch their itch, rising as the leader of Hawaii's Koreans.

Hot-blooded types like Park Yong-man could die and come back a hundred times and never get it. These folks just wanted to toss a few bucks at "patriotism" and feel good about themselves. Naturally, the number who wanted to risk their necks on battlefields or piss off the American landowners with dangerous games was vanishingly small.

But things had changed. Eugene Kim had straight-up declared, "We gotta live as Americans."

Nothing weaker than centrists. The fiery ones would flock to Park Yong-man from the start; the safety-seekers would fall hook, line, and sinker for that devil's honeyed words.

He could vividly picture his hard-built fortress crumbling to dust under the fiend's schemes. Worse, he had no clear way to stop it. That was the real despair.

To hold Hawaii at least, he'd have to rush back, denounce Eugene Kim as a traitor to the nation the second he landed. Scream that "living as Americans" was a delusion, no different from collaboration.

But that was a losing battle. Just delaying the inevitable.

So what next?

He was cornered in the tiger's mouth, but not devoured yet.

A cold-blooded political animal like Eugene Kim would find the opportunity cost of totally crushing Syngman Rhee too steep.

Sure, there'd been that minor slip at the end, but grabbing it as leverage would force Eugene Kim to forfeit all his influence in Korean society. No big deal.

So, paths remained.

He eased onto the bed.

His mind whirred nonstop, assembling and dismantling political scenarios.

He couldn't let the poor Koreans fall into that demon's clutches, so Woo-nam pondered to the last moment before sleep claimed him.

May 7, 1915.

Right before my graduation, the Lusitania sank under a German U-boat's torpedoes, just like in the original history.

America was already barreling toward World War I, whether they knew it or not. One reason they hadn't crossed the Atlantic yet? The chaos next door in Mexico.

Hawks like Teddy Roosevelt could yell in Congress all day about jumping into the European war, but "moderate" Woodrow Wilson was fiddling with intervening in Mexico instead—and in July, he sent Marines to coup-torn Haiti and occupied it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠outright. Moderate my ass.

Wilson ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠actually sent Germany a polite note after Lusitania: "Keep it up and I'll sail the US Navy over and blow your heads off." Scared 'em straight, averting the European crisis for now.

So us young officers had our eyes glued to one question: "Mexico—invade or not?"

And me?

I was on house arrest.

Assholes.

Even the dumbfucks were getting postings one by one, heading off to real soldiering, while here I was, running mommy's errands on the government's dime. Why me?

Nah, I knew damn well. Very well.

As the US-Mexico border heated up, I decided to cash in my backers pronto.

Congressman, your loyal patriot of a fresh lieutenant is dying to hit the front lines... please pull some strings for a quick posting...

Reply came fast.

I wrote Dorothy a three-pager: "Wanna deploy—cool with you?" And CC'd Ford Motors for good measure.

Soon after, elegant handwritten note from Mr. Ford himself.

Yes sir. I'll behave and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stick to my chores.

What I was prepping was groundwork to swallow San Francisco whole, fur and all.

"Bro."

"Hiii!"

"What."

"C'mon, bro. Hear us out."

Yushin and Yuin circled me, puffing like steam engines, but I wasn't fazed. I was a full head taller, after all.

But as the eldest, it was my duty to forgive even the rebellious fury of my little bros.

"Alright, what's up?"

"Don't I look like I'm wasting away day by day?"

Second bro Yushin spat blood with those words.

"You dumped that goddamn barbed wire factory on me, and I've been sweating bullets sorting it. Finally hired folks, opened sales channels, catching my breath—then 'export time, expand the factory.' Easy for you to say."

"Ahem... It was all for you, bro! Huh? A yellow monkey running a factory! How awesome is that?"

"Sure, awesome. So why ain't you doing it?"

Uh... 'cause?

I wanted it all under proxies. Heh.

Your fame's mine, your cash is mine—who cares whose name's on it? Family's family.

Hide-the-moon bullshit, sure, but doing it versus not? Worlds apart. Till my position's rock-solid, you punks gotta spin the plates.

"Lil' bro. Big bro hooked you up with the biz idea, cracked the export routes. You're set to be filthy rich now, right?"

"What kinda rich guy works 20 hours a day?!"

"La la la, can't hear you. Anyway, get that gun factory humming smooth. Gotta ship to Europe like crazy."

"Jeez... At least Ford set it all up. If I'd had to do that too, you'd be floating in the Pacific by now."

Guns were basically run by Ford and Curtis's dispatched crews.

Site selection, construction, setup, workflows—all them. We handled hiring (Korean-heavy labor), tech transfers for firearms.

The gunsmiths An Chang-ho hooked me up with were getting top-notch training, reborn. Few years, we'd develop in-house.

Eldest bro duties done—wishes granted.

Now, for the sulky maknae, time to soothe his heart.

"Alright, what's your beef?"

"'Your beef?' You kidding, bro?"

Why's he like this? I screwed Yushin, sure, but not you—

"That goddamn book! You published it in my name!!"

"Oh, that."

"You know what happened when the cops dragged me in?! Middle of the night, cops hauling me off—insane enough. Then at the station? BOI agents! Bureau of Investigation—FBI precursors!"

"Oh."

"'Oh' what?!"

Hey, I wrote it—you just cashed checks.

And BOI? You met cool guys I haven't—prime bar stories later, right?

Said that, I'd get murdered. Zipped it.

"That night, I spilled every damn detail, true or not. Told 'em I was just the mailman—you wrote it all. Blabbed nonstop."

"Yeah? Just to them?"

"Nah. Every three days after, suits show up: 'We'll buy you dinner, spill more.'"

So that's how Ford knew—this blabbermouth.

"Sooo..."

"Pretty much everyone came. First time in my life stuffing myself on free grub."

Wanna punch him, but karma, I guess.

Still, his yap got us Ford—forgiven.

"Fine. Y'all slaved away, tough breaks, but it all worked out. No big complaints, got it?"

"You're nuts, bro."

"Say that shit to your men, catch a bullet in the back."

Poor pups, spoiled rotten, talking smack—but someday they'd repent, tears streaming for big bro's grace. Miss Dorothy. Sigh.

"Anyway, biz is rolling smooth. You guys busting ass for the family? Makes my chest swell with pride."

"Bro, work sucks enough—don't rub it in or I'll flip the damn table."

"Whoa, scary."

While I toiled for the Kim clan's eternal glory in San Francisco, the news I'd waited and waited for finally winged my way.