To Yield or to Accept
University of Chicago.
True to its reputation as a university founded by the oil tycoon Rockefeller, it was famous for the "Chicago School," a place teeming with economists who worshipped the market. However, the person I was here to meet today was not one of those zealots.
"Looks pretty unique."
Standing at the entrance of my destination, I looked up at the Gothic-style building that looked more like a church than a physics laboratory.
Ryerson Physical Laboratory.
In the thirty years since its founding, it had produced three Nobel laureates in physics, making it one of the most cutting-edge research facilities of the era.
Naturally, it was a building famous enough that even ordinary people in Chicago, myself included, knew of it.
Even so, this was my first time seeing it in person.
"Is this the physics department's administrative office?"
I stepped inside the building and headed straight for the office on the first floor.
"Yes, how can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Professor Arthur Compton."
At my response, the woman who appeared to be an assistant began rummaging through some papers.
"Hmm... your name is Jun Lee, correct?"
"Yes."
"Could you wait a moment? The professor is currently in the lab conducting an experiment."
"Understood."
There was no point in bothering him while he was in the middle of an experiment, so I nodded and waited.
I sat on a sofa in the office, sipping coffee, and waited for about five minutes.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Lee."
The office door opened, and a man in a white lab coat walked in.
"Please excuse my attire; I had to step out of an experiment."
"Not at all, I'm sure you were in the middle of important work."
To be honest, I didn't even know what Compton was working on at this point in time. The most famous thing was the Compton Effect, which had earned him a Nobel Prize four years ago, but after that? I only knew he was doing research on Cosmic Rays.
I think I heard about it in a mandatory liberal arts class, but I couldn't quite remember. It had been over thirty years, so it would be stranger if I *did* remember it clearly.
"Then, let's head to my office to continue our conversation."
With that, Professor Compton led me to his office on the second floor. We sat facing each other on a sofa in a room that looked like a typical office, save for the blackboard covered in complex equations and the bookshelves packed with physics tomes.
"Mr. Lee, if you don't mind, I'd like to verify... 'that' first. Would that be alright?"
"Of course."
At Compton's cautious request, I readily nodded and pulled two 10-cent silver coins from my wallet—the ones old man Rockefeller had given me—and showed them to him.
"Hmm, verified. It is indeed what the patron provided."
"By patron, do you mean Mr. Rockefeller?"
"Indeed. In a broad sense, one could say all scholars at the University of Chicago are supported by Mr. Rockefeller... but as far as I know, not many people have received this."
As he spoke, he took two 10-cent silver coins from his own wallet and placed them on the table. One was an older coin he must have received some time ago, but the other was a worn silver coin dated 1870, just like mine.
"Then, first of all... I would like to know exactly what the significance of these coins is. I know at least that they are silver coins from the year Mr. Rockefeller started his business."
"Ah, didn't he tell you?"
"He only told me to go and find you, Professor."
"Haha, he does enjoy setting riddles."
A riddle? He asked me all sorts of questions too; it seems the old man is quite bored in his twilight years.
Compton put his coins back and continued.
"Well, this is a sort of... admission ticket."
"An admission ticket?"
"Or perhaps I should call it a key."
That hint was enough.
"So, it's like a membership card for a social club."
"Something like that."
Compton nodded and began a full explanation.
"There is a gathering held regularly in New York. It is a place where prominent figures from various fields—humanities, social sciences, science, and politics—gather to share ideas and debate. There is only one condition for entry: possessing this coin received from the patron."
Compton's explanation didn't stray far from my expectations. I had briefly imagined it might be a "wish ticket" for Rockefeller himself, but why would a retired old man bother with such things? It seemed more like he was trying to connect me to his own network of influence.
"It must not be an easy gathering to attend, if people like you are the target audience."
"It's not just a place for boring academic talk, though. You can meet businessmen like Mr. Lee and famous American artists there as well. The patron visits from time to time, too."
Certainly, that's not bad. No, I should say it's actually quite good.
I'd made a lot of money over the past year, but honestly, aside from a few politicians, my entire network consisted of gangsters. Since I started this as the son-in-law of a mob boss, I didn't have any particular regrets about that, but if I could gain access to the connections in this group, it would be a massive help for the businesses I planned to pursue in the future.
"Then I suppose we'll be seeing each other often."
"If you come, you'll find it quite interesting."
I didn't know who would be at that gathering, but if old man Rockefeller had personally curated it, they certainly wouldn't be ordinary people. Every word spoken while sitting at that table would be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars—how could it *not* be interesting?
After finishing my conversation with Professor Compton, I focused on SCC business for several days. The bank acquisition was obviously important, but neglecting the first company I founded—the heart of my cash flow—was out of the question.
Among other things, there was one thing I was most interested in lately.
"It's made quite a lot of progress."
I marveled as I gazed at the massive factory rising over the vast plot of land on the outskirts of Chicago.
It was the skeleton of SCC's second factory—specifically, a large-scale pharmaceutical plant designed to produce sulfonamides, an antibacterial agent based on sulfanilamide.
"The building itself is scheduled for completion within this month, but including the internal facilities, we'll need another year. Configuring the production lines is taking quite a bit of time."
The person who answered me was none other than the president of the construction firm in charge of building this plant. Considering I was planning to invest roughly 2 million dollars into this project, it was only natural for the president to show up in person.
"That will be sufficient."
In the meantime, I planned to finish the patent applications and clinical trials, and then announce the antibacterial effects of sulfanilamide. To make the world aware of this "miracle drug" that could suppress and eliminate bacteria in the body—something that had never existed before—I needed at least the results of clinical trials, didn't I?
"Anyway, I'll be dropping by often."
"The construction is proceeding without any issues, so you don't need to worry too much, but..."
"I still feel more at ease seeing it with my own eyes."
In my past life, I hadn't heard just one or two horror stories about people who left interior work to others and ended up in tears. Hiring a professional supervisor was a given, but on top of that, I had to see the factory rising with my own eyes to feel even a little bit at ease.
"Then, I'll be heading back for today."
"Yes, sir! Just leave it to us!"
Leaving the president's 2-million-dollar reaction behind, I headed toward my Cadillac, where Rizzo was waiting.
Screech!
It was then that a long, blue Buick pulled up in front of my black Cadillac. I looked at the person who stepped out of the backseat of the Buick with a puzzled expression.
"Mr. Gu-jik?"
"I heard you were here, so I came in a hurry, Consigliere."
Why was the man who was supposed to be doing the books in Cicero all the way out here? There must be a reason... let's see.
"Is this about the Foreman Bank matter?"
"That's correct."
At my question, Gu-jik nodded and continued.
"Mr. Foreman said he would agree to the negotiations within this week."
Now, it was time to collect the spoils.
Foreman-State National Bank Building.
On the 38th floor of the building that looked like a fist giving the middle finger, I met the owner of this bank, which had 300 million dollars in assets.
"...Nice to meet you."
Harold E. Foreman.
I smiled at him as he looked at me, Gu-jik, and Ahern with hollow eyes, perhaps because he'd had a lot of troubling things on his mind lately.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Foreman."
Well, I could understand it; if I were in a position where I had to beg a hole-in-the-wall bank for help, I wouldn't be able to sleep either. That's what happens when you buy something like the Japanese Yen and end up in this mess.
"I heard you would issue a 2-million-dollar guarantee bond. Is that really possible for a bank of your size?"
"Of course. Currently, our SIB's capital adequacy ratio is over 60%. In terms of money, that's about 4 million dollars."
I guess the "100% deposit guarantee" slogan was quite effective. Seeing the deposits pouring in even after I'd laundered money through it so much, it was clear.
"...4 million... did you say?"
"I'm also willing to purchase an additional 1 million dollars worth of bank bonds. That would mean we are injecting a total of 3 million dollars into your bank."
"3 million......."
It might not be enough to cover the full loss, but it would be enough to put out the immediate fire. He had been so desperate he didn't even have 50,000 dollars and had to request a loan from a tiny bank, so the bank must literally be on the verge of collapsing right now. In that situation, it wouldn't be easy for him to turn down the 3 million dollars we were offering. That was even without mentioning the Foreman Bank bonds we had already purchased.
"...State your conditions."
Facing what was effectively a declaration of surrender, I smiled and replied.
"First, I want 20% of the equity. And... as a major creditor of the bank, I want three seats on the board of directors for management oversight."
Even though I said 20% of the equity, that only amounted to a little over 1 million dollars. Compared to the money I was putting directly into Foreman's hands right now, it wasn't that much. On top of that, taking a few board seats under the pretext that I couldn't afford to let the money I lent be lost was reasonable.
"That... that is an unreasonable demand! I'd rather you raise the interest rate instead......."
It might sound like that to him. For a bank that handled 300 million dollars, the price to pay for a mere 4 million dollar loss must have seemed too high.
However.
"Mr. Foreman, the view outside from here is quite magnificent."
Either way, he would have to choose.
"You want to be able to keep looking at this view, don't you?"
Either give up the bank, or accept an uninvited guest like me.