A Wedding, or a War.
Friday, February 15, 1929. Washington D.C. Silas Croft, a senior clerk at the U.S. Patent Office, pushed up the half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, as was his habit.
Before his eyes, resting atop the sorting tray on his desk, sat a thick legal envelope that appeared to have been sent from Chicago the previous Friday.
Even among the other mail that had piled up over the weekend, the envelope stood out for being exceptionally neat and formal. Written on it was the name of the sender.
Law Offices of Michael F. Ahern, Chicago, Illinois
"Hmm, a lawyer from Chicago... I wonder what grand invention they've come up with this time."
Scritch, scratch.
Croft muttered to himself as he skillfully wielded a letter opener to slice through the envelope.
Soon, a stack of documents spilled out onto his desk.
There was the patent application, of course, along with several attached blueprints depicting complex chemical structural formulas and what looked like elaborate manufacturing processes.
"The format... doesn't seem to be a problem."
After a cursory glance through the pile, Croft nodded and looked at the cover of the application.
There, the name of the invention and the identity of the applicant were written.
Subject: A novel catalytic process for the economical production of high-purity Methyl Methacrylate (MMA) monomers from methanol and general industrial raw materials, and an innovative polymerization method for transparent synthetic resin (PMMA) with excellent optical properties using the same.
Applicant / Inventor: Lee Jun
"Methyl... meta... something. Must be another new plastic. Is that the trend these days?"
Croft scoffed lightly after checking the title.
Most of the documents that came his way claimed to be inventions that would change the world, but the vast majority were filtered out during the review process, or even if they were granted a patent, they vanished without a trace.
He didn't think this would be any different.
"Lee Jun... a Chinese name. A Chinese inventor from Chicago, that's an unusual combination."
Croft tilted his head briefly at the unfamiliar name, but soon, without any change in expression, he mechanically stamped the pile of documents with a red [RECEIVED] stamp, filled in the date, and tossed them into a file tray labeled [Department of Organic Chemistry and Polymer Compounds].
In a little while, another junior clerk would come by, pick up the tray, and take it to the relevant review department down the hall.
But from that point on, it was no longer his concern.
"Well, they can figure out the review themselves."
Muttering, Croft was already picking up the next envelope.
In the midst of his repetitive daily tasks, the name of the man called Lee Jun, written on the application just moments ago, had long since been forgotten.
The day after finishing the battle with the godforsaken pile of paperwork, I was preparing for the biggest event of my life.
In the groom's waiting room inside St. James Cathedral in Cicero, I stared at the Asian man in a tuxedo reflected in the mirror.
Hmm, not bad. I’d say I’m in the top 10% of Asians in this era, wouldn't you?
See, it’s no wonder Rita picked me.
It was just as I was rolling such nonsense through my head.
Knock, knock.
"Mr. Lee."
The person who entered with the knock was a middle-aged man in an expensive-looking suit.
It was Michael F. Ahern, the lawyer who was helping my father-in-law and the Chicago Outfit in various ways.
"Congratulations on your wedding. You certainly look the part of a new groom in that tuxedo."
"Well, I am a new groom, aren't I?"
"Haha, indeed."
Ahern, who nodded at my dry response, handed me a piece of paper and continued.
"As of yesterday, I confirmed that the amended income tax returns for Mr. Capone and Mr. Lee, as well as Mr. Lee's patent application, have been filed. You've cleared the first mountain, at least."
"Thank you for your hard work."
"It would have been practically impossible without Mr. Lee's direction. This kind of work was a first for me, for Mr. Guzik, and for the staff."
I suppose that’s true. Forging that many proofs and transaction records was never going to be easy.
Especially considering we had to prepare for the attacks that would come from the federal government afterward.
The fact that we finished this massive task in just over a month was, in itself, nothing short of a miracle.
Though there were still many mountains left to climb.
"How is the IRS reacting?"
"They were vicious. I didn't expect them to believe it, but I didn't think they'd tell us to our faces that they would comb through everything from head to toe."
"If they were the type to just believe it, they wouldn't have dared to think about targeting the Boss in the first place."
To briefly explain the income structure of the tax return I submitted: John Lee Consulting, which I established—or rather, forged that I established—in '24, received a $1 million investment from an anonymous investor. Over the next four years, I spent $800,000 on research and business expenses and received $200,000 as labor costs.
However, it just so happened that the dozens of companies that received the $800,000 in expenses under various guises were none other than Al Capone's!
...If they just accepted that at face value, I’d be the one getting suspicious.
"But whether they believe it or not doesn't matter. The point is that we filed it. And they won't be able to find any loopholes."
It was bound to look suspicious to anyone, but the evidence was constructed perfectly.
On top of that, we were in a situation where we were legally paying roughly $200,000 in taxes, including penalties.
In this era, where the standard was that 'even a smuggler isn't a tax evader if they pay their taxes,' there was no justification for tearing apart someone who was even paying extra taxes.
Unless the Treasury agents could find clear, hard evidence, putting my father-in-law on trial would be a long way off.
Not to mention the premise that those fewer than twenty agents would have to investigate all those transaction records and proofs to find a problem in the first place.
And if they had to investigate the strange Asian man and his company included in that pile as well?
They’d die of old age before they found anything, let alone collected the taxes.
"I certainly hope so. Regardless, once again, my sincere congratulations on your wedding, Mr. Lee."
"Thanks, see you at the reception."
As I waved, Ahern left with a polite bow.
Hmm, is it about time to start?
I checked my appearance in the mirror one last time and left the waiting room.
Throughout the cathedral, members of the Chicago Outfit, wearing coats—presumably hiding guns—were guarding the perimeter with stiff expressions.
Even if Cicero was the territory of the Chicago Outfit, it was only natural, as there were more than a few gangs in Chicago, including their arch-rivals the North Side, that were gunning for the organization.
They were probably spread out not just here, but all around the outside of the cathedral as well.
Unlike in history, the St. Valentine's Day Massacre my father-in-law would have committed didn't happen thanks to my wedding to Rita, but it was a necessary measure because the possibility of other gangs targeting us was wide open.
And then.
"Honey?"
The moment I turned my gaze toward Rita’s voice calling me.
"...Wow."
I couldn't help but let out an exclamation.
The Rita standing before me had such a different aura that I wondered if she was even the same woman I had known until now.
The usual confident, sometimes even bubbly demeanor was nowhere to be found; a blonde beauty who looked as if a goddess in pure white had descended stood there.
A white wedding dress with a subtle sheen and a veil.
And her face, visible through it, looked so chaste and pure that it seemed to glow with a halo.
As she gave a shy, soft smile, all the thoughts that had been filling my head were completely painted over by Rita.
"Honey, why are you like that? You're embarrassing me."
"...Really... wow."
At this point, I think it might be worth risking my life for.
After that, the wedding proceeded in a flash.
"Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus."
"Amen."
"Ite, missa est."
"Deo gratias."
With the Latin prayers I couldn't even properly understand, the wedding ended, and I turned with Rita, hand in hand, leaving the cathedral to the sound of the organ.
"Honey, we're really a married couple now, aren't we?"
"I suppose so."
At Rita’s words, as she gripped my hand tightly with her white-gloved hand, I felt an inexplicable surge of emotion and stepped out of the cathedral.
Just last month, I thought I’d just live by inheriting my father’s laundry business, but I never imagined my fate would be twisted like this.
Well, the minor problem is that I have to live with my life on the line in exchange, though.
Soon, I reached the main entrance of the cathedral and looked outside.
Outside the cathedral, the snow from the heavy snowfall a few days ago hadn't fully melted and was piled up in clumps here and there, and in between, the wedding car that Rita and I would ride in was waiting for us with the top down.
How much did they say that was? Over $10,000?
That must have been quite a large expenditure even for my father-in-law.
What a man who loves to show off.
As I approached the new car that looked expensive at a glance, I smacked my lips inwardly.
That was when.
"Honey."
"Yeah?"
"Be careful, just in case."
Be careful?
It was just as I was looking at her with a puzzled expression at Rita’s sudden words.
Vroom-!
On the road on the other side of the cathedral, several black sedans were speeding toward the cathedral like madmen.
Soon, something flashed from the side windows of the cars passing by the front of the cathedral.
It was a gun.
This is...
"Get down!"
Thud-!
With her shout, Rita pushed me to the side.
At the same time.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-!
With a sound like popping popcorn, flames and bullets poured out from the black vehicles.
The main weapon of the gangs of this era: a drive-by shooting.
"It's an ambush! Cover the Boss!"
"Aaaah!"
Rat-tat-tat-tat-!
Crash-!
In my ears, as I fell under the wedding car, I could hear Frank Nitti’s shouting, people’s screams, and the gunfire of the organization members firing back.
Bang-! Bang-!
Following that, Rita, who had pushed me, lowered her body as if to cover me, and fired her small pistol, which was suddenly in her hand, violently toward one of the attacking vehicles.
Screech-! Bang!
Soon, due to the counterattack by her and the other organization members, one of the vehicles at the very back of the ambush lost control and crashed through the storefront window of a nearby shop.
However, the two cars in the lead had already poured out all their bullets and were leisurely speeding down the road, leaving Cicero.
"Chase them! Kill those bastards!"
With my father-in-law’s enraged command, some of the organization members took the cars that were on standby and chased after them.
I looked at Rita, who was hiding her body using the wedding car as cover above me.
Soon, she checked on me with worried eyes.
"Honey, are you okay?"
"I'm fine, are you?"
"I am too."
She said that, but I could see that her wedding dress was torn in several places from her intense movements.
At least it was a relief that she didn't seem to have been shot.
I slowly raised my fallen body while cautiously checking my surroundings.
The front of the cathedral was a scene of chaos.
People who had fallen, broken glass shards, and shell casings scattered here and there.
It looked more like a battlefield than a wedding.
That was when.
"...Damn it."
When an organization member who had been to the car that crashed into the building said something to Nitti, Nitti reported to my father-in-law, Al Capone, with a stiff face.
"Boss, it’s the North Side bastards."
"Are you sure?"
"This guy confirmed their faces. He says they’re definitely members of that organization."
"Moran, you son of a bitch..."
With those words, my enraged father-in-law checked his surroundings, then took a cigar from his pocket with trembling hands and lit it.
Soon, white smoke poured from his mouth as he took a long drag of the cigar.
And then, the order fell from his lips.
"It's war."