Clothes Make the Man
The request from the corporation organizing the World’s Fair—or whatever they called it—was nothing out of the ordinary.
When they were recruiting participating companies last year, a significant number of them had been wiped out by the Great Crash in New York and had canceled their plans. As they were conducting a second round of recruitment, they had reached out to me after reading an article about me.
A fair is, at its core, a business that runs on money. And a fair of the caliber that could use the name "World’s Fair" or "Expo" was, quite literally, a machine that incinerated cash, so it seemed many companies had run for the hills.
Honestly, if I hadn't made a killing through short-selling, I would have thought twice about participating myself.
But right now, I had over 70 million dollars in cash in my hands. It was a golden opportunity to advertise to the tens of millions of people who would flock there from all over the world, so there was no reason to refuse.
"So, our company is participating in the World's Fair?"
"Yes, Bo... Al. It’s three years away, but it will be a great opportunity to expand our sales channels not just domestically, but internationally as well."
I answered my father-in-law’s question while twirling a forkful of meat sauce pasta that was piled high on my plate like a mountain.
There was only one reason I used the name "Al," which still felt awkward on my tongue, instead of "Boss."
"The World's Fair, are you talking about that festival they say is opening in three years?"
Teresa Capone.
She was my father-in-law’s mother—my grandmother-in-law, or perhaps great-aunt-in-law depending on how you looked at it—and she was sitting right there at the table.
My father-in-law nodded.
"Yes, Mother. When that time comes, people from all over the world will be pouring into Chicago."
...To think I’d live to see the day my father-in-law called someone "Mother."
I’d heard it plenty of times during meals before, but no matter how many times I heard it, I just couldn't get used to it.
"Your son and Jun's company are going to such a place? That is truly wonderful. It seems the Lord is watching over you both."
As soon as she finished speaking, the great-aunt bowed her head and began to pray.
"Jun, this friend here deserves most of the credit. Though, of course, I was the one backing him up from behind."
Jun? Ugh, I got goosebumps.
In a normal family, that would be a perfectly natural way to address someone, but the problem was that the relationship between me and my father-in-law was anything but normal.
After uttering the title that made me feel like I was going to die of awkwardness, my father-in-law pulled out a newspaper.
The reason he, who usually claimed the Chicago Daily Tribune was boring and rarely read it, had gone out of his way to pull it out was written on the front page.
"Look, Mother. It’s even in the article here. Though I don't particularly like that they called me a devil."
"Walking the path of the Lord is always a rugged journey. Even if you are slandered now, one day the world will know that you are a good person."
Slandered... is that what it is?
At the word "slander," my mother-in-law May Capone’s expression stiffened, and while Rita, who was holding Jay, struggled to hold back a laugh, Sonny just smiled brightly, oblivious to it all.
They say even a hedgehog thinks its own young are beautiful; it seems a mother’s love had the power to make even Al Capone look like a good boy.
I suppose my own mother, in my past life or this one, was the same, wasn't she?
Still, it was a fact that after I announced Sulfadine, the image of my father-in-law, who had become family to me, had been laundered quite a bit.
If he used to be a "gang boss pretending to be a righteous thief," he had now risen to the level of "Wait, is he actually a righteous thief?"
Thanks to that, the business risk of my father-in-law’s notoriety had decreased, so it wasn't a bad thing.
"So, let’s go to confession while we’re at mass this Sunday."
"Of course, Mother."
Leaving behind the answer of my father-in-law, who sounded like an obedient little boy rather than a gang boss, I bowed my head toward the mountain of spaghetti on my plate.
But, this is actually really delicious.
I’ve felt it for a while, but the great-aunt’s cooking is truly something else.
"Jun, have you finished already?"
"Yes, Grandmother. It was a wonderful meal."
After clearing the mountain of spaghetti, I nodded toward the great-aunt with a smile of moderate satiety.
That was a mistake.
"Oh, really? Then wait just a moment. There’s still plenty of spaghetti and ragu left."
"Oh, I’m already quite full..."
"At that age, you could chew through rocks. You need to eat well to work hard, don't you?"
Before long.
Thwack!
Along with the great-aunt’s gentle smile, the mountain of spaghetti was refilled.
"Jun, let me know if you need more."
"Th... thank you."
Will I be able to walk out of here?
It was only after the great-aunt’s "food torture"—or rather, delicious mealtime—ended that I was finally able to stand up from my seat.
"Ugh..."
I feel like the noodles are expanding inside me... is that just my imagination?
"Jun, are you still hungry? If you need more..."
Pl... please, spare me.
If I eat any more, my stomach might actually burst.
They say the national characters of Korea and Italy are similar. It was just then, while I was fearing for my life under the "generosity attack" of the great-aunt, who reminded me of a classic Korean grandmother, that he spoke.
"Mother, stop it. I need to talk business with Jun now. Jun, let’s go up to the study."
"Ah, understood."
At my father-in-law’s words, which seemed to shine with a halo, I quickly nodded and followed him up to the second-floor study.
"...Thank you, Boss."
"I’ve been through it plenty of times myself. Mother means well, but it’s not easy for a person to eat all that."
Sitting on the sofa in the study, my father-in-law waved off my heartfelt gratitude and continued.
"And thanks to you, I heard some kind words from my wife for the first time in a while. Just think of it as a reward for that."
"Pardon?"
"Just leave it at that. Now, let’s talk business, Lee."
I’m not sure what he means, but at least I won't get any more goosebumps, so that’s a relief.
"First, we are currently constructing a dedicated factory to produce the Sulfadine we announced."
"So, when do we start selling the medicine?"
"At the latest, full-scale production and sales will be possible by the end of this year. Once sales begin, we will literally be able to sweep up money from all over the United States."
And if I use that money to preemptively secure something like penicillin, I’d be able to rake in enough money for three generations to live on just by selling medicine, without doing anything else.
I don't know the detailed processes, but I have a rough idea of the flow of the refining process, so if I pour in enough time and money, there shouldn't be any major difficulties in development.
"Well, I trust you’ll handle the money well, so do as you see fit. Just make sure you bring me proper reports."
"Understood, Boss."
"Thanks to you, I like that my image has improved quite a bit. Not long ago, some kids came up and asked for my autograph, saying I was the man who raised a saint."
Well, he had always wanted to be called a successful businessman rather than a gang boss, so it wasn't strange that he liked it.
And.
"Boss, I have something to say regarding that."
Since the wind is in our sails, shouldn't we attach a motor to it?
"What is it?"
"I think now is the perfect time to change the organization into a more legitimate exterior."
"Legitimate? Don't you already have the companies you built?"
"That’s true for the financial side, but the organization as a whole doesn't exactly have a completely legal form, does it?"
As my father-in-law said, more than half of the organization’s income now came from legitimate areas. There was still cash that hadn't been laundered, and we hadn't completely stopped the illegal sale of bootleg liquor, but that was a problem time would solve.
The problem was the guns and fists that the Chicago Outfit wielded.
"Of course, we must maintain the organization’s military power, but in its current form, it could become a risk for our future business."
Even in America, where gun ownership is free and people are lenient toward vigilantes, actually using them is a different story. Running around shooting guns without proper legal authorization is just a crime, no matter how you look at it, and if caught, it would clearly affect not only the member who pulled the trigger but the organization’s legitimate businesses as well.
So, even if we carry guns, shouldn't we at least maintain a legal facade?
"So what do you want to do, Lee? Are you going to tell the boys to put down their guns and pick up pens in the office?"
"That’s not it. I intend to maintain the organization’s current form and military power as much as possible while adopting a legal appearance. For instance..."
At my father-in-law’s furrowed brow, I shook my head and continued.
"Something like the Pinkertons."
Clothes always make the man. If you wear a long coat, you’re a gangster, but if you wear a uniform, you’re a security guard.
Although the shock of last year’s crash had not yet faded, the warm spring breeze was slowly melting people’s frozen hearts.
If they had known there was a basement beneath the floor, their thoughts might have been a little different, but a belief was slowly spreading among the people that the collapsed economy would eventually recover and they would find their daily lives again.
One of the sources of that baseless belief spreading among the people of Chicago was none other than the Korean National Association.
Sizzle-!
Sausages sizzling on the grill, fluffy mashed potatoes, and warm soup.
Since the crash, the Association had been providing warm meals every day to the starving people of northern Chicago, slowly engraving the existence of the Korean people into the minds of Chicagoans.
"It’s a sight for sore eyes."
At my words while watching people line up in order to receive lunch regardless of their race, Mr. Kim Kyung smiled contentedly.
"I suppose we should say this is all thanks to you, Mr. Lee. In these difficult times, if it weren't for you, it would have been hard to even prepare the funds to send to the Provisional Government, let alone run a soup kitchen."
"Don't mention it."
I wonder how people would react if they knew this soup kitchen was actually a money-laundering site.
Of course, if that happened, some quite annoying things would come looking for me.
"Thanks to the new medicine you developed, the Chicagoans' view of Koreans seems to have improved quite a bit as well. Truly, it’s no exaggeration to say you are the pride of Chicago—no, of all of Korea."
"Oh, I just did it to make a living."
I hadn't exactly thought that far ahead, so it would be more accurate to say I just got lucky.
"Others wouldn't think so. According to the Provisional Government, rumors about you have already spread throughout the Korean peninsula. In a little while, they might even write a song with your name in it."
"Haha..."
That’s a bit embarrassing.
I just wanted to live a healthy life with my family.
And make some money on the side.
I gave a sheepish smile toward Mr. Kim Kyung, who was gilding my face—no, pouring gold over me—and surveyed the soup kitchen.
It was then that an Asian man entered my field of vision.
That man... who is he?
He was Asian, but he had an appearance that made me think he wasn't Korean. He was pointing a small camera, about the size of two palms, toward me.
At that size, it would have to be the latest model from Leica, which is a very expensive piece of equipment.
But, can an ordinary Asian man afford something like that?
No matter how I looked at it, it was suspicious.
"Jack, Accardo."
"Yes, Consigliere."
"Bring me that camera the man is holding. And bring the man, too."
I pointed my chin toward the man as I spoke, and the two men who were nearby for my protection immediately approached the Asian man in the coat.
Before long.
"Wh-what are you doing!"
"Come with us for a moment."
"No, do you have any idea how much this is worth!"
"Sir, I’ll be back in a moment."
Leaving Mr. Kim Kyung behind, I walked slowly toward the two men who had begun to struggle to take the man’s camera.
By the time I got close to them, they were already in the process of seizing the camera.
"N-no, that!"
The Asian man’s awkward English pronunciation sounded flustered.
Given the lack of final consonants in his pronunciation, he sounded Japanese.
It was then.
Thud-!
Something fell to the ground from the struggling Japanese man’s coat.
It was a notebook.
"What is this?"
"Give it back! If you don't give it back, I’ll call the police on all of you..."
Ignoring the Japanese man, whose English pronunciation was strange, I opened the notebook.
Soon, the contents of the notebook came into view.
[KATEKYO (Tutor) - A.C. / S.C.C. Funding Route / Ie...]
[Sulfonamide - New Patent Number 7742-A...]
A mix of Katakana, Hiragana, and alphabet letters in mysterious sentences.
"This looks like a code."
An ordinary Asian man who carries a notebook filled with what looks like a code and walks around with a state-of-the-art Leica camera that even I wouldn't buy because it’s too expensive?
Where in the world does such a person exist?
"Jack, hold him tight. Rio, go to the Pinkertons right now and call their investigative agents. Tell them we’ll pay them plenty."
I gave simple instructions to Rio, who was walking up behind me.
"Yes, Consigliere. What should I tell them the reason is?"
At his question, I answered briefly.
"Tell them you’ve caught a Japanese spy in the act."
Let’s hear what kind of scheme they’ve come here with.