Tempering

The Treasury Building had completely changed its appearance by now.

The repression, anxiety, and tension that had built up over more than ten days burst forth all at once, like a champagne cork suddenly popped with a bang.

"God, we did it!"

"We saved the country!"

"We fulfilled the President's promise to the people!"

"..."

In the great hall,

the staff embraced one another. Some laughed, some wiped away tears, and some were too overwhelmed to speak.

A few young men had somehow hauled in a crate of champagne and were popping bottles one after another, spraying golden foam everywhere.

"The President is here!"

The sound of the door opening was swallowed by the uproar, but someone with sharp eyes spotted the figure being wheeled in.

Roosevelt was pushed inside, followed by William Woodin, Feilan, Arthur Ballantine, Hugh Jensen, and the other core members of the bill-drafting team.

The wheelchair slowly came to a stop in the middle of the crowd.

Roosevelt raised a hand and waved to those around him, his smile brighter than it had ever been.

Applause surged like a tide.

The people who had just been hugging, cheering, and opening champagne now clapped with all their strength, as though welcoming home a triumphant army.

Roosevelt pressed his hand downward.

The applause gradually subsided, but the excitement still hung thick in the air, ready to erupt again at any moment.

"Gentlemen, ladies, these past few days, you have worked hard. I am not offering empty pleasantries—I truly know just how hard you have worked."

Roosevelt's gaze slowly swept across every face. "The banks were closed for so many days. Tens of thousands of banks across the country needed to be reviewed. Every single bank required someone to open the books, verify accounts, examine loans, conduct assessments... It was you who completed this impossible task."

"Now the banks have reopened, deposits are flowing back in, and the stock market has soared. Wall Street says capitalism has been saved..."

"But let me make this clear: Wall Street did not save it, nor did the White House. It was you—it was the Treasury Department, it was those who went day and night without sleep—who dragged the United States out of the mire!"

The applause erupted again, fiercer than before.

After the applause quieted somewhat, Roosevelt turned sideways and pointed to William standing at his right. "Of course, as head of the Treasury Department, William's contributions during this time have been plain for all to see."

William bowed slightly, a weary yet gratified smile on his face.

"He is old, and his health was never good to begin with. You have all seen what this period of high-intensity work has done to him. Yesterday, he nearly collapsed in this hall. But what did he say? He said, 'Until I see every bank reopen, I cannot fall!'"

Roosevelt looked at William and patted his arm. "Come, let us give our applause to this old warrior!"

The applause thundered, and William's eyes reddened slightly.

Roosevelt's hand pointed toward Ballantine again. "And this man—Arthur Ballantine, commander of the review work, a man who has slept less than three hours a day throughout this entire period!"

Applause rang out again.

Ballantine took off his glasses and blinked hard, trying to conceal the moisture welling in his eyes.

Roosevelt pointed to them one by one.

Hugh Jensen, drafter of the bill's administrative authorization clauses.

Smith, the lawyer in gold-rimmed glasses who had reviewed every existing regulation.

And every core member of the bill-drafting team.

Each person whose name was called received a burst of enthusiastic applause.

Finally, Roosevelt's hand pointed toward the young man standing slightly behind him on his left.

Feilan.

Roosevelt had not even had time to say anything.

He had not even had time to call out that name.

His hand had merely pointed in that direction.

And the applause exploded.

It was not the formal applause from before.

It was a roar like mountains calling and seas crashing, thunder suddenly splitting the sky.

The people whose palms had already been clapped red now launched into another round of their most frenzied applause.

Emily Watson, standing among the crowd, had completely forgotten her identity. She had forgotten that she was merely an analyst in the Statistics Bureau, forgotten the reserve and propriety she was supposed to maintain.

Standing on tiptoe, she clapped with all her might. Her palms had turned red and burned hot, yet she refused to stop.

She could not stop.

She could not be weaker than anyone else.

What if he looked over? What if he saw her? What if he noticed that her applause was louder than everyone else's...

Emily's eyes remained fixed on the young man standing beside Roosevelt.

After the storm of applause had eased slightly, Roosevelt turned to Feilan with a mischievous smile at the corner of his mouth. "Look at that. If someone did not know better, they would think you were the Secretary of the Treasury."

Laughter immediately broke out throughout the hall.

It was not mocking laughter, of course, but heartfelt acknowledgment.

That was right. What this young man had done over the past few days truly was far more important than what the Secretary had done.

Roosevelt continued, "Since everyone is so enthusiastic about you, Feilan, why not say a few words about how you feel?"

Feilan paused slightly.

He caught the fleeting glint in Roosevelt's eyes.

That was not merely the gaze of an elder encouraging a younger man. It was also the gaze of a seasoned politician putting him to the test.

The ability to speak.

In this country, if one wanted to enter politics, the most important thing had never been how capable one was or how powerful one's family background might be.

The most important thing was whether one could stand before a crowd, make them listen, make them believe, make them... follow.

Feilan recalled those figures in history who had climbed to great heights through their speeches.

Some had been mediocre in ability, with unremarkable political achievements, yet the moment they opened their mouths, tens of thousands held their breath.

Others had been immensely gifted, but because they lacked eloquence, they could only remain unsung heroes behind the scenes for their entire lives.

Roosevelt was giving him an opportunity.

An opportunity to temper his speaking skills before a group of people who already admired him.

For human beings only felt fear when facing unfamiliar surroundings.

And when facing a group that already trusted and admired you, what you needed most was not to prove yourself, but to connect with them.

Feilan took a deep breath and stepped forward.

The hall fell silent.

Every gaze settled upon him.

Within those gazes were respect, admiration, gratitude...

"Gentlemen, ladies."

"The President has just said much. He said you have worked hard. He said you dragged the United States out of the mire. He said the nation would remember you, and history would remember you."

"Every word he said was right."

"But over these past few days, what I saw was not merely 'hard work.'"

Feilan's gaze slowly swept across the crowd. "I saw people work forty-eight hours straight, fall asleep on review reports, then wake up and continue writing."

"I saw people spend an entire day and night on trains, step off, walk straight into a bank, and begin checking the books."

"I saw people receive letters from home saying their children were sick, tuck those letters into their pockets, and continue working."

"I saw people still checking the final set of data in a corner while everyone else was cheering."