The Bureau of Investigation's Transformation into the FBI

Clyde looked Hoover in the eyes, his tone turning serious. "You know, the current president isn't one of those 'lame-duck presidents' like Hoover or Coolidge. The Roosevelt Family has long been deeply rooted in this country. The success of the Fireside Chats and the Emergency Banking Act has brought his personal prestige to its peak. Most importantly... he holds military power in his hands."

Hoover raised an eyebrow.

"If the White House truly goes to war with Wall Street, I don't think Wall Street stands much chance."

"As long as we handle this beautifully, it'll be the same as latching onto the White House's thigh. It's worth it!"

The office fell silent for several seconds.

Hoover's expression gradually shifted from contemplation to resolve. "Clyde."

"I'm listening."

"From this moment on, set aside all other Bureau work. We must complete this assignment."

"Understood."

Clyde nodded.

One week later.

On N Street in Georgetown, a black Ford sedan came to a stop.

Hoover stepped out of the car, carrying a dark suitcase in his hand.

He looked up at the four-story townhouse, then walked forward and knocked on the door.

The door opened quickly.

Osato looked at Hoover. "Mr. Hoover, Mr. Feilan is already waiting for you in the living room. Please follow me."

Hoover followed him into the living room and saw Feilan sitting on the sofa, smoking.

He set the suitcase on the coffee table, gently unfastened the clasps, and lifted the lid.

Inside lay a neatly stacked pile of documents, each sealed in a manila envelope marked with a number and date.

"Mr. Feilan, these are the results of our investigation. Please review them."

Feilan picked up the top document and opened it.

The room went quiet, with only the rustle of turning pages.

Hoover stood there, watching Feilan's expression, feeling somewhat uneasy.

He knew the weight of these materials.

Over the past week, he had gathered every available hand in the Bureau of Investigation, suspended all other work, and pursued the leads Feilan had provided day and night.

He had found Albert Wiggin's private investment companies.

He had traced the flow of those four million dollars.

He had also found the records of those 42,000 shares in short-sale transactions.

He had found Richard Whitney's bad debts as well.

The misappropriated funds, the debts he had borrowed, the illegal maneuvers used to plug the holes—every single matter was crystal clear.

And there were others.

For instance, Charles Mitchell's tax-avoidance schemes. Everything Feilan had mentioned, he had uncovered.

As Feilan flipped through the documents, the expression on his face gradually became... satisfied.

Yes, satisfied.

He looked up at Hoover, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "Director Hoover, you've done well."

The weight hanging over Hoover's heart finally eased by half. He hurriedly said, "Actually, it was Mr. Feilan who provided the crucial information. Otherwise, our Bureau of Investigation's 'key evidence-gathering' work wouldn't have gone so smoothly."

Feilan closed the document in his hand, leaned back on the sofa, and looked at Hoover. "Director Hoover."

"Yes."

"I can see that you're a capable man. Have you ever considered managing a larger platform?"

Hoover felt his heart skip a beat.

He had always been worried before—worried that once the White House was done using him, it would kick him aside.

After all, such things were all too common in Washington.

But now Feilan was asking whether he was interested in managing a larger platform?

This wasn't being discarded after use.

This was... a reward.

Hoover forcefully suppressed the wild joy in his heart and kept his voice steady. "If there is a need, I would be more than willing to serve you."

He deliberately emphasized the word "you."

It was an expression of loyalty.

Feilan understood. He nodded slightly, then abruptly changed the subject. "I hear your agents cannot carry firearms freely while carrying out their duties?"

Hoover froze for a moment, not expecting the topic to turn there, but he immediately replied, "Yes. Under the regulations, if Bureau of Investigation agents wish to carry firearms, they must apply through several levels, receive approval from their superiors, and register it on record. The procedures are cumbersome, and more importantly, when emergencies arise, there often isn't time."

"Over the years, quite a few of our agents have suffered because of this rule..."

By the end, his voice carried a note of grievance.

"On December 15, 1791, the Second Amendment to the United States Constitution officially took effect. From that day onward, the law granted ordinary people the right to keep and bear arms, a right that shall not be infringed."

"Yet our brave Bureau of Investigation agents face so many dangerous criminals every day, and they can't even carry firearms freely?"

"This rule is complete bullshit."

Feilan said indignantly.

Hoover practically wanted to slap his thigh and shout, "Exactly!"

"Yes, Mr. Feilan. Because of this rule, over these years, we..."

He gave several examples.

They were all cases in which Bureau of Investigation agents had suffered setbacks during operations because they could not legally carry firearms.

One agent had been pursuing a bank robber. Because he had not been armed, the robber pointed a gun at his head, and he could only watch helplessly as the man escaped.

Another agent, while investigating a kidnapping case, had been severely injured by an accomplice of the kidnappers because he had no weapon...

As Feilan listened, his expression grew increasingly grave. Finally, he nodded. "Therefore, I believe this rule must be changed."

Hoover was overjoyed.

If the White House could help him solve this problem, then the frustrations he had swallowed for all these years could finally be vented.

He was already making calculations in his mind: when the time came, he could stand before those agents, straighten his back, and say: See? This is the right your boss fought to win for you!

"By the way, I also hear that, legally speaking, your agents can only conduct 'citizen's arrests'?"

"Yes. Under current law, our agents have no formal power of arrest. To detain suspects, we must rely on marshals or local law-enforcement agencies. This makes the enforcement chain long and complicated."

"How can that be?"

Feilan stood up and walked to the window, his back to Hoover. "The Bureau of Investigation is an agency directly under the federal government. Yet when it goes to the states, it still has to watch the faces of local law-enforcement agencies? Who knows whether those local agencies have any ties to criminals?"

This time, Hoover truly could not resist slapping his thigh. He said sharply, "You're absolutely right, Mr. Feilan! Sometimes, we've clearly already caught someone, but because we have to wait for marshals or local law enforcement to arrive, something happens in the middle. Either someone tips them off, or the suspect's accomplices come to snatch them away. What could be worse than that?!"

"So what you need now is independent arrest authority—formal law-enforcement authority equal to that of local agencies—the authority to legally pursue, legally detain, and legally investigate across the entire country, correct?"