Taking on the Capitalists

The oath was finished.

Roosevelt raised his head and faced the dense crowd below. "This is an incomparably sacred day for the entire nation. I firmly believe..."

Everyone listened intently.

Until several minutes later, Roosevelt suddenly paused.

The pause was longer than the previous one.

Everyone felt it, as though a beautiful piano piece were about to reach its climax.

"Now, allow me to express one firm conviction: the only thing we have to fear is fear itself!"

Boom.

Deafening cheers erupted from below the platform.

Feilan felt his heart pounding violently.

He had read those words countless times, quoted them countless times, and analyzed them countless times in academic papers.

But at this moment, hearing them spoken from Roosevelt's own mouth, he finally understood.

This was not merely a famous quote.

It was the horn sounding the charge!

The cheers lasted a full minute before gradually subsiding.

Roosevelt raised a hand slightly, signaling for silence. "This great nation will endure all this, just as it has endured before. It will revive, and it will prosper."

"Therefore, allow me to state my view of the current situation frankly. I believe our present hardship is not a lack of material goods, but a collapse of credit."

"Certain 'money changers' in the financial world have fled from their high seats in the temple of our civilization."

"They managed the financial markets with stubbornness and incompetence, and then they failed."

"Now they turn to the public for guidance and demand that the public trust them..."

At this, Feilan's gaze swiftly swept toward the front rows of the VIP section.

Sure enough, the deeply sarcastic phrase "money changers" froze the smiles on the faces of Morgan, Rockefeller, DuPont... people who had been chatting and laughing only minutes ago.

Feilan knew what they were thinking.

They were surely thinking: How could this madman, this cripple, this man we supported for office, turn his blade on us? How dare he?

They believed they were the patrons, the hidden hands, the force capable of controlling everything.

But clearly, they were wrong.

"If Congress does not act, I shall ask Congress for the last means left to me to meet this crisis: Wartime Emergency Powers!"

"Those powers should be as broad as the powers that would be granted to me if we were in fact invaded by a foreign enemy!"

The plaza abruptly fell silent.

It was not the silence of stillness, but the vacuum-like sensation of the air being sucked away as tens of thousands of people held their breath at once.

In the front rows of the VIP section.

Morgan and the others, who had not yet recovered from the words "money changers," stood dumbstruck once again.

In the congressional seats, even those seasoned politicians were stunned.

The Republican Party leader's lips moved, while the Democratic Party's leading figures exchanged glances. There was no delight in their eyes, only astonishment.

Wartime Emergency Powers.

They understood better than anyone what it meant for those words to come from the President of the United States.

This was not Hoover's gentle plea for "the cooperation of business and industry."

This was an ultimatum backed by law, the military, and the nation's machinery of violence.

And even when circumstances had been at their worst, Hoover had never dared request such authority.

The speech continued.

But Morgan, Rockefeller, and the high-ranking officials and congressmen had already lost all interest in listening.

As for the ordinary people, they no longer applauded or shouted. They simply stood there quietly.

Some began to cry.

Not out of sorrow, nor excitement, but from an indescribable ache after being touched.

At last, someone had said what they had always wanted to hear.

Not "things will get better," not "hold on a little longer," but: starting today, even if I must stand against everyone else, I will fight to win bread and milk for you!

The speech ended.

Applause that had been suppressed for too long suddenly erupted.

Hoover was the first to rise.

He made no gesture toward Roosevelt and did not look back at anyone. He walked straight toward the waiting car.

The moment the door shut, he sneered in a voice only he could hear. "He wants to become the emperor of the United States!"

Washington, Treasury Building.

Since the banking crisis had erupted, the gray granite building east of the White House and west of Treasury Plaza had been shrouded in a heavy atmosphere.

In a conference room in the east wing on the third floor, the atmosphere was even grimmer than outside.

More than a dozen people sat around a long oak table.

They wore impeccably tailored dark suits. Their faces carried the calm unique to bankers, the caution unique to lawyers, and the tension shared by everyone in this era.

Hugh Samuel Johnson sat midway down the table.

The forty-nine-year-old former cavalry officer, later businessman, and economic adviser to the transition team was now studying everyone in the room with eyes that had seen war.

A few days ago, William had approached him and said he wanted to invite him to take part in an important plan.

Though he still did not know what that plan was.

But combined with Roosevelt's speech just now—

The money changers had fled their high seats. Wartime Emergency Powers...

Put together, those fragments pointed toward a possibility that made his heart race.

Perhaps they were not drafting an ordinary executive order. Perhaps they were forging a sword!

The door opened.

Everyone rose to their feet at once.

William Woodin strode inside, with Arthur Ballantine behind him.

Then a third figure appeared in the doorway.

A young man.

About twenty-five, tall and straight, dressed in a well-fitted suit.

His face looked far too young among these people.

But Hugh noticed his eyes.

When that gaze swept across the conference room, it held none of a newcomer's unease or curiosity.

There was only a calm, almost appraising assessment.

As though they said: I know who you are. I know what you can do. I know why I need you.

William walked to the head of the long table. He did not sit, merely braced both hands against its edge and swept his gaze over everyone present. "Gentlemen, I know you have many questions, but time is short. Before we officially begin, allow me to make an introduction."

He turned sideways, making room, and raised his right hand slightly toward Feilan. "This is Feilan Roosevelt."

A low murmur ran through the conference room.

Roosevelt. That surname needed no explanation here.

But many of those present had never heard of this man. Where had he come from?

"Feilan will be an important strategist in drafting the legislation we are about to create."

All eyes instantly focused on Feilan. Confusion and doubt were written across many faces.

Even if he belonged to the Roosevelt Lineage, he was only a young man in his twenties. What gave him the right to lead them?