The Great Journey
Victory in the war, a satisfying haul of spoils, and even a master plan to soothe public sentiment. The outcome was as close to perfect as one could hope for. Yet one final procedure remained.
In feudal systems, when lords clashed, the result had to be reported to the king. America was no different.
One might argue that a mere corporate feud hardly warranted such fuss, but this was no ordinary business dispute. More than ten thousand workers in Boston faced the sudden loss of their livelihoods—an unprecedented crisis.
Industrial restructuring, economic depressions, or wars routinely wiped out jobs. But the complete collapse of a city’s economy due to warring corporations was almost unheard of. The White House was paying extraordinary attention.
As a vassal still drawing vitamins from Lincoln’s warm embrace, I had no intention of neglecting my duties to the United States.
“Mr. President, congratulations on your reelection!”
“Weren’t you supposed to be holding a victory parade in New York?”
“I assumed Your Excellency would want to hear how this matter concluded, so I came straight here. Besides, since you’ve secured reelection, it was only proper to offer my congratulations in person. And I didn’t want to arrive empty-handed, so I brought a few modest gifts.”
At my gesture, Leo respectfully placed two silk-wrapped boxes on the table.
“This is ginseng, a medicinal herb from the country of Joseon. They call it the Eastern herb of immortality—said to bring even the dying back to life. Given how hard Your Excellency works, I thought it would be especially useful and obtained some specially.”
Lincoln opened the box with evident interest and lifted a thick root. Its distinctive bitter, earthy aroma gently filled the office.
“Hmm, the scent is quite unique. Bringing the dead back to life is probably an exaggeration, but I have heard of ginseng. It seems like the perfect gift for me. Thank you.”
“And this is imperial porcelain gifted to me by Prince Gong, the de facto ruler of the Qing Dynasty. I thought it would suit the dignity of the White House.”
When Lincoln saw the luminous blue-and-white porcelain, his face lit up with a bright smile.
Before he was president, he had been a rough-hewn frontier lawyer. Like most Westerners of this era, he could not hide his childlike curiosity when faced with the mysterious treasures of the Orient that so stimulated their Orientalism.
“Thanks to you, the White House is turning into a museum. Thank you. Truly.”
Satisfied, he had his secretary put the gifts away, then immediately summoned his key advisors.
“Advisor Serget has arrived. Bring him to the office at once.”
Before long, Secretary of State William Seward and Treasury Secretary Salmon Chase appeared.
The two heavyweights gave me light greetings with their eyes the moment they entered. Not only the president, but the leading contenders for the next election were acknowledging me. James Serget, you really have come a long way.
“Now that we’re all here, let’s get to the point. I’ve read your report, but I want to hear it from your own mouth. What exactly were you planning to do in Boston?”
Lincoln sank deep into the sofa as he asked. The atmosphere shifted instantly from social gathering to cabinet meeting.
“It’s simple. I was restoring order.”
“Order?”
“The Boston Associates crossed the line. No matter how much of a pacifist I may be, if I simply take the beating, the market will see Serget Cotton as easy prey. I had to show them that once bitten, they’d have to give up an arm. That’s why I cut off their cotton supply.”
This was simply the victor exercising his rightful privileges.
My resolute attitude made Lincoln frown.
“I understand how you feel. But the repercussions are enormous. If the Boston factories stop, tens of thousands of unemployed will flood the streets. If they turn into a mob, can you handle it?”
Of course this was a problem for the administration and the Republican Party, not me. No president would feel good about it. A corporate conflict escalating into social unrest was exactly the scenario he feared most.
But I had already taken every measure before coming. I calmly lifted my coffee cup.
“Don’t worry. I’ve already reached an agreement with the leaders of the Boston Brahmins on that matter.”
“An agreement?”
“Yes. The factories will not stop operating. Only the ownership will change. I will acquire them, raise the flag of Serget Cotton, and resume production. All the workers will be retained as well.”
After hearing the full story of what had happened in New York, Lincoln’s expression softened. William Seward, listening beside him, brightened and nodded.
“So… the shell remains the same, only the owner changes. Minimize chaos while taking all the profit?”
“Exactly. And in this process, I would like the Republican Party to play a certain role.”
“What role?”
“Please frame the situation so that it appears the government and the Republican Party actively mediated and supported my acquisition of the factories to resolve the crisis.”
It wasn’t enough to simply deliver the news. Carrots had to be shared if one wanted to avoid backlash. I needed to make it unmistakably clear that supporting me would benefit the Republican Party as well.
“Isn’t it true that a government looks more competent when it cleanly resolves an accident than when it merely prevents one? If the administration announces that it ‘prevented an economic crisis in Boston,’ the citizens will cheer the Republican Party’s crisis management ability.”
Although they had won reelection, both Seward and Chase would want to further solidify their support bases. A Southern capitalist had set the table; all they had to do was pick up a spoon to strengthen their image as economic presidents. There was no reason to refuse.
“Well, well. That’s an offer with no reason to decline.”
“Mr. President, I believe we should proceed as Advisor Serget suggests.”
When both secretaries sent positive signals at the same time, Lincoln pondered for a moment before finally nodding.
“Very well. Since you’ve set the board so thoroughly, we have no reason to refuse. As long as the Boston matter is resolved quietly.”
The biggest obstacle—government intervention—had been cleared. From now on, the takeover of Boston would proceed smoothly without anyone’s interference.
With the mood warming, I brought out the next card I had prepared.
“There is one more thing I’d like to discuss. It concerns social integration.”
“Integration? Hearing that word from your mouth somehow makes me nervous.”
“What do you mean, Mr. President? Who is a more ardent supporter of Your Excellency’s integration policy than I? That said—do you like baseball?”
The sudden 180-degree topic drift left all three men blinking in bewilderment.
“Baseball? Well, I don’t dislike watching it. I was there when you mercilessly crushed that poor New York team, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, you were. But the North has grown much stronger now. Starting with the charity tournament I’m hosting in New York, I intend to make baseball the true National Pastime. There is no better tool for healing divisions than a sport where North and South, white and Black, sweat and compete under the same rules.”
The idea that sports help resolve conflict was a truth as valid in the past, present, and future.
I spread out the pre-written proposal for the creation of a national professional baseball league on the table.
“I have already reached agreements with leading Northern capitalists, including the Boston Brahmins. We will launch a nationwide professional league.”
“Hmm… the intention is good, but won’t having Black players cause backlash?”
As expected, he was sharp. He had emphasized the emancipation of slaves, but that was one thing—reality was another. Even now, plenty of Americans still looked askance at the idea of “darkies” trying to play in the same waters as white men.
“Of course. That’s why I plan to introduce a quota system for the time being. At least sixty to seventy percent of the players must be white. Honestly, white audiences won’t pay to watch a league with only Black players. We must be realistic rather than idealistic.”
“Very pragmatic. Having whites as the majority while still giving Blacks an opportunity seems like the perfect compromise.”
Lincoln scanned the proposal with a satisfied smile.
With the wounds of the Civil War still fresh, if they could divert public attention and create a symbol of integration, the political benefit would be enormous.
“Good. The government will provide whatever support it can—stadium sites, tax benefits, that sort of thing.”
That was nice, but it wasn’t what I truly wanted.
What did a brand-new league need most? Buzz. In an era without television or radio, advertising could only spread through newspapers and word of mouth. To achieve that, a massive event that would be talked about for years was essential.
Therefore—
“That brings me to my request, Mr. President. Would you come to New York and throw out the ceremonial first pitch on this glorious stage?”
The first ceremonial pitch in history, thrown by the most revered president in American history.
How could anyone resist that?
* * *
“…You really only come up with things that leave people stunned.”
“Haha, I suppose I have a bit of creativity, don’t I?”
“You do. From the first time I saw you, I thought you were no ordinary young man. Should I say you had the air of a mad genius who might actually change the world?”
There’s a perfectly good term like “prodigy who will change the world,” but calling it “mad genius” is a bit harsh.
“Being here like this brings back memories. Do you remember? Back when the Republican Party was just about to hold its founding ceremony.”
After the meeting ended and we were speaking alone, Lincoln grew sentimental. He toyed with his glass, lost in recollection. His gaze drifted beyond the splendid White House office to an unforgettable past—two men sitting across from each other in a hotel lobby with beers in front of them.
“The things you said while wiping beer foam from your lips… to be honest, I was half in doubt.”
“Did you think it was nonsense spouted by an ignorant young Dixie pup?”
“Hardly. Your eyes were far too certain. And in fact, every single thing you’ve said since then has come true without exception.”
Lincoln shook his head, unable to hide his admiration. Though he had never said it aloud, it was clear he now saw me not merely as a successful businessman, but as a remarkable man with the insight to see through the times.
“That makes me even more curious. What is the true American Dream you envision? Money? Fame? Or becoming the shadow ruler of this country?”
“Oh please, shadow ruler? I despise such tiresome positions.”
Business inevitably entangled one with politics, but becoming too deeply involved meant falling into a swamp from which there was no escape. The day I stopped being a chess piece on the great board of politics and became the board itself would probably be the day I truly entered the political arena.
“My dream is simple. To become the richest man in the world.”
“Oh?”
“And for my employees to live out their own American Dreams inside Serget Cotton, the greatest company in the world. That is my dream.”
Within my empire, background and race would not matter. If one possessed ability and the corresponding skill, anyone could climb the ladder and transcend their class.
At my answer, Lincoln clapped and burst into hearty laughter.
“Kahaha! That’s just like you! So very like you! But do you know? In some ways, that may be far more difficult than becoming President of the United States.”
“I am well aware that I have only just taken my first steps.”
“Indeed. It will not be an easy road, but if it’s you, you might just pull it off.”
As I continued to watch Lincoln after his laughter subsided, I suddenly grew curious myself. Having accomplished the monumental task of emancipating the slaves, what would this giant’s next goal be?
“Then what is Your Excellency’s dream? You have already achieved the emancipation of the slaves.”
“Hmm…”
Lincoln turned his gaze toward the window. In the distance stood the Washington Monument, still under construction.
“In a way, it’s similar to yours.”
“What do you mean…?”
“This country where I was born and raised. I want it to become, in both name and substance, the greatest country in the world. Not merely a powerful nation that surpasses Britain in military or economic strength, but…”
He spoke slowly, putting weight behind every word.
“A great nation where anyone can realize their abilities, a land that its citizens can truly love with all their hearts. A land of freedom and opportunity that will never collapse, even after I am gone, for all eternity. I sincerely believe this country can become that.”
“……”
“Heh, for a politician it’s rather an absurd dream, isn’t it? I must sound like I’m chasing clouds in front of a realistic businessman.”
He rubbed his nose awkwardly.
But I shook my head with genuine feeling.
“Not at all, Mr. President. You may not believe it, but…”
“Hm?”
“…I have believed from the very beginning that this country will one day surely become exactly that.”
It was not mere lip service.
I knew.
I knew what kind of empire this country would become, how it would one day command the world.
And now, I would hasten that future a little more and refine it even more perfectly.
“Hearing you say that gives me strength.”
Lincoln silently raised his glass. I gladly clinked mine against it.
A clear ringing sound cheerfully split the air of the office.
For the greatest country in the world, for the richest corporation in the world, and for everyone who would work beneath them.
We toasted to each other’s dreams.