Action Begins

"Feilan, explain the general framework of the bill to them first."

Feilan nodded, stepped forward two paces, and swept his gaze across every face. "Gentlemen, thank you for coming today. Over the next few days, I need to draft a bill."

"This bill will be called the Emergency Banking Act."

Those final words made Hugh and the others' hearts skip a beat.

"Its core framework is as follows. First, the President will declare a nationwide bank holiday lasting from four days to one week, suspending all banking activity."

"Second, the Treasury Department will classify banks nationwide. Healthy banks will reopen immediately; troubled banks will receive government capital injections and restructuring; bankrupt banks will be liquidated and taken over."

"Article Three: The Treasury Department will be authorized to examine all bank accounts and issue reopening licenses."

"Article Four..."

Feilan did not speak quickly, but his logic was terrifyingly clear.

Each provision came with a brief explanation of its purpose and operational rationale.

The conference room grew quieter and quieter.

Hugh's pen stopped over his notebook, and he forgot to keep writing.

Several bankers known for their composure gripped their pens so tightly that their knuckles turned white.

When Feilan finished the final provision, the conference room fell into deathly silence.

More than ten seconds passed.

No one spoke.

Then Hugh opened his mouth. "Mr. Feilan, forgive my frankness, but what you've described is not a simple relief plan. This is... this is a restructuring of the entire banking system."

"And for the government to enter banks, obtain board seats, and examine all accounts—that will provoke an outcry from Wall Street. I'm afraid..."

Hugh did not continue.

But everyone understood the words he had left unspoken.

This could very well start a war!

"Yes, Mr. Hugh. This is a war."

Feilan's gaze swept over everyone. "And we are the ones drafting the declaration of war!"

Everyone in the conference room fell silent.

Hugh's gaze deepened.

He recalled the chilling words Roosevelt had spoken at his inauguration:

"Emergency wartime powers should be as broad as those that would be granted to us if we were actually invaded by a foreign enemy."

Now he knew what shape that sword took.

And he knew that the young man holding the blueprint and drawing its shape was standing before him at that very moment.

"Gentlemen, if anyone is afraid, you may leave now. The door is there. No one will stop you, and no one will hold you accountable. All you need to do is stand up, walk out, return to your old life, and pretend you were never here today."

"But..."

Feilan's voice suddenly dropped. "If you stay, if you finish this with me, your names will be carved into this nation's history. You will be heroes who chose to stand up in the country's darkest hour!"

Heroes of the nation.

There was no doubt that those words carried weight.

Quite a few people in the room felt their blood begin to boil.

"What do you need me to do?"

Hugh spoke.

He truly wanted the country to get better.

As for war?

He had fought across the battlefields of France in 1918.

He had seen more war than everyone in this room combined.

Feilan looked into his eyes and nodded. "Mr. Hugh, I need you to draft the bill's administrative authorization provisions. Not vague authority—clear, specific provisions that can pass Congressional scrutiny while still giving the Treasury Department sufficient means to intervene in bank operations. You were a soldier. You should know what it means for orders to be clear and execution to be flexible."

"No problem."

Feilan turned to Ballantine. "Mr. Ballantine, you will design the bank classification and evaluation system. The standards for healthy, troubled, and bankrupt banks must be clear, workable, and able to withstand scrutiny. The Treasury Department must complete the initial screening of every bank in the country within four days. Your classification standards will determine who gets to live and who must die."

"Leave it to me."

Ballantine took a deep breath and nodded firmly.

Feilan's gaze moved on and settled on the lawyer wearing gold-rimmed glasses. "Mr. Smith, you will review all existing regulations. Determine which can still be used, which need revision, and which must be repealed. The bill cannot conflict with the existing legal system, but neither can it be bound by the old framework. You have two days. I need a complete legal-environment assessment report."

"Two days may not be enough..."

Smith looked troubled.

"Then sleep less."

"All right..."

Feilan continued calling names and assigning tasks.

Every person's expertise, background, and potential contribution was put to precise use.

Some were assigned bank-restructuring provisions, some the details of gold controls, some the coordination mechanism with the Federal Reserve, and some the public-communication section of the contingency plan...

Half an hour later, everyone had received their task list.

There had been doubts at first, but by the end, no one complained or questioned anything.

Because they had realized that the young man before them not only knew what he was doing, but also knew what every one of them could do.

His assignments were not arbitrary. They were based on prior knowledge of their backgrounds, a deep grasp of the bill's overall structure, and precise calculations for a sprint against the limits of time.

Hugh and the others kept exchanging looks, and every look carried the same message: this young man was terrifying...

"Gentlemen."

Feilan tapped the table, drawing everyone's attention back to himself. "Before the eighth, every detail of the bill must be finished. Must be. Do you understand?"

"Understood."

"Then let's begin."

Washington, K Street.

Outside an unremarkable townhouse, more than a dozen luxury sedans were parked.

Inside the sitting room.

Jack Morgan sat in an armchair to the right of the fireplace, an unlit cigar between his fingers and a deep frown on his face.

Beside him sat John Rockefeller Jr., Pierre du Pont...

Every face represented the pinnacle of wealth in this country.

But now, those faces all bore the same expression.

Confusion mixed with unease.

The door opened.

A middle-aged man hurried in. He was the Morgan Family's private secretary, a liaison specifically responsible for communicating with political circles.

"Word has just come from the White House. The President has urgent matters to attend to and cannot hold a meeting. And... regarding anything in his inauguration speech, the White House is temporarily unable to provide any explanation or response."

"What does that mean?!"

John's face, renowned for its aristocratic restraint, twisted with anger.

"Unable to respond? He is the President! He mocked us before the entire nation as 'money changers,' and now he cannot even offer a single explanation?!"

No one could answer Pierre du Pont.

But everyone already understood in their hearts.

The danger was no longer a matter of speculation. It was about to descend.