The Lunar New Year
Thanks to the Knowledge Injector, I had managed to wrap up the persuasion of Gujic and Ahern.
The problem was, there was still one more person who needed convincing.
None other than the man who actually had to pay the taxes.
“Pay... taxes?”
As I finished my explanation while flipping through the presentation slides in the corner of the Lexington Hotel suite, my father-in-law, Al Capone, crushed his cigar into the ashtray and glared at me coldly.
“Listen, Lee. Are you telling me to fatten up those bastards in Washington with my own money?”
As expected, my father-in-law never deviated from his character.
It was only natural. Up until now, the Chicago Outfit—and my father-in-law himself—had maintained a stance on taxes that was essentially, "I'd rather die than pay."
Considering that the income proof he’d begrudgingly submitted after failing to dodge the IRS and court orders was a mere $60,000—essentially a form of teabagging—it was no surprise.
“It’s merely throwing a bone to the federal government,” I replied, swallowing hard and keeping my expression as calm and nonchalant as possible.
“Hungry dogs are noisy, but if you toss them a bone, they quiet down. Even if we do have to pay a little for the bone.”
But my father-in-law’s mind wasn’t easily changed.
“I’ve lived just fine without paying a cent in taxes all this time. It’s not murder, assault, or robbery—do you really think those morons can do anything to me just because I didn’t pay a little tax, Lee?”
This isn’t easy. Not easy at all.
I sighed inwardly. But I couldn’t just proceed as I pleased, either. Tax returns had to be filed in his name, and if I ignored the boss’s intentions and messed with his money, the lead content in my body would likely skyrocket. So, I had to convince him somehow. If only for his sake—or rather, for my own survival.
“That is precisely why you must handle the tax issue, Boss.”
“...What are you talking about?”
“As you said, Boss, you are currently facing various charges. But our capable organization... and Mr. Gujic and Mr. Ahern here have handled most of them cleanly. Except for the taxes.”
I looked at him with a serious expression.
“The Feds are currently scouring every corner, looking for a pretext to bring you down. Since they haven’t found a way to drag you to court, tax evasion is the only weakness they can exploit. It is, quite literally, your Achilles' heel.”
“Hmm.”
“If we resolve this one issue, the federal government will never be able to touch you.”
I’d finished the explanation, but... his expression was far from convinced. That said, he hadn’t outright rejected my advice yet. He was just staring at me, brows furrowed.
I met his intense gaze and kept my expression as neutral as possible. A moment later, Al Capone’s eyes shifted away from me. They landed on Frank Nitti, the organization’s second-in-command.
“Frank, what do you think?”
At the boss’s question, Nitti scanned me with blade-like eyes and shook his head.
“It’s too dangerous an idea, Boss. It’s a complex plan, and if there’s even a single mistake, it could give them the very leverage we’re trying to avoid. It doesn’t align with the way the organization has operated until now, either.”
Yeah, I didn’t expect anything else from you. Nitti, having been with the organization for so long, would naturally prioritize safety over sudden change. But with the second-in-command saying that, it was essentially a red light for my plan.
In that case, there was only one person left to trust.
“Gujic. You’re the expert, so you’d know best. Does this... make any sense?”
My father-in-law’s next target was Jake Gujic, the Outfit’s treasurer, who was standing to the side with a troubled expression. Gujic hesitated for a moment.
Since I’d used the Knowledge Injector on him at the office yesterday, he would have understood what I meant, but saying it in front of the boss was a different matter entirely.
Finally.
“Boss.”
Gujic’s mouth slowly opened.
“Mr. Lee’s method is... honestly, it’s a very bold approach, one I’ve never heard of before.”
Tsk, did I not inject enough knowledge yesterday?
“However... considering the financial problems the organization is currently facing and the suspicious movements of the federal government, it is true that the risk of the tax issue Mr. Lee pointed out is difficult to ignore.”
The saving grace was that he hadn’t completely refuted my argument. Or rather, one could say he was being slightly more positive.
“If... if we follow Mr. Lee’s plan to legally dress up your income and pay a portion of the taxes accordingly... we might at least be able to block the easiest path the federal government has to attack you. Of course, the risk involved in that process would be... considerable.”
The moment Gujic finished speaking, it felt as if a notification had popped up before my eyes.
The effect of the Knowledge Injector was immense!
It wasn’t a perfect endorsement, but the fact that he’d acknowledged my plan wasn’t complete nonsense was help enough. I couldn’t let this opportunity slip.
“As Mr. Gujic said, there is risk. But I believe it is a risk worth taking. If we handle this tax issue properly, the Feds won’t be able to touch you, even with their eyes wide open. The public will come to see you as a legitimate businessman who pays his taxes.”
“Hmm, a legitimate businessman.”
At my words, the boss fell into silence again. Tap, tap-tap. His thick fingers drummed irregularly on the desk, but I knew my words had moved him.
A legitimate businessman. That was the title the King of the Underworld, Al Capone, had used to dress himself up, and the direction his business—fueled by bootlegging—had aimed for. In actual history, if not for the tax issue, he might have eventually traded his nameplate for that of a respectable corporate chairman after 1931.
“Lee.”
It was about five minutes later when my father-in-law finally spoke.
“Yes, Boss.”
“You said there was risk. What will you do if it fails?”
“There will be no failure, Boss.”
My response was without a hint of hesitation.
“I will stake everything I have on this. For your safety.”
And for my own life, too. He and I were effectively bound by fate, connected by Rita and the child soon to be born. To survive and stand firm in America, which would soon be engulfed by the storm of the Great Depression, I had to handle this without failure.
“Everything, you say... can you take responsibility for those words?”
“I will stake my life.”
As I answered, Al Capone rose from his seat. Hiss! He walked to the window, relit his cigar, and gazed out at the Chicago skyline for a moment. When he finally turned to look at me, cigar clamped between his teeth:
“Proceed.”
Everything was decided in that one word.
“If you’re that confident, I’ll trust you just this once.”
His voice, growling toward me, still carried a blade-like pressure. “Don’t expect the title of ‘son-in-law’ to act as a shield. This is organization business.”
“I will keep that in mind, Boss.”
As I bowed my head, my father-in-law returned to his desk and sat down.
“You and Gujic handle the specific details. And report the progress to me directly, periodically.”
“Of course.”
As I bowed to him, a smile had already formed on my lips.
The moment Al Capone made his decision, I became so busy I could have used two bodies. Between setting up the operating system and fake transaction records for the new company, SCC, and the work to turn my father-in-law’s bootlegging income into legitimate earnings—not to mention the wedding, which was less than two weeks away—I was swamped. The organization was helping a fair bit with the wedding, but the other two tasks required my direct involvement.
Time marched on, and it became February 10th. It was the Lunar New Year, the nation’s biggest holiday.
Screech! I stepped out of the black Cadillac my father-in-law had sent for me, followed by Rita, my parents, and myself, as we entered our destination: the two-story Chicago Korean Methodist Church.
“It’s quite bustling, perhaps because it’s the New Year.”
My father, who had stepped out first, looked around the crowded chapel in admiration.
“Indeed.”
I nodded in agreement and looked toward the entrance of the chapel, where people were moving busily. On one wall sat a wooden donation box with Donations for the Provisional Government of the Republic of Korea written in ink, and next to it, a long guestbook lay on a desk. From the kitchen in the back, the savory scent of beef broth wafted out, as if they’d prepared tteokguk (rice cake soup).
It was a familiar sight, one I’d seen every New Year and Chuseok since the church was built. But today, there was one difference.
“Honey, it smells delicious. Is that soup?”
Rita Capone, my wife-to-be. She had come with me.
“It’s our traditional soup for the first day of the New Year. Let’s eat together after the service.”
I smiled at her question and looked toward the kitchen, where steam was rising. Although I would be converting to Catholicism the day before the wedding, what did it matter before then? Besides, it was the same God; surely He would forgive a bowl of rice cake soup. Absolutely.
Of course, there was a minor problem. The moment my family entered the chapel, everyone’s eyes locked onto me.
“Hey, isn’t that... Jun’s parents and Jun?”
“Jun? You mean... ah, that young man who was in the newspaper with Al Capone?”
“Al Capone? Isn’t he that famous gang boss?”
“And who is that white lady next to Jun’s mother?”
“Jun’s father was so happy saying he found a bride... was it a white woman?”
I can hear you, ladies. Every word.
“I saw it, I saw it! He looked this way!”
“L-let’s go in.”
When I turned my gaze toward the women whispering and glancing at us from the kitchen, they flinched as if they’d encountered a gun and scurried inside. Of course, the gazes from within the chapel remained fixed on us.
Well, I expected this, but experiencing it was another matter.
When I glanced at my parents with a troubled expression, they sighed softly, clearly feeling just as awkward.
“Jun, let’s just greet the elders and leave today.”
“What? What about the rice cake soup?”
“You fool, do you think the soup would go down in this atmosphere? The whole congregation would choke on it.”
Rice cake soup on New Year’s is a serious matter—you can’t age without it! Or wait, is it actually better this way? Regardless, it wasn’t a dish worth enduring my mother’s cold glare for, so I had to tearfully give up on the soup.
“Well, well. A celebrity has arrived.”
That was when a man approached us.
“Greetings, Mr. Lee. It’s been a while since I saw you at Chuseok. How is the business going?”
The man, who looked to be around my age, approached my father and greeted him warmly. That said, he was a stranger to me.
“Ah, yes. It’s been a while, Min-seok. Have you been well?”
“As for me, I started a new business recently. I figured I should stick to what I know best so I don’t go bust again, right?”
“I see. If it’s something you know well... is it that?”
My father’s reaction was lukewarm. Even while receiving the greeting, he was wary of his surroundings, as if he’d run into someone he shouldn’t have.
“He’s a man I don’t like,” Rita whispered in my ear. I nodded slightly, but didn’t take my eyes off him. Who on earth could he be to make my father act like that?
Just as I was watching their conversation with a puzzled expression:
“Ah, Jun doesn’t seem to know me.”
The man shifted his gaze to me and opened his mouth with a grin.
“I’m Lee Min-seok. My American name is Jason Lee.”
Jason Lee. It was a name I’d heard in passing in my previous life. Let’s see, what was it again...
“...The Gambling King?”
Nice to meet you, sir.
“The Gambling King? You’re too kind!”
Oops, thought bubble.