The Fall of a Giant (8)
If you see someone running toward the edge of a cliff, it is only natural to grab them and stop them.
But what if that person is shouting at the top of their lungs, "I can fly! I am the American Big Eagle!"?
And what if I'm the only one who has seen the future where, instead of flying, he falls to his death?
But he's too far away to catch—and the only way to stop him from jumping would be to shoot him in the leg? And if I did shoot him, instead of thanking me for saving his life, he'd limp over and try to blow my head off.
What kind of absurd dilemma is this?
I'm probably the only one in the world worrying about something like this, since I'm the only one who's seen the future.
Still, my decision had already been made.
Just look at Herbert Hoover in the original timeline—even after nearly a century, he's still remembered as the man responsible for the Great Depression, cursed for generations. Not because he was incompetent, but because he missed the timing to stop it—badly.
Even if I get kicked out of my house, even if I have to sleep on the couch for two or three years with tears streaming down my face… isn't that still better than letting my father-in-law be cursed for a hundred years?
If I go through with this, he'll probably writhe in betrayal. Dorothy might stop feeding me and throw me out. And there's no telling whether Coolidge—already wary of me—would stay quiet.
In the end, I went to meet Henry Ford with a chest full of suffocating anxiety.
And then—my dilemma vanished in an instant.
"Long time no see, Lieutenant Colonel Kim. You look well. Must be because your father-in-law is doing so well—your complexion's improved too."
"You're joking, right? I'm burning up inside."
As naturally as breathing, Ford put a cigar in his mouth. I lit a cigarette.
The moment he addressed me stiffly as 'Lieutenant Colonel Kim,' every hair on my body stood on end.
And sure enough, my intuition proved right.
"Congressman Curtis's campaign platform is… somewhat concerning."
"I don't know much about politics, but haven't farmers suffered significant losses? I heard the government even encouraged them to take out loans."
"Hah. Encouraging loans to stimulate the economy is perfectly reasonable. But does the basic principle—that investors bear responsibility for their own investments—not apply to ignorant farmers?"
Henry Ford—the very man who had eagerly sold tractors to those same indebted farmers—spoke without a hint of hesitation. And I, who held a sizable stake in that tractor company, found my mouth glued shut.
There was no way Curtis didn't know.
That part of those farmers' debts had ended up in my pocket.
He just hadn't said it out loud.
"Rarely do Detroit and Manhattan agree, but on this matter, they do. Even those monstrous Jewish financiers can't stand seeing hard-earned tax money spent on rural bumpkins."
"They're taxpayers too, aren't they?"
"Don't be ridiculous. When I invested in my workers' welfare, did the government help me? When my company struggled, did the government step in? And now we're supposed to help them just because they're weak? If that's not communist nonsense, what is?"
Before I could respond, Ford continued.
"Curtis's rural relief policies will inevitably lead to tax increases. Tax increases! Does he not understand that the very foundation of this prosperity lies in the tax cuts of Harding and Coolidge?
He warns of a coming recession while proposing populist policies—but the tax increases needed to fund them will bring about that very recession."
Which comes first—the chicken or the egg?
To people of this era, how appealing would the answer "the egg comes first" sound?
I felt a wall.
There was only one reason Ford was criticizing Curtis's policies at such length.
And as expected, he declared it solemnly:
"In this election, we have decided to support Hoover."
"'We'… you mean?"
"The businessmen of Detroit."
Cigar smoke drifted toward me, making my stomach churn.
"Businessmen, financiers, the administration, the press… everyone is enjoying this boom to the fullest. Even ordinary citizens! We cannot allow Curtis to rain on this parade."
"You're planning to use The Sun, aren't you?"
"Think of it the other way around. If The Sun attacks Curtis this time, no one will suspect any collusion between you, Curtis, and the paper ever again."
Just like that, all my inner conflict vanished.
So the capitalists had already joined forces to beat down my father-in-law. Just how much did these people hate welfare?
"This doesn't mean our cooperation is over. Who knows when Curtis might die? Just accept reality. If he abandons that damned rural relief bill, we won't attack him like this.
If you think about it, wasn't it Curtis who betrayed me first? Do you know how many dollars we quietly slipped into his pockets to make him a major figure? Of course, I expected him to look after his rural constituency—but I never imagined he'd turn into such a shameless red. Then again, if he had any shame, he wouldn't be a red."
This is bad.
Control your expression. Control it.
Before I could even decide to take my father-in-law down myself, these robber barons were already moving. What kind of jackpot is this?
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to suppress the corners of my mouth trying to rise. I bit so hard that tears welled up in my eyes.
Right—better to cry. Hurry up and cry. Frog Boy, baam baam… if I cry, it'll rain in Washington, D.C…
"…I'm sorry."
"No. I… I understand the situation."
Seeing the moisture in my "kind Yujin" eyes—soft as premium Korean beef—even Henry Ford, a man seemingly devoid of blood or tears, looked momentarily taken aback.
"Well now, I didn't take you for the sensitive type. That's just how the world works. Only those strong enough to stab even their own fathers for profit survive—and yet you cry over a mere father-in-law?"
"I'm not crying. And what would your son say if he heard that?"
"That's exactly who I'm talking about. I've seated him as a figurehead president and still meddle in everything, and he just puts up with it. If I were in his place, I'd have buried my father in the local cemetery long ago. He lacks spirit—no backbone."
What is this, a lion throwing its cub off a cliff? That's not even real.
A true embodiment of a self-made robber baron. A man who built an empire among monsters without even a proper education—no wonder his mindset turned out like this. The harshness of capitalism a century ago far exceeds anything I imagined.
"And personally, I think this is for your sake as well."
"For… me?"
"Yes. Why should you be defending those country bumpkins? When you really think about it, you're part of California's commercial class. That means you should naturally be on our side. Otherwise, how do you expect to reach the White House?"
…What?
Why is the White House suddenly coming up?
"Why would I go to the White House?"
"There's no need to play modest with me. Do you really think a man like Henry Ford—who built this great steel empire while enduring mockery for being uneducated—would fail to notice your grand ambitions?"
No, no… I think you're making a very serious misunderstanding here.
While I was left speechless in disbelief, Ford—seemingly pleased to have the topic come up—began enthusiastically elaborating on his own theory.
"Democracy is a dangerous thing. Those reds—yes, those Judeo–Bolshevik types—go around preaching that the wealth earned through honest labor should be seized and used to feed workers and farmers. And fools are responding to it.
In this fine system of this great nation, unless it's a resolute politician like Hoover, the structure itself makes it inevitable that one's judgment will waver before the votes of the masses. If not us, then who will protect Hoover?"
"I am a soldier defending the United States, the greatest democratic nation in the world."
"Yes, yes, of course. But if democracy is on the verge of collapsing by the hands of the people themselves… then inevitably, a strong leader becomes necessary, wouldn't you say?"
"Chairman!"
"The ability to handle the masses, the insight to see the future, powerful charisma, and an undeniable record of achievement. Lieutenant Colonel Kim—you already have everything."
What Ford was saying was gradually taking shape.
An authoritarian, charismatic national leader, sustained by popular support and the cooperation of capitalists.
"Like Italy?"
"Italy? Ah, you mean that fellow Mussolini. He's a dictator, isn't he? That doesn't align with the ideals of the United States."
Ford denied it—but I couldn't shake the feeling.
The massive ideology that dominated the interwar world after the Great War.
The shadow of fascism… might have been closer to me than I thought.
***
This is ridiculous.
Sure, I've done all sorts of things—some of which could never be brought to light.
But fascism? Come on.
Of course, what Ford had in mind was probably just a "slightly stronger" president. Americans have it in their bones—mention even the hint of dictatorship, and they'll want to grab the shotgun at home.
At that meeting, I squeezed out tears with everything I had, and at least managed to secure a promise that the blows would be… gentle.
When he said he'd use The Sun, I thought he was seriously planning to ruin someone completely—but fortunately, that wasn't the case.
"What, am I insane? Do you know how much I've invested? Why would I bankrupt him? Curtis is a smart politician. If he learns from this that our support is essential to becoming president, I'm sure he'll come to his senses quickly."
"My father-in-law has become quite impatient lately."
"I know. Politicians lose their heads the moment the White House comes into view. But why didn't you stop him, if you're so concerned?"
"If he could be stopped, would he really be a politician?"
"Fair point."
Ford seemed intent on issuing a final warning, because starting the very next day, newspapers across the nation simultaneously began pouring out articles condemning Curtis.
—Maximum rights, minimum responsibility!
—Farmers deserve immunity from failed investments? Curtis's Bolshevik thinking!
—In this greatest of ages, are the hungry truly our responsibility?
"The farmers must be whining again."
"Tsk tsk. If they'd bought U.S. Steel stock with that money, they'd be sailing yachts by now. Pitiful."
"Others chase the American Dream, stumble, and still build families and live on. But these people complain every time. This is a good opportunity to correct that behavior."
"This is what happens when they get tainted by red ideology."
The atmosphere in Washington, D.C. was far from favorable.
At this rate, the chances of Congressman Curtis being nominated as the Republican presidential candidate were extremely low.
Since things had turned out this way without me even interfering, I had effectively chosen the best possible option.
Which meant it was time to make the next move.
I took leave and headed with my family to a quiet town in Georgia called Warm Springs, not too far from D.C.
This place had gained some renown, even by rural Georgia standards, because its hot springs had become a modest tourist attraction.
As automobiles became common in households, what had once been a hidden local spot was now turning into a destination accessible to people across the southeastern United States.
"What's this? A hot springs trip, out of nowhere?"
"Mm… for some peaceful family time?"
"Don't lie."
"I'm meeting someone."
Her intuition was as sharp as ever.
After checking into our lodging, Dorothy took the children to the springs first, while I headed to a small local bar I had been told about.
"We're closed."
"I'm here for an appointment."
"Ah, you must be the one. Go on in."
The man who appeared to be the owner pointed brusquely to a corner, and I walked over to a table where a man sat waiting.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Yujin Kim."
"Should I call you the Hero of Amiens, or the son-in-law of a presidential candidate? A pleasure. My apologies—I cannot stand to greet you."
I bent slightly and shook his hand.
"Franklin Delano Roosevelt."
It was time to come face to face with a new era.
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