The High-Stakes Interview
The suite was located on the highest floor of the Lexington Hotel.
Standing by the window in a room thick with cigar smoke, Al Capone stared silently down at the gray streets of Chicago. The vast forest of skyscrapers spread out before his eyes was, in every sense, his kingdom. Considering that even the mayor and the police of this massive city couldn't defy his will, the word "kingdom" was a modest description, devoid of even a hint of exaggeration.
However, ruling that kingdom was never easy. It was especially difficult these days, with a mountain of headaches piling up.
"Damn it......."
Capone spat out a curse and ground his cigar into the ashtray. There was only one reason for the scowl on the face of the man who had built a massive criminal empire on Chicago soil.
"Ever since the government started messing with industrial alcohol, Hooch sales have been in the gutter. At this rate, paying the boys' salaries won't be easy......."
The root of all his problems began the year before last, when the federal government mandated that methanol and various other toxic substances be mixed into industrial alcohol. The Chicago Outfit, Capone’s organization, primarily dealt in Hooch—bootleg liquor made by secretly diverting industrial alcohol.
But ever since the composition of that industrial alcohol changed, the toxic substances like methanol couldn't be properly filtered out, and the number of people dying from drinking the bootleg liquor had increased tenfold. While he had used his influence to muzzle the press in the Chicago area, he couldn't hide the massive incident last Christmas where hundreds had died after drinking his product.
Terrified, people began choosing safer, albeit more expensive, Canadian whiskey over cheap Hooch, and sales of the Outfit's flagship product had plummeted over the last few days. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before the foundation of the bootlegging empire he had worked so hard to build crumbled. To make matters worse, rumors were circulating that the liquor from his rival organization, the North Side gang, was better. His insides had long since burned away into black ash.
"I need to clean up the organization first. The business can't run properly when it's full of guys just looking for a way to skim off the top."
Al Capone puffed on his cigar, his face twisted in disgust. Of course, his headaches weren't limited to the organization.
"And that girl, Rita... getting involved with some Chinese guy......."
If it had been his usual temperament, he would have already fitted the guy with cement shoes and tossed him into the Chicago River. Even if she was an illegitimate child, she was, in fact, his only precious daughter. He was a man who could be ruthless to others but was always warm to his family. And to him, that Chinese guy—whose name he couldn't even remember—was just a bastard who had laid hands on his daughter, who had only just reached adulthood.
'Father, I like this person. I want to marry him.'
If not for those words from his daughter, and the fact that she had threatened him by pointing the handgun he’d given her as an adult gift at her own head, he would have carried out his thoughts without hesitation.
"What could she possibly see in some random guy she just met... tsk."
He had been looking for a suitor for her anyway, and aside from being an Oriental, the guy looked decent enough, so it wasn't a huge problem. But as a father with a daughter, he couldn't understand it at all, and he didn't want to.
"Damn it, nothing is going right."
With those words, Capone let out a deep sigh and put the cigar back in his mouth.
That was when it happened.
Knock, knock.
"I'm coming in, Father."
With the sound of a knock, the door to the hotel room opened and someone entered. It was quite rude, considering she hadn't asked for permission. But instead of getting angry, Al Capone smiled with the cigar still in his mouth.
"What is it, Rita? I told you not to come here unannounced because it's dangerous."
The person who had opened the door and entered was none other than his daughter, Rita Capone. As soon as she stepped inside, she looked at her father and smiled playfully.
"But there's something I absolutely have to tell you."
"Enough to come all the way here by yourself?"
Although he had given her his surname, officially, Al Capone only had one son. It was natural to keep her existence a secret, as it was certain she would become a target if it were known that the man who had built his business through repeated raids and assassinations had a daughter. That was why he had forbidden anyone from approaching the Lexington Hotel, his primary residence.
And.
"Yes, I felt I had to see you in person to say it."
"Don't tell me... is it because of that Oriental guy?"
"Yes."
When Rita nodded at the question he had thrown out just in case, Al Capone smiled with satisfaction, as if he had expected it.
"Good. It's fine if you've changed your mind now. I suppose you're tired of him? If you want, I'll take care of it cleanly."
Already in his mind, the damn Oriental guy who had touched his daughter was sinking into the cold Chicago River with a block of cement tied to his feet.
However.
"No, it's about something else."
His daughter's answer was different from his expectation.
"Something else?"
"He... I think he could be quite helpful to the business."
"That Chinese guy... is helpful?"
Al Capone’s brow furrowed slightly at Rita’s unexpected words. According to the background check he had ordered his men to conduct, there was nothing particularly useful about the damn guy or his surroundings, so he couldn't help but be confused.
But.
"He knows how to distill."
"...Is that so?"
His daughter’s follow-up was enough to pique his interest.
"He didn't just know how to do a simple cut—the slang for the process of removing methanol through distillation—but he was more... professional."
"For instance?"
"Unlike other distillers who rely on their senses, he used a thermometer to precisely remove only the wood alcohol. It was as if... he had learned it somewhere. According to him, he called it the traditional method of 'Joseon'."
"Hmm."
After hearing her explanation, Al Capone fell into thought. As the Chicago Outfit’s main business was selling bootleg liquor, he, as the boss, knew a fair bit about the process. He also knew how much trouble the distillers caused.
'I just dealt with a guy who got caught skimming liquor the other day. You can't trust anyone.'
But if his own family could do the job instead of some random guy, the story changed. Family, at the very least, wouldn't stab him in the back. That was the reason he entrusted the most important parts of the organization's business only to his family.
'And if a family member happens to have a useful skill, there’s nothing better.'
Of course, there was the minor issue that the guy wasn't family yet, and he didn't know if he was trustworthy. And Al Capone knew the most certain solution for such a case.
"Then, bring him here. I'll verify it myself."
It was the moment Lee Jun's fate was decided.
After Rita left to report to Capone, I helped out at the laundry shop run by my parents for a few days. It was the daily life of a typical second-generation immigrant, helping my father and mother carry laundry and do the ironing as usual. But my insides felt as stifled as if the bacon I’d eaten yesterday was stuck in my throat. The reason was, of course, my future, which I couldn't see even an inch ahead.
"Whew......."
I held the iron and stared blankly at the sunlight pouring in through the window. The things I had to do in the future were quite dangerous. If I took even one wrong step, this sunlight might be the last light of my life. To prevent that, I had to scrape together all the information I knew and make the right judgment.
Showing the distillation method to Rita hadn't been my intention, but from now on, I had to scrape together everything I could to prove my worth. To none other than Al Capone, the boss of the Chicago Outfit who ruled the nights of Chicago. And right now, all I had was chemistry knowledge at an undergraduate level—which was quite useful by the standards of this era—and the future history I had gleaned from the history YouTube channels I watched as a hobby.
In my previous life, they were just fragments of useless knowledge, but right now, they were the only things I could trust. How could I combine these.......
“Jun!”
Lost in thought, I only regained my senses after hearing my mother’s sharp shout. Wait... why is there a burning smell?
I turned my gaze toward the direction of the smell.
"Oh?"
What entered my eyes was a silk blouse being burned in real-time by the iron.
"Gasp!"
Realizing what was happening, I hurriedly lifted the iron, but unfortunately, the blouse, already burned and holed, didn't miraculously recover.
"Oh my god, do you know how much that cost!"
"Ahahaha......."
"You think this is funny? I'm taking it out of your allowance, so you'd better know that!"
Smack!
It was just as my mother’s furious back-smack hit my spine.
Ding-!
With the sound of the chime, the shop door opened and someone entered.
"Welcome......."
I tried to greet the customer while enduring the pain radiating from my back. But I stopped mid-bow as I checked the visitor's face.
"...Rita?"
Rita Capone, Al Capone’s daughter and the woman who would be my wife, was wearing a meaningful smile.
"...Jun, who is that young lady?"
Noticing the strange atmosphere, my mother approached and asked, and I answered her briefly.
"My fiancée."
"What?"
Leaving my mother’s surprised voice behind, I looked at Rita again. She opened her mouth.
"Honey, you aren't busy, are you?"
"Not really......."
"Then, let's get going."
It seemed it was time to start.
"Now?"
"My father is waiting."
My high-stakes interview, that is.