Nothing Will Change
"......."
Attorney Ahern couldn't easily answer my question about whether he’d ever considered a career in politics. I didn't need to ask why; I already knew.
"Are you afraid?"
While the political route is one of the highest-climbing paths in the legal profession, the higher you rise, the harder you fall. Of course, being a lawyer working for Al Capone wasn't exactly a stable position either, but it was hard to compare that to dealing with the political monsters in D.C. who did nothing but eat, sleep, and breathe political maneuvering.
"...I can't say I'm not. If it were just Illinois, perhaps, but it seems you, Consigliere, intend to send me to D.C."
"To be precise, I want you to secure a seat as a federal senator."
I already had a connection with Senator Glenn, but that man didn't move the way I wanted him to. Much like my father-in-law’s sneer about him being a hypocrite, he emphasized integrity and law-abiding behavior on the surface, making our relationship fundamentally at odds, given that I had expanded my business based on the Chicago Outfit.
That was exactly why I wanted to push Ahern into the political arena.
"If you appear as my representative at this upcoming hearing, you'll receive quite a bit of media attention. If you spend the next two years preparing, I don't think it's impossible for you to run in the election after next. The important thing, however, is Mr. Ahern's own will."
"Hmm......."
"You can take more time to think about running, but regardless, I would appreciate it if you would attend the hearing on my behalf."
There was no point in forcing someone who didn't want to do it; if they didn't want to, I could just find someone else. If all else failed, I’d just have to ask Mr. Roosevelt to introduce me to someone.
"...If I were to decide to run, would I be running as a Democrat?"
That was the first question Ahern asked me.
I nodded.
"You'll be able to make it to the primary. If you have the support of the New York governor I met last time, the chances of winning the primary aren't low. As for the Republican Party, their approval ratings have plummeted due to this Great Crash, so winning won't be that difficult."
Thanks to the Hoover administration’s trolling—choosing to watch the market collapse with a hands-off, "let-it-be" mentality instead of supporting it—public sentiment toward the Republican Party was quite volatile. Considering the second crash that would occur within the year, it was safe to say there was virtually no chance for a candidate running under the Democratic banner to lose the election.
"I'll prepare the seat for you, Mr. Ahern; you just need to accept. You might have to endure a bit of hardship, though."
"......."
Regardless, as someone from the legal field, he must have thought about the path of politics at least once. The only difference now was that the opportunity, which had previously remained just a thought, was now right in front of him. My job was to drag that buried desire back out from the depths of Ahern's heart.
"You seem to have a lot on your mind. Please take your time to think it over and make your decision."
"...I will make sure to give you an answer soon, Consigliere."
"Yes, and......."
Well, this matter seemed mostly wrapped up, so should I move on to the next?
"How is the preparation for the matter I mentioned earlier coming along?"
"Are you referring to the establishment of the security company?"
"Yes. I told you it needs to take a form independent from SCC. And if possible, we need a system capable of encompassing most of our current organization."
At my words, Ahern opened his mouth with a cautious expression.
"...If it's just a matter of disguising it as a private enterprise, that isn't very difficult. In fact, it wouldn't be doing anything much different from what we do now. However......."
"Is there a problem?"
"I think we need to consider whether the Boss will accept this proposal. After all, it means the very structure of the organization the Boss has built will change entirely."
Ah, so that’s what he was worried about? Well, that didn't matter.
"That is a matter already approved by the Boss. Proceed as planned."
After all, the one who wants to step out into the light the most is my father-in-law.
It was a few days later that the capos, the middle bosses of the Chicago Outfit, gathered at the mansion owned by Cicero's father-in-law.
"Everyone is here, Boss."
"Good. You come along too, Lee."
With those words, I followed my father-in-law toward the central hall of the mansion. There, over twenty capos were sitting on chairs prepared in advance, looking at me and my father-in-law. Soon, my father-in-law, sitting on the sofa opposite them, opened his mouth with a cigar in his teeth.
"Some of you have heard about today's topic in advance, and some haven't. But from now on, everyone needs to know."
Hmm, I wonder what kind of reaction they'll have once they hear his words.
"You each have your own designated territories and businesses. There are some who handle the operation of clubs or speakeasies, but those guys aren't here. I've only gathered the ones who collect protection money from their own zones on the streets."
As my father-in-law continued, anxiety flickered across the faces of the capos. It was highly likely they were thinking, 'Are they telling us to stop collecting protection money now?' Since the war with the North Side, the Chicago Outfit had been gradually shifting toward a more legal direction in accordance with the will of myself and my father-in-law to bring the business into the light. Of course, that wasn't exactly the case.
"Until now, you've been walking around the shops, watching your backs for the police or the BOI, but from now on, you won't need to worry. We're going to do business wearing a legal shell."
The moment my father-in-law finished speaking, I pulled the string hanging in the air. At that instant—
Flap-!
A banner that had been hung from the ceiling of the mansion unfurled downward. Inside the white banner, along with a logo shaped like a shield, the name of the 'shell' was written.
[Standard Guard Organization]
"Now, we will sign legal contracts with the shops we used to collect protection money from and receive payment. Other than that, not much will change. Ah, wearing uniforms might be a bit annoying, I suppose."
As my father-in-law's words continued, the seated capos began to murmur. It was then that one of them asked a question with a dissatisfied expression.
"Boss... then, does this mean we have to act as security guards from now on?"
Hmm, just as I expected. Especially for the capos, who probably boasted of their influence as the backbone of the gang, this method might not be to their liking. However.
"Why, do you think you weren't security guards until now?"
The decision had already been made.
"From the beginning until now, the work we do has always been business. Guns and fists were just means for business. That's why our organization's name is the Chicago Outfit."
My father-in-law exhaled a puff of cigar smoke and continued.
"Most of you probably came to the organization looking for an opportunity to make money while in a state of poverty. I just want to grow that opportunity more safely."
"......."
"Nothing will change. You'll still be walking around with guns tucked inside coat-like uniforms. As I said before, this is just a shell for the organization to survive for a long time. The money you can touch won't be much different either. If there's one thing that will change, it's that your children will be able to say their father's occupation with confidence."
There is no way to completely avoid the dirty work that requires getting blood on your hands. This shell is merely a shield to make such work appear legal. It is a disguise that allows us to wield physical force in a plausible manner, moving beyond being mere criminals roaming the streets. If they couldn't understand this fact, they were friends who couldn't go the distance with us anyway.
"Now, make your choice."
Click.
At my father-in-law's follow-up, I opened the bag I had prepared in advance. Inside the bag were bundles of 100-dollar bills. Was it my turn now?
"If you don't like it even after I've explained this much, take this money and leave your positions now. This is a farewell gift prepared by the Boss for all of you who have worked for the Outfit until now. Of course, you must keep in mind that if you betray the organization later, you will pay the price for it."
With about 10,000 dollars, it's enough money to acquire a farm or a shop without difficulty and make a fresh start. It would be enough to properly bolster their pride so they wouldn't have any complaints even if they left. Anyway, forcing them to stay would only create a risk factor, so it would be better to shut their mouths with money and keep them under appropriate surveillance.
However.
"......."
Not a single person stood up after hearing my words. In other words, it meant all the capos gathered here had decided to follow the organization's new direction.
"Good, then I'll take it that everyone agrees."
Seemingly satisfied with that sight, my father-in-law nodded and looked at me.
"Lee."
"Yes, Boss."
"Hand out those bundles of money, one by one. As I said before, it's a token of appreciation for working for the organization until now."
Honestly, he's a man who loves spending money whenever he gets the chance.
"Thank you, Boss!"
"We will continue to work hard!"
Thanks to that, those guys won't be wavering anytime soon.
The air in the BOI director's office, located in the Department of Justice building in Washington D.C., was cold as always. J. Edgar Hoover, the director of the BOI, opened the package sent from Pinkerton that was placed on his desk. Soon, copies of Pinkerton's reports from Chicago and evidence analysis materials spilled out onto his desk.
"...Hmm."
Every time Hoover flipped through the materials one by one, his eyebrows twitched slightly. There was only one reason.
"It's too clean."
It was too perfect. Crime scene photos, the identities of the suspects, their backers, and decisively, the results of chemical analysis hinting at the connection with a major Japanese corporation. It felt as if someone had skinned the meat, separated the bones, grilled the meat, and served it on a table, all ready to eat. And that, too, was exactly the meat he wanted.
"What's the intention?"
Usually, he would have dismissed it as an internal whistleblower's tip or an exaggerated report from a subordinate agent hungry for credit, but if that were the case, it wouldn't have come through Pinkerton. Soon, he reached a conclusion.
"...Interesting. I'll have to find out who it is."
Hoover stood up and opened the file cabinet located in the innermost part of the director's office. Then, he took out a new file and wrote a name on it with a fountain pen.
[FILE-X-1930-CHI]
"I don't know who you are, but I'll enjoy the meal. It's a good thing, as I happened to need a new hunting dog."
A meaningful smile played on Hoover's lips as he tucked the new file into the cabinet.