Is It You Who Need Me!

The entire conference room was silent.

Albert froze.

Though he still held the draft in his hand, it trembled slightly.

As for his eyes, anyone who knew him well could tell that it was the panic of someone whose weak point had been struck.

He did not understand why Feilan knew about this.

And if Feilan knew, did that mean Roosevelt, the Treasury Department, or even the entire government knew as well?

Roosevelt slowly turned his head to look at Feilan. There was no shock in his eyes, at least none visible on the surface.

But William noticed that the president's fingers had clenched around the armrest of his wheelchair.

As a friend who had known him for years, he knew that was a reaction that only appeared when the president was extremely astonished.

Ballantine's mouth hung open. Hugh Jensen took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. The sound of his breathing was especially clear in the silent conference room.

This was the first time any of them had heard of it.

But if what Feilan said was true, then this was no longer just Albert's problem. At a time like this, it would become a massive scandal for all of Wall Street.

"Forgive my bluntness, but could you tell me your name, young man?"

John Rockefeller Jr. spoke, breaking the silence.

But anyone could hear the meaning in his tone.

He wanted to use age, seniority, and background to force this sudden threat back into the place where he belonged.

Feilan met his gaze without flinching. "Feilan Roosevelt."

The eyes of Jack Morgan and the others instinctively turned toward the man seated at the head of the table.

John Jr.'s eyelid twitched.

A member of the Roosevelt Family?

He searched his memory quickly, but whether it was Theodore's branch or Franklin's branch, he seemed never to have heard that name before.

But he did not press further. He merely nodded slightly, his tone becoming somewhat more restrained while retaining that lofty sense of distance. "Very well, Mr. Feilan. As for Chase Bank, this is an internal matter for Wall Street banks and involves trade secrets. I'm afraid it would be inconvenient to disclose too much for the time being."

Albert finally came back to his senses. "Mr. Rockefeller is right. I will not offer any explanation or response regarding this matter for now, but I can guarantee that everything I did was carried out within the legal framework of the United States of America. It was entirely legal and compliant."

He placed special emphasis on that last sentence.

"Legal..."

Feilan looked at him, the corner of his mouth curling upward. "Fine, Mr. Albert. Then go tell the people who went bankrupt because the stock market collapsed. Go tell those who lost their life savings, their homes, and their loved ones."

"Go tell them that the four million dollars you made shorting your own bank's stock was legal. Let's see whether they'll listen to your explanation!"

Albert froze again.

He realized that he seemed to have forgotten what kind of situation the United States was currently in.

All at once, he recalled some of the news reports from after the stock market crash in the autumn of 1929.

A banker in Pittsburgh had been blocked outside his own door and nearly beaten to death.

Someone in Chicago had thrown a bomb at a financier's mansion.

He also recalled the sight of enraged French citizens storming the Bastille, dragging those nobles out and hanging them from streetlamps.

If this matter got out...

If those people, pushed to the brink, learned of this so-called "legal" transaction of his...

He did not dare think any further.

Albert lowered his head and said nothing more.

The silence in the conference room lasted for several seconds.

Then another voice rang out.

"Enough. I don't think Chase Bank is the main subject of today's discussion. Let's talk business."

Jack looked at Roosevelt, at William, and at everyone seated across the long table. "Without Wall Street's credit endorsement, without our joint credit support, the government's plan to reopen after the Bank Holiday is nothing but empty words."

"So the government needs us right now. That is a fact, and I don't think anyone here would deny it. Yet you wouldn't even let us enter through the front door."

"If the government truly needs us, then give us the respect we deserve instead of treating us like beggars who came here pleading for handouts."

Jack's words struck the raw nerve in the heart of every financial conglomerate present.

They were accustomed to being invited, consulted, and treated as honored guests.

Accustomed to being the leading figures at meetings.

Not being told, "You must do this," or, "You must accept that," in such undignified negotiations.

"Mr. Morgan, I think you have misunderstood something."

Feilan smiled, rose to his feet, walked to the window, and pulled back the curtains.

Outside lay Washington in March 1933.

The sunlight was bright, but the streets were empty.

"Please go outside and take a look. Look at what this country has become."

Feilan turned around to face that row of Wall Street titans. "The lines outside relief stations stretch for blocks. Some people begin lining up at four in the morning for nothing more than a bowl of soup and a piece of bread."

"Forty percent of factory chimneys have stopped smoking. The waiting rooms in train stations are packed with homeless people sleeping on the floor. Farmers in Chicago are burning corn they can't sell because shipping costs more than the corn itself."

His gaze settled on Jack's face. "And what about your Wall Street, Mr. Morgan?"

"Trading volume on the New York Stock Exchange is now only one-tenth of what it was in 1929. Among listed companies, one out of every three can no longer pay dividends."

"The interbank lending market has come to a halt. It's not that banks don't want to lend; they don't dare to, because they have no idea whether the other party will still exist tomorrow."

His voice grew calmer and calmer, yet that calm carried a suffocating pressure. "Your Wall Street, that palace standing high above all others, already has cracks spreading beneath its feet."

Jack Morgan's face tightened.

"You just said that the government needs you. Yes, we need your credit, your capital, and your networks. But Mr. Morgan, there is something you need to understand now."

"This is not a time for the government to need your charity."

"You are the ones who need the government more—to repair the foundations of that palace so that you can keep sitting inside it, safely enjoying your red wine and steak!"

The conference room fell deathly silent.

Morgan said nothing more.

Rockefeller said nothing more.

DuPont, Mellon, and all those who controlled half the wealth of the United States said nothing more.

Because they could not refute him.

They could ignore the conditions outside the relief stations. They could ignore whether the people lived or died.

But the declining figures on Wall Street, the collapsing indexes, and the frozen markets were facts they could not refute.