The Golden Child
The first-class cabin of the train heading back to Chicago from New York was quite comfortable.
It featured a private bedroom and bathroom for passengers who had to be cooped up for sixteen hours, and a dining car stacked with thick steaks and shrimp.
Compared to the agony of sitting for sixteen hours in third class, which was worse than an economy seat on a plane, this was, without exaggeration, heaven.
Slice, slice.
Thanks to that, I could comfortably chew on a steak inside the bedroom of the moving train. Furthermore, I could also ponder how to deal with our "golden child."
Well, a solution didn't exactly come easily.
"Hmm... this is tricky."
The biggest problem was that our golden child, Frank Nitti, had a very close relationship with my father-in-law, Al Capone. Since they had grown up playing cops and robbers—or perhaps robbers and robbers—together, building their organization and friendship over the years, it was obvious that their bond was exceptionally tight.
And I was currently being treated as an enemy by such a man.
Of course, the best solution would be to get along with Nitti, but looking at the structure of the organization, that wasn't easy. If I was the one in charge of the organization's legitimate business sectors, Nitti was the guy who oversaw all the illegal operations.
As his nickname, "The Enforcer," suggested, he was the strategist who commanded the organization's members to physically annihilate enemies, and he was also the person in charge of the bootlegging business, the organization's largest source of income.
The problem was that the bootlegging business was having its market share steadily encroached upon by my dairy business. It wasn't strange that his right hand seemed to itch whenever he saw me.
Chomp, chomp.
Even so, trying to eliminate him using some method had a high probability of displeasing my father-in-law. Not only that, but I also had to consider the possibility of backlash from the organization's members. Although many of them were currently employed as staff for SCC or SMC, those who still made their living selling bootleg liquor were closer to the golden child than to me.
On top of that, if I failed, I would be branded a traitor and end up as a target at a shooting range.
"The best thing would be for him to humble himself and come to me first... eh, let's just eat."
Slice, slice.
I shook my head to clear my complicated thoughts and popped the last piece of steak into my mouth. It really is great that you can eat so much beef in America. Though, in about two months, it’ll be hard to even see beef on the streets.
It was right when I was taking a big bite of the baked potato that came as a garnish that—
Wooooooo-!
"What, are we here already?"
I’d spent the whole day eating and sleeping, so I hadn't even realized we’d arrived. Hearing the train whistle announcing our arrival, I grabbed my bag, avoiding the side table with the empty plate, and stepped outside.
Whoosh!
It was August, alright; the rain was pouring down from the morning. It would have been a disaster if I hadn't brought an umbrella.
Thinking that, I opened my umbrella and was about to leave Chicago Union Station.
"Extra! Extra! Al Capone's right-hand man arrested for tax evasion!"
...Excuse me?
"Hey kid, give me one."
I immediately shoved 5 cents into the hand of the newspaper-selling boy, snatched a paper from his hand, and checked it.
I was certain I had told them to handle things themselves before I left for the federal office, so which idiot did this...
Oh, you golden child...
Facing a major disaster from the morning, I immediately went to find someone who would know about this situation well.
"Mr. Lee? It's the first time I've seen you here."
Guzik, who was buried in documents in a basement office of a small building in Cicero, greeted me with a weary expression. However, instead of a greeting, I handed him the newspaper I had bought for 5 cents earlier.
"Mr. Guzik, do you know what this is about?"
"Ah..."
Seeing Guzik unable to even speak properly and making a pained expression the moment he saw the paper, it was clearly no ordinary matter. Soon, he opened his mouth.
"...It seems he didn't take care of it."
"The amount?"
"According to the indictment, the tax caught for evasion is 36,000 dollars... so in terms of income, it would be about 170,000 dollars."
"Ha..."
There was no way this would harm my father-in-law or Guzik. My father-in-law and I had already perfectly aligned our documents during the last tax filing, and key figures like Guzik and Mr. Ralph had listened to me and handled their affairs before the IRS came knocking. It seems Frank Nitti, our golden child, hadn't.
"What does Mr. Ahern say?"
"He said to admit it was a mistake even now and pay the additional taxes. He says it would end with about a 10,000-dollar fine or probation."
Well... I don't think it'll turn out that way.
"If an indictment hadn't been filed, maybe, but once it's filed, it won't be easy."
"What?"
"That charge of tax evasion is just a pretext to attack the organization. In my opinion, he'll have to rot in a cell for at least a year. Maybe even longer."
How many years did my father-in-law get in the original history? I think it was double digits, at least.
"Since the excuse to attack the boss or Guzik, who were the original targets, has disappeared, there's a high possibility they'll use him as an example."
Well... from my perspective, I could say it worked out well. If Nitti disappears into prison on his own, I can increase my influence over the organization in the meantime. Considering that a significant portion of the organization's income comes from my business, that wasn't exactly strange.
But the real problem was elsewhere.
"And if the bootlegging lines that Mr. Nitti was managing happen to be exposed, the organization's accounting structure might be revealed."
If that happens, the illegal business areas, if not the legitimate ones, will shrink significantly. Unless it's after the Great Depression starts and Prohibition is repealed, the bootlegging business remains one of the organization's main sources of funds. And since he was my father-in-law's best friend, Nitti's absence, big or small, wouldn't be good for the organization.
In the end, it meant I had to solve it for him...
"For now, I'll have to meet Mr. Nitti."
Shall I try educating the golden child while I'm at it?
The mansion where Frank Nitti lived was located in the Riverside village on the outskirts of Chicago.
"...What are you doing here?"
It seemed my father-in-law was already preparing countermeasures, as he was sitting in the living room with a team of lawyers, including Mr. Ahern.
"I heard there was bad news, so I came."
"You look happy."
"Not at all."
Probably not, right? Um... or am I?
"Who opened the door?"
"Your wife opened it. She was very kind."
"Hmph, what a useless thing to do."
At my glib answer, Nitti snorted and glared at me.
"As you can see, I'm busy, so I'd like you to leave."
"Oh my, I came here to help you."
"It's a matter that will end once I pay some taxes and fines anyway. I don't need your help."
As expected, our golden child still doesn't seem to grasp the situation. In the original history, my father-in-law ended up in Alcatraz doing exactly that, didn't he?
"Do you truly believe that?"
"What?"
"Do you really think those federal guys will let you go easily just because you pay the taxes?"
Well, the IRS that needs to collect the taxes might, but the opinions of the prosecutors or judges might be a bit different.
"I've heard that federal prisons aren't exactly pleasant places to live. They say if you're unlucky, you die or come out a cripple."
"..."
Even so, the story I brought up this time seemed to hit home, as the golden child's face turned pale. No matter how much of a second-in-command he was, it wouldn't be very pleasant to go from living luxuriously on bootleg money to suddenly being behind bars.
"Everyone, please leave for a moment. Oh, Mr. Ahern, please stay."
"...Everyone, please leave."
At Nitti's trembling voice, the lawyers, excluding Ahern, went outside.
"So, what do you want to do?"
In the quiet living room where only the three of us, including Ahern, remained, the first to speak was the owner, Nitti.
"Before that, let's talk about the price."
Is it finally time to educate the golden child?
"Price?"
"Did you honestly think I'd help you for free?"
Well, a member discount is possible, though.
"Once this matter is resolved, go to New York."
"...New York?"
"We're going to start a new business in New York under the name of the organization's dairy company. With Luciano's side."
"Are you telling me you're going to touch the East Coast right now?"
"I've already finished talking with the boss about this before."
"...My god."
He must be feeling dizzy at the thought of tasting the flavor of a real gang. Still, if it's Nitti, who helped grow the organization enough to occupy half of Chicago, it wouldn't be that difficult to carve out a place for our organization in New York.
"You'd only fight if you stayed in Chicago anyway, so go clear your head. And have a nice cold glass of milk."
"Are you trying to steal my spot while I'm gone?"
"Well, if you don't like it, you don't have to go. Though I think a New York apartment would be better than a cell in Leavenworth."
"...Is that all?"
That is all, but it won't be as easy as you think. Because next year, a bloodbath will blow through New York.
"Yes, of course, it will go under the name of SMC on the surface, and naturally, you will have to follow the instructions of me, who is in charge of management."
In short, it means to come under me while you're in exile. If nothing else, it's a fact that Nitti is better than me in military matters, so he'll do his part even in the midst of a war. That way, I'll be able to shout at Luciano and Lansky later on.
After finishing everything I had to say, I looked at the golden child in silence. Soon, his mouth opened.
"...So, how are you going to solve this problem?"
"I'll take that as a yes."
At Nitti's answer, which was effectively a declaration of surrender, I nodded and continued.
"Well... if you hadn't been indicted, it would be one thing, but since you've already been indicted, there's only one way."
In the end, the root of all these problems is that you didn't pay the taxes you were supposed to. If so.
"If we get rid of the income, wouldn't the taxes disappear too?"
Removing the root of the problem is the answer.
"Mr. Lee, that's impossible."
It was Ahern who answered my words.
"The income the prosecutor is talking about right now is a figure derived by calculating Mr. Nitti's assets and expenditures in reverse. I don't know about the assets, but you can't just make the expenditures that have already been made disappear."
That's not wrong. Unless we're going to erase their memories, there's no way to get rid of the numbers they already have in their records.
"That's true. But... money for expenditures doesn't necessarily come only from income, does it?"
"What?"
Now, it's time to put to use the things I saw on TV in my past life.