Secret Files

Feilan knew everything about him.

He knew how Hoover had secretly built his power, how he had made presidents wary of him.

But he was also an exceptionally dangerous man.

Anyone who became entangled with him would either become a "meal on his plate" or end up behind bars.

But Feilan knew something else as well.

A wolf was only a wolf when it roamed the wild. Once tamed, it was merely a dog that could bite.

And he was currently the person in the world who understood this wolf best.

Hoover cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Mr. Feilan, did you come here specially today because the White House has something it needs the Bureau of Investigation to handle?"

Feilan leaned back slightly and shifted into a more comfortable position. "I heard you established a secret archive?"

Hoover's smile froze for an instant.

But only for an instant.

The next moment, his face returned to that flawless professional expression. "The Bureau of Investigation does have archives. We investigate federal cases, so naturally we need to preserve relevant case files and materials. But there is nothing secret about that."

The corners of Feilan's mouth lifted slightly. "I'm not referring to those ordinary archives. I mean the archive you began secretly building in the twenties, targeting celebrities, businessmen, and politicians."

The hairs on Hoover's body stood on end.

But he was Hoover, after all. Though he did not yet possess that kind of power, his instinctive self-control was already carved into his bones.

He steadied himself, deliberately adding a trace of confusion to his voice. "Mr. Feilan, the Bureau of Investigation's jurisdiction is clearly defined. We only investigate cases prescribed by federal law. The private lives of celebrities, politicians, and businessmen are not within our jurisdiction, and we would never do that sort of—"

"Director Hoover."

Feilan cut him off. "There are no outsiders here. You don't need to hide anything."

Hoover's throat bobbed.

He was an ambitious man.

That had been destined from the very first day he entered the Bureau of Investigation in the twenties.

But he was also a smart man. He knew that in this position, he would never climb upward through hard work alone. So he had done something—

He began collecting intelligence.

Not just on criminals. On people who might prove useful someday as well.

Politicians' scandals, businessmen's weak points, celebrities' secrets.

Like a spider, he quietly spun his web in a corner.

He knew that one day, this web would come in handy.

But he knew something else as well.

At this time, the Bureau of Investigation's authority was still very limited. Doing this was illegal.

Not overstepping his authority—illegal.

More frightening still, he had not merely collected information on criminals.

Those politicians, those celebrities, those business tycoons—if this got out, Hoover would not only immediately become a target for everyone's condemnation, but also face prison.

How could he not be afraid?

Hoover drew a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady. "Mr. Feilan, I believe you may have misunderstood. The Bureau of Investigation generally only handles—"

"Enough."

Feilan interrupted him again, a trace of impatience in his tone. "Director Hoover, I said there are no outsiders here. Stop pretending."

"If you don't want to discuss this, then perhaps I could go talk to Clyde."

Hoover's expression changed instantly.

Clyde Tolson.

The Deputy Director of the Bureau of Investigation.

If Hoover was the emperor of the future FBI empire, then Tolson was the only person allowed to enter the emperor's bedchamber.

From 1928 until now, Tolson had been his closest partner, his most trusted deputy, the only person with whom he could share his secrets.

In the decades to come, he would become the executor of Hoover's will and the co-guardian of all his secrets.

The composure Hoover had maintained on his face finally vanished completely, replaced by an almost desperate panic he could not conceal.

Watching the future FBI emperor, who would one day command the wind and rain, sit there now with a face ashen as death, Feilan could not help finding it amusing.

Who could have imagined it?

The man who would later make presidents and politicians wary, the man who held countless secrets and made all of Washington tremble, was now sitting before him like a cat caught by the scruff, not daring to move.

"Don't be nervous, Director Hoover. The White House has no interest in punishing you over the secret archives."

Hoover froze for a moment. He looked up at Feilan, uncertainty flashing through his eyes. "Then... then what does the White House mean?"

"What have you collected in your secret archives concerning Wall Street?"

Hoover's mind began racing.

Wall Street?

After Roosevelt took office, those moves against the capitalists, the Emergency Banking Act, the Fireside Chats, those confrontations with Morgan and the others...

Could the White House be looking into Wall Street's dirt?

The moment that thought arose, Hoover felt as though he had seized something.

He hurriedly spoke, his tone carrying the urgency of someone eager to earn merit. "Mr. Feilan, regarding Wall Street... I have indeed conducted some investigations in secret."

"If you need them, I'll go retrieve those materials right now."

Feilan nodded in satisfaction.

Hoover truly deserved to be called an old fox. He was quick to trim his sails to the wind.

Hoover immediately rose to his feet and practically jogged out of the office.

A few minutes later, he returned.

He carried a dark metal case in his hand.

There was a combination lock on the case. In front of Feilan, Hoover carefully turned it several times. With a click, the lid sprang open.

He set the case before Feilan and pushed it into position. "Mr. Feilan, please take a look."

Feilan lowered his gaze into the case.

Inside lay a neat stack of documents, each sealed in a manila envelope labeled with a name and date.

He picked up the top one, opened it, and began reading.

Very soon, his brow furrowed.

After flipping through several more, his frown deepened.

More than ten minutes later, he closed the final document, leaned back in his chair, and fell silent for several seconds.

Hoover watched him nervously. "Mr. Feilan, are these... useful?"

Feilan shook his head.

These materials did indeed record some of Wall Street's problems.

An executive at one bank had embezzled public funds, a tycoon had been involved in a romantic scandal, and a certain transaction was suspected of fraud.

But that was all.

At most, these things would make the people involved lose a little face, spend a few days in the newspapers, and then fade away without a trace.

Still, Feilan understood what was going on.

The Bureau of Investigation's authority was still too limited.

Though Hoover was ambitious, he still did not dare to go all out and do the things that truly crossed the line.

Everything he had gathered was merely fringe information he could obtain without alerting those powerful figures.

The real dirt, the things that could make Wall Street quake, remained hidden behind those tightly closed doors.