Sett Cotton (2)
The incarnation of incompetence, the master of pure ineptitude, the recipient of the "he was a nice guy" award—Buchanan had stepped down, and finally, Breckinridge had ascended as the new president.
"Please erase the Democratic Party of the past from your memories. I will not repeat the failures of the previous administration!"
"Breckinridge! Please save the broken economy of the Union!"
"Our great Union will return to what it once was! To the days when everyone had the certainty that tomorrow would be a better day than yesterday!"
From his very first day, Breckinridge declared that he was different from Buchanan, and he immediately set to work on revitalizing the economy. He purchased government bonds and deposited federal funds into Northern banks. As the creditworthiness of the banks began to recover, companies were able to secure funding once more, and warmth returned to the frozen credit markets.
Stocks, by nature, are creatures that feed on dreams and expectations. As signs of a genuine normalization in the North began to appear, railroad stocks, which had been hitting rock bottom, began to climb again. Railroad stocks that had plummeted to a third of their peak value had risen nearly twofold, reaching about two-thirds of their former levels.
Having bought them at their lowest, I had already doubled my money on this alone, and I didn't hesitate to realize my profits.
"No, why are you selling your stocks now? They might rise even more next year or the year after."
"Of course they'll rise more. That’s exactly why I’m clearing them out now."
"...Pardon?"
"Tell Rockefeller and Carnegie. I’m not actually selling the stocks; I’m transferring them to borrowed names."
Breckinridge would likely cast off his mask and reveal his true colors by next year at the latest. Unless the Civil War broke out even faster than in the original history—which seemed unlikely to be delayed—I needed to handle my affairs under the assumption that trouble could erupt at any moment.
Frankly, if I held onto these stocks until the war actually broke out, they would be confiscated, and even for someone like me, the blow would be too great. Wouldn't it be the best choice to make a big fuss about selling off all my stocks at this point, and then distribute them under borrowed names?
"Sett! I heard you sold all your railroad stocks this time? They say your profit is over double..."
"Damn it, James Sett! Are you saying you’re even good at stocks!"
"I heard you’ve had quite a lot of expenses lately, but you must have more than enough to cover them now... I’m envious, truly."
As expected, when news spread that I was selling most of my holdings, the people around me reacted with envy, sucking their fingers in regret. In truth, as the rumors suggested, I had been spending so much cash lately that I was reaching a point where I was running low on liquid funds, so no one found it strange that I was selling stocks.
But in reality, I hadn't sold a single share.
So, how did I solve the liquidity shortage? I transferred all the stocks I owned to a company under a borrowed name, had that company take out a loan using the stocks as collateral, and then had that cash wired to me. That was the end of it.
This method would have been impossible when banks weren't lending, but since our honorable President Breckinridge was busy spraying deposits into the banks, it became possible to pull off such tricks again.
The interest? Since the rate at which the stocks were rising was faster anyway, it didn't matter at all. Besides, Northern railroad stocks were destined to hit new highs once the Civil War broke out, so the real burden was zero.
Moved by the grace of our merciful President, I took out a loan using the railroad stocks as collateral again today, wired some to the South, and used the rest to buy more railroad stocks!
Of course, news spreading that I had made such a massive profit wasn't all good. Isn't it said that humans develop using jealousy as their driving force? In particular, I had a history of buying up a massive amount of stock from planters in the South who were having trouble with cash liquidity.
I had sucked up stocks like a black hole, and if that had yielded over a 200% return, how many people would be bitter about it? There were a truckload of people secretly suffering from stomachaches, thinking, "If I hadn't sold to that guy," or "If I had just held on a little longer."
Logical rebuttals like, "If you hadn't sold to me, what money would you have used to farm next year?" were meaningless. After all, these things were purely emotional issues.
And there was only one way to resolve this subtle envy and jealousy.
Since I had profited, I had to spend it lavishly.
July 19, 1858.
With the hopes of all Southern planters who wanted to hold a horse racing tournament that wouldn't lose to England's, the tournament that would stand at the pinnacle of American horse racing—where three-year-old horses could compete only once in their lifetime—finally opened its curtains.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Natchez Stakes! The race will begin in just a moment!"
I had debated whether or not to include the name "Sett," but to advertise the fact that I had intentionally left it out, I boldly excluded my name entirely.
On the day of the tournament, which was being held on a massive scale completely different from the small-scale horse racing events that had existed in America until now, the newly built racetrack near Natchez was packed with people. Gentlemen dressed in the South's characteristic suits, ladies showing off their gorgeous dresses, and the shouts of bookmakers growing fat on their excitement mingled together, making it feel like a massive festival.
No, to be precise, this was indeed a festival.
In particular, Parer, whose dream had become reality, was in such a state of ecstasy that he couldn't seem to collect his thoughts.
"Look at this, Sett! It’s truly magnificent! I don't think I've ever seen a horse race of this scale on American soil!"
He grabbed my arm, so excited that I worried he might die of happiness before the race even started. His face was already flushed red with dopamine; anyone could see he was a typical horse racing fanatic.
"You are too kind, Senator. I pray that your horse wins today."
"Haha! Of course! I will prove that my Mississippi Thunder is second to none compared to the racehorses of England!"
It wasn't just the scale; the "small" efforts I had made to raise the prestige of this tournament also achieved success beyond expectations. I had simply sent a polite invitation to the Earl of Eldery, my future father-in-law, and not only did he readily accept, but...
"Oh, Lord Stanley! The excitement I felt at the Epsom Derby is coming back to life!"
"These are my close friends and fellow horse racing enthusiasts. They have nothing but praise for the facilities at this racetrack."
He had brought along a string of horse racing fanatics from the British House of Lords who would watch any horse race if it were newly held. It seemed he had come for a bit of sightseeing while visiting his daughter, and thanks to that, the Natchez Stakes was instantly elevated to an international event.
The authority and "class" that could never be achieved by Southern hicks gathering alone had been bestowed upon the tournament. I guided them to the best VIP seats, bowing as low as I could.
"It is an honor that such noble guests have graced this humble place. The wish of us American horse racing enthusiasts is to follow even in the footsteps of English horse racing, the pinnacle of the world. I humbly ask for your guidance and advice."
Since everyone acknowledged that England was the peak of horse racing, I wasn't saying anything particularly wrong. As I showed off the smooth-talking skills that had melted the hearts of 21st-century department heads, satisfied smiles began to bloom on their faces.
"By the way, Sett, what is that white cotton boll flag fluttering over there? Is it because we are in the South? It seems to say 'Sett Cotton'."
"Ah, that is a space to promote our sponsors."
Having poured this much money and effort into it, there was no way I would let it pass for free. Naturally, in the background of every festival, a flag with a white cotton boll on a blue background was present.
[Sett Cotton]
This phrase was engraved in most places visible to the eye, such as throughout the stadium and on the program cards. Since I hadn't officially made the company public yet, people didn't exactly know what it meant. They probably just thought it meant that James Sett was the best planter in the South. For now, that was enough.
The largest cotton farm in the South, and a massive success. Implanting the name "Sett Cotton" into people's minds along with this image was one of the hidden goals of this festival.
"Nice to see you, Lord! I am Quitman, a member of the Federal House of Representatives. We met once before, didn't we?"
"Nice to meet you. I am John Sherman!"
Since news had spread that even British nobles were attending, there was no way the politicians would just sit still. Whether from the North or the South, influential figures flocked to Natchez to show their faces. Even...
"Sett! You've held a truly wonderful tournament! Isn't this proof that our Union is becoming one again!"
The new president, Breckinridge, even made a surprise visit, saying he would give a congratulatory speech. He probably wanted to use this tournament as a political show to claim that the North and South had returned to a mood of reconciliation as soon as he took office. Since I had moved up the date of the tournament for that exact purpose, everything was meshing perfectly.
"I hope I haven't come to such a place without reading the room."
"How could that be? Didn't the North's railroad stocks normalize as soon as you took office? Therefore, the fact that this horse racing tournament could be held is entirely thanks to your inauguration, Mr. President."
"Hahaha, if you put it that way, I suppose so? Even if it's not explicitly stated in the opening speech, I suppose I could mention it in passing. That this horse racing tournament is the signal that our Union is normalizing."
Yes, indeed. Whether he was riding my coattails or not, there was no reason to refuse when he offered to promote a horse racing tournament for which I was the main sponsor.
The authority of England, the aspirations of the South, the response of the North, and the support of the new administration. The Natchez Stakes had essentially reserved its place as a historic success before it even began.
Not satisfied with this, I desperately squeezed out the memories I had seen in the 21st century and added a few more spices.
"What is that electronic scoreboard?"
"It shows the odds changing periodically! It's excellent!"
"Oh, it’s organized not just with the jockeys' information and the horses' bloodlines, but also with recent race records and strategies! This is the first time I've seen such a detailed booklet!"
People were enthusiastic about the neatly printed program cards and the real-time information system. It was because it felt more intuitive that they were playing an intellectual game infused with information and analysis, rather than simple gambling.
And finally, at 4:00 PM.
The gunshot signaling the start of the main event, the "Natchez Stakes," rang out!
"They're off!"
"Mississippi Thunder! He's pulling ahead!"
"No! Big South from the inside! He's following fearfully close!"
The stands were a crucible of enthusiasm. Everyone shouted the names of the horses they were rooting for until their throats were raw. After a fierce close race in front of the finish line, the glory of the winning horse went to Big South, a strong contender from Kentucky.
On the other hand, Senator Parer, who had boasted that he was aiming for victory, unfortunately...
"Gaaaaaah! Mississippi Thunder!"
13th place.
It was unfortunate, but it was a rank that didn't feel regrettable at all. That's what I thought—what kind of Triple Crown winner, what nonsense.
"Sett! My dream of a Triple Crown winner!"
"Now, now, calm down. Mississippi Thunder is out of the question now, but you can try again with another one."
"Ugh... do you have any thoughts on raising a racehorse? Since you're good at everything, I think you'd definitely succeed in horse racing too!"
"Haha, please, look at how much work I have to do. You know that, don't you?"
"Ugh... I will definitely have my revenge..."
However, as if even his screams and complaints had become part of the festival, people were laughing, chatting, and deeply soaked in dopamine. While everyone was drunk on the thrilling excitement brought by victory and defeat, I quietly entered a small room prepared behind the stands.
Inside, the promised person was staring intently at a program book with the words "Sett Cotton" printed in large letters.
"It's been a while, Sett. How is it that every time I see you, you've become an even bigger figure?"
Tall stature, an awkward but sincere expression. The man upon whom the energy of the entire universe was now truly concentrated. Lincoln was waiting for me.