Chapter 85
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 85
Chapter Title: Killing the Dove (7)
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Bad luck always strikes without fail.
The calls started flooding in through the phone numbers we'd prepared in advance. It happened in the blink of an eye.
"Save me! The villagers are trying to kill me!"
"My family got lynched because of me."
"They're threatening to run me out of my hometown!"
We'd formed a World War I veterans' association, cherry-picking some of the guys from Patton's tank brigade and the 93rd Division who had nowhere else to go.
Rather than getting directly involved, I hung back and just provided funding. Any more meddling, and I'd have no defense against being called a warlord.
Once those veteran buddies got discharged and headed home, the association's activities exploded.
Hundreds had already grabbed what valuables they could or fled empty-handed to places like Detroit, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Hawaii, and so on. If blacks moved in large groups to one spot, it'd just stir up anti-black sentiment there. We had to scatter them out in small, inconspicuous batches.
There was no way I could stop this massive tide of the times.
If I were an absolute monarch, maybe. Nah, even the autocrats trying to stem this current were falling one by one. No one could stop it.
So, the answer was to seize control of public opinion.
Speaking of public opinion—especially someone who'd been hounded by the damn press until his irritation hit 120%—one such guy happened to be right by my side.
"So, what kind of scheming are you up to with my son?"
"Young folks like me. People who'll spare no expense to stand out from the crowd. We're talking about making a car for them."
"Hoo. Guess we'll just have to watch if it succeeds or flops."
Ford was currently locked in a massive lawsuit with the Chicago Tribune, deploying an army of lawyers.
He'd sued over their "ignorant red" smear, and as someone already battered by labels like pacifist and communist, Ford was prime bait for the press to chew on.
"I had a constructive chat with General Kim, and from what I heard, he wasn't far off."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Why do those reporter scum write trash like that? To sell papers with sensationalism, right?"
"And?"
"So, we launch a paper that floods the market with even more sensational crap—why'd you hit me?!"
"'Cause you deserve it!"
My media proposal was simple.
Something way spicier, way more intense than the current press cesspool. A total no-holds-barred gossip rag.
The ultimate tinderbox to slap back at yellow journalism.
In other words, a tabloid.
No tabloids in America yet? Even Britain's legendary The Sun didn't exist. So what? Time to make one.
"You're not saying we fight rags like the Chicago Tribune on their level—you want to make something even trashier? What kind of nonsense is that?!"
"The actual content doesn't even matter."
"What?"
"Give the masses endless chewable gossip, and any petty article from them gets buried. Fighting's just exhausting and painful. But drown them out with irresistible bait no one can ignore? We make money too."
"Hmmm..."
The chairman pondered for a moment before blurting out,
"That's not for me to decide alone."
"Who else but you, Mr. Ford?"
"I get the gist. But a firestarter like that? Lawsuits incoming daily. Plenty of big shots hate the press too—let's pitch it to them together."
Oh, it's... a go?
Who're you calling, though?
To my humble question, Ford grinned.
"Can't spill that. You traitor."
What a salty old codger.
Time to wrap up the fun meeting with Mr. Ford.
A frantic telegram from San Francisco had come in—no more dawdling.
Even two bodies wouldn't be enough, but what can you do? This was the mess I'd made.
And so, I finally returned to my hometown.
San Francisco.
Sorry, Mom and Dad, but I couldn't bring Dorothy and Henry. Just a quick business trip, then back.
Truth be told, even this visit was a huge stretch. No high-speed rail or passenger flights yet—crossing America from east to west ain't easy.
Luckily, no massive welcome crowds like before. Keeping it secret paid off.
"Eugene Kim?"
"General Kim, by any chance?"
"Thank you. Thank you. But I'm in a rush—"
"This way, sir. Car's ready."
Before crowds could form, I linked up with my waiting contacts and headed straight to the Korean National Association office.
Gone were the days of renting a dingy space in a rundown building. Now they occupied an entire swanky new one—looking proper prosperous.
"Oh, my boy! My precious boy. You're safe and sound. No injuries?"
"Ahem. He just handled national and ethnic affairs—have some tact."
"You shut it! Mr. Church-Every-Day-Prayer-Man, who are you to act high and mighty?!"
One shrill yell from Mom, and Dad deflates instantly. Food chain's unbreakable, huh? Gotta stay on Dorothy's good side to avoid that.
After a brief family reunion, we settled into a large conference room and lit up cigarettes.
"Welcome back. Keeping well?"
"Thanks to all your concern. Appreciate it."
Me.
Visibly worn-out Yushin and Yuin.
Dad.
Dosan An Chang-ho and Woosung Park Yong-man.
Pretty much everyone steering the Korean community in America.
All but one, anyway.
"We'll chat later. First, the urgent stuff. We're sheltering those blacks for now, but what's the deal?"
"As you know, Korean Americans number under 10,000. A drop in the bucket."
"True, but—"
Dosan hesitated a bit, but I had to push harder.
"In a place where numbers mean power, we can't speak alone. We need to ally with the colored majority—become their voice and representative to secure Korean rights."
The West Coast was a true melting pot.
Whites, blacks, Hispanics, Chinese, Japanese, Koreans, etc.
Japanese aside, we had to join hands with them.
"Even united, we can't beat whites. You know that, right?"
"Fighting whites head-on is certain defeat."
I hurried to reassure him.
"America's unambiguously a white man's country. Direct confrontation or earning their ire? We won't last."
"Good. You get it."
Business came up first.
Barbed wire—that was our family's solo venture.
Grease Gun. Made bank, but it's tapped out now.
Tanks? More indirect—profits from Ford Tank Company shares and royalties.
"Job creation's lower than expected."
"Like I said, bro—war boom lasts about a year."
"Yeah. Better not hire than hire and fire—breeds resentment."
My orders were straightforward.
Expand only enough for peacetime viability; outsource the rest via subs, contractors, royalties.
It paid off nicely. By not overexpanding and handing work to others, we'd gained friendly contacts.
"What about the Grease Gun?"
"Still demand left."
"War's over, though?"
"Cheap, rugged, no skill needed—where else you gonna find that?"
Best amateur self-defense bullet hose out there.
I recalled mail truck escorts armed with shotguns. Could this little beast replace them?
Worth pitching to procurement. Grease Gun's edge: so cheap, fix by buying another. Push cost-performance, and it might fly. Chat with the old man later.
We reviewed real estate, Korean-run eateries, small outfits—then the main topic.
"As you know, massive pro-independence marches demanding Korean freedom started March 1st, but the Japanese responded only with brutal crackdowns."
Everyone's faces darkened.
Japanese repression? Predictable: massacres with guns and blades, beatings galore.
"Scattered independence fighters began organizing locally, aiming to unite Korea's strength via a provisional government encompassing all groups. I know from your letter you're skeptical of self-determination, Eugene, but shouldn't the Korean race unite its voice?"
Sigh. Headache incoming.
How to play this perfectly.
Among those prov govs, our Prince Lee gets named premier in several, and this doc goes further, calling himself 'President of the Republic of Korea'—causing chaos before it even opens.
So here, best to—
"Voices in our Korean National Association are rising to formally establish a provisional government or equivalent. Naturally, pushing you, Eugene, as leader is the loudest."
I double-checked my ears.
Who? Me?
"You mean me?"
"Who else among Korean Americans has your fame?"
No rebuttals.
Then I read their faces: An's, Park's, family's.
Expectation.
"I'm American by nationality, never even set foot in Korea."
"But your blood's pure Korean. Shanghai, Seoul, Far East—they're all watching. You need to decide, Eugene."
"Impossible. Can't pledge loyalty to two governments as a U.S. soldier."
"Knew you'd say that. Just know the sentiment."
An nodded understandingly; Park smacked his lips in regret.
"Any special thoughts on the provisional government?"
"What do you two plan?"
"Join it, obviously."
Yeah. Expected.
Even if it fractures and loses legitimacy later, right now, it's the heir to self-determination and Korean will—the child of the era.
But knowing the future, I had to dissuade them.
"..."
"What's wrong?"
"Something on your mind?"
I nodded at Park's question.
"I think you two staying away is better."
"Unexpected. Not scared of bucking America, so what's the snag?"
"Doubt my words'll sway you, but... one of you should stay in America."
They looked visibly conflicted now.
"And on the provisional government, there's one more to discuss, right?"
"That guy?"
"Yeah. Him."
"Heard you two clashed big-time. You okay with it?"
I drummed the table, deep in thought.
Decision time.
Eliminate? Use? Ignore?
"Gotta hear him out first."
Last words or not, gotta listen.
That's respect for elders.
But not now.
Let him sweat another half-year.
Still pisses me off thinking about him.
And maybe, just maybe, that ugly bastard could be the angle to take down another dog.