Rowing While the Tide Is In
After finishing our conversation with the bank owner, the three of us stepped into the brass-finished elevator.
"What floor, sir?"
"First floor, please."
"Understood. Going to the first floor."
Whirrr-!
While the elevator operator—the same one I’d seen about thirty minutes ago—maneuvered the lift, I looked at Guzik and Ahern.
"It’s a bit early, but we need to decide who gets the three seats."
Now was the time to determine who would sit on the board of the Foreman-State National Bank, the third-largest bank in Chicago.
"Consigliere, we aren't even sure if Mr. Foreman will accept yet..."
"He will. If he had any other options, he wouldn't have been cornered this far in the first place."
Of course, there are always people who would choose death over giving up an arm, but destroying the massive bank he’d spent his entire life building would be the same as denying his own existence. If he still had that much pride left, he wouldn't have agreed to negotiate with me at all.
"We need to fill at least one seat immediately. That leaves two."
My father-in-law is out of the question. Even though he’d drawn less attention thanks to me dumping all the aggro onto Public Enemy No. 1, Bugs Moran, the name Al Capone was still synonymous with the mob. Even I, who had only ever operated "clean" businesses, often found the title of "Capone’s son-in-law" to be a liability. If I exposed my father-in-law to the public eye at this moment, he would undoubtedly become a hearty meal for President Hoover, who had lost significant support following the Great Crash late last year.
So... for the first seat.
"Mr. Guzik, what do you think about taking a seat on this bank's board?"
"Well, we need to put someone we can trust in there, so perhaps Mr. Nitti in New York..."
"No, I’m asking what you think about sitting in that seat yourself."
In truth, Guzik was the most qualified person for the job. He had exceptional accounting experience and ability, making him the person in our organization who understood the bank's internal structure best. Furthermore, because he was Jewish, it was relatively unlikely that the Jewish-run Foreman Bank would place restrictions on his activities.
Of course, the most important thing was this:
"I..."
"There is work here that only you can do."
"What do you mean..."
Before Guzik could even finish his sentence—
Ding-!
"First floor."
The elevator arrived, and the doors slid open.
"Let’s step out and talk."
With those words, I led the two of them out of the building.
"Mr. Guzik."
"Yes, Consigliere. About what you said earlier..."
Before Guzik could finish, I smiled as I headed toward the Cadillac parked at the curb.
"Use your network to win over the other board members."
"Pardon?"
"It doesn't have to be right away. Roughly... next year should be enough time."
With his Jewish heritage, he would have no trouble navigating the famously insular Jewish community. Perhaps he even had existing ties to some of the current board members. In that sense, Jake Guzik was well worth the cost of one board seat.
Now, only one seat remained.
"Mr. Ahern, are you perhaps expecting something?"
"Oh, no. Haha. I just thought it might be a difficult seat for me to take. *Ahem, ahem.*"
I don't think so. Well, the work I need him to do is different, anyway.
I smiled at the coughing Ahern and continued.
"I have a better position in mind for you, Mr. Ahern. Though it will take a little time."
It’ll be better than a seat on a Chicago bank board, I’m sure.
Presbyterian Hospital.
In this private hospital, where only the most brilliant doctors in Chicago gathered, a strange rumor had been circulating lately.
'If a dying person goes to this hospital, they come back alive.'
Some who heard this rumor dismissed it as common sense, while others scoffed, asking how such a thing could be possible. But others wondered if the rumor might actually be true.
Walter Barnes, a reporter for the Chicago Daily Examiner—one of the many yellow journalism rags founded by William Randolph Hearst—was one of them.
'Damn it, if it weren't for the editor-in-chief, I'd be sucking down a beer at a bar right now.'
But he couldn't do that. If he couldn't uncover the truth behind this rumor, the editor-in-chief would surely fire him for failing to bring in a decent story lately. Not that he even knew if the rumor was true or not.
"Hoo."
Wearing a worn-out doctor's coat stolen from the laundry room, Barnes took a deep breath and entered through the hospital's back door. His target: the VIP wards located at the very top of the hospital.
Barnes waited for the elevator to get up there quickly, but an unexpected situation arose.
"Hello, Doctor? I don't believe I've seen you before?"
A hospital nurse approached him and struck up a conversation.
'Damn it.'
Getting caught here meant immediate dismissal, so Barnes put on the most nonchalant expression he could muster.
"I'm Leonard, here on a clinical rotation from Johns Hopkins. It's my first day."
With that, Barnes smiled and asked, "I'm a bit tired; is there anywhere I could grab a cup of coffee?"
"Come this way."
She led him to the nurse's station and pointed to a floor map. "The break room is on both wings, as you can see. The 7th floor is..."
But Barnes's interest wasn't on her; it was on the patient chart located behind her.
'Room 708... I see.'
"...You understand now?"
"Thank you. I'll buy you a coffee next time."
After thanking the smiling nurse, Barnes immediately took the elevator to the 7th floor.
"Doctor? Only authorized personnel are allowed in here."
A nurse spotted him entering the 7th floor and blocked his path, but Barnes spoke with a desperate expression.
"The professor asked me to check on the patient's condition quickly. Jane Coleman in 708."
"Where is your pass?"
"Ah... I forgot it, but could I just go in for a moment? The professor told me to check immediately. Please."
"Hmm... Alright, make it quick."
Whether it was his pathetic intern act or not, the nurse nodded with a dissatisfied expression.
"Thank you!"
After thanking her, Barnes headed straight for Room 708.
'It was definitely severe puerperal fever.'
What kind of disease was puerperal fever? Wasn't it an incurable illness where, once you caught it, there was nothing to do but pray to God? Yet, the medical chart he had snuck a peek at said this:
'Improving after 3 days of Sulfadine administration.'
Improvement after administration meant that the drug, Sulfadine, was actually effective. Now, all that was left for Barnes was to enter Room 708, confirm the patient's true condition, and see with his own two eyes that the rumor was true.
And when he stepped into the room:
"Can I help you?"
The patient, who should have been hovering between life and death and unable to even open her eyes properly, spoke to him with a peaceful expression, holding a book in her hand.
'This... this is real. The rumor was true.'
Tap-tap-tap!
The moment the thought crossed his mind, Barnes turned and ran down the hallway like a madman.
'That's it! This is enough!'
He was already imagining himself shouting triumphantly at his damn editor-in-chief in a little while.
"Hmm, faster than I thought."
I knew something like this would happen eventually, but I didn't think it would be today. I folded the copy of today's Chicago Daily Examiner I’d been reading and set it on the desk.
"Still, the headline is terrible. I thought about scouting him for the PR team if he was any good, but... tsk."
A "panacea"? It sounds like the same treatment as those mysterious drugs sold to grandfathers and grandmothers in my past life.
Still, the content of the article itself was more reasonable than I expected. There was a description bordering on criminal—sneaking into someone else's clinical trial site wearing a stolen doctor's coat—but in the barbaric 20th century, this was the kind of act that would be praised as excellent journalism, so I’ll forgive it!
It seems the effort of leaking the rumor to deliberately lure reporters was worth it.
"S-Sir!"
That was when the head of our company's new pharmaceutical division burst into the president's office, holding the newspaper I’d been reading.
"T-This is a disaster! The clinical trials haven't even finished yet, and an article like this..."
"It's fine. I was already expecting this much."
"Sir, then what should we..."
"What do you mean, 'what should we do'?"
To the question from the clearly flustered manager, I smiled and said, "Prepare for the announcement. We need to distribute a press release, so get that ready as well."
"Pardon?"
"The patent application is already finished, so it won't change anything if it's revealed. It's actually more advantageous for future sales to take the initiative at this timing."
It’s the law of rowing while the tide is in. If the water comes in early, you row early; if it comes in late, you row late. That’s how you keep the boat moving.
"Prepare the press release within three days and the announcement within two weeks. As for the venue... it would be better to have somewhere a bit more respectable than here. I'll look into it."
"A-Alright, sir."
After watching the manager, who had suddenly increased his own workload, leave the office with a dark expression, I picked up the receiver.
"Connect me to Professor Arthur Compton's lab at the University of Chicago."
-Yes, sir. Please wait a moment.
A moment after the secretary spoke—
-Mr. Lee, what is it?
Soon, the familiar voice of Professor Compton, whom I’d met recently, came through the receiver.
"It's been a while, Professor."
I stated my business slowly. "It's nothing else, but I think I need to borrow some space at the University of Chicago, and I thought I'd need your help."
-Space... I'd like to ask for what purpose.
It seemed he wasn't very pleased that I’d called him just to borrow an auditorium. But this announcement needed to look somewhat credible.
"Our company has a new product launch, and we're planning to hold it in the style of an academic presentation, inviting scholars. I thought a university building would be best for that."
-An academic presentation... I suppose it's a new technology?
"Well, you could say that. By the way, have you seen today's Chicago Daily Examiner?"
-I only read the 'Chicago Daily Tribune'. The other one has too much sensational content, so I don't really like it.
That was so true I didn't know what to say.
"If you look it up and read the front page, you'll know about our company's new product. And why I asked for your help. Please read it and give me a call back."
After finishing, I hung up the phone, sipped my coffee, and waited for the call to come back.
-...Mr. Lee, don't tell me... are you talking about this 'panacea'?
It was a moment later that Professor Compton's bewildered voice returned.