Roosevelt, Beyond Belief

"Exactly right, Mr. Feilan."

The fire in Hoover's eyes was practically about to burst forth.

Independent arrest powers, formal law enforcement authority, lawful investigative jurisdiction across the entire country.

These were the things he dreamed of obtaining.

With them, the Bureau of Investigation would no longer be that small department that had to watch the local authorities' faces.

It could truly become a law enforcement force feared by everyone.

And he, as the director of that force, would see his standing in Washington rise dramatically as well.

"Director Hoover, let me ask you something."

Hoover immediately straightened up. "Please, go ahead."

"Suppose the Bureau of Investigation possessed the powers I just mentioned. One day, while enforcing the law in a city, it clashed with the local law enforcement agencies. What do you think should be done?"

Hoover froze.

He had never considered that question.

Or rather, he had not dared to.

The relationship between the Bureau of Investigation and local law enforcement agencies had always been a sensitive subject.

Under the current rules, Bureau agents had to rely on the cooperation of marshals or local police when enforcing the law in local areas.

But what Feilan was asking now was this: if the Bureau had independent law enforcement authority and came into conflict with local agencies, what then?

For a moment, he did not dare answer rashly.

"Personally, I believe that as an institution directly under the federal government, the Bureau of Investigation should naturally possess priority law enforcement authority over local agencies. Director Hoover, do you agree?"

Hoover's body trembled.

If the right to carry firearms, nationwide lawful investigative authority, and independent arrest powers had already elevated the Bureau of Investigation by one level—

Then priority law enforcement authority would be a direct leap into an entirely different weight class.

What did it mean to have priority over every law enforcement agency in the country?

It meant that in the future, whenever they enforced the law locally and encountered local law enforcement agencies, their agents could righteously say:

"Who the hell do you think you are? You dare interfere in the Bureau of Investigation's business?"

Hoover's breathing quickened.

He suddenly recalled a book he had once read about the Ming Dynasty in Chinese history.

That dynasty had an institution called the Eastern Depot, and it had a famous saying:

"Execute first, report afterward—by special imperial authorization."

If their Bureau of Investigation were granted such powers as well...

Even if it could not compare to the Eastern Depot, it would not be far off.

He took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady. "Mr. Feilan, you are right. An institution directly under the federal government should naturally have priority over local law enforcement agencies."

Feilan nodded in satisfaction, then asked, "Director Hoover, are you free this afternoon?"

"Of course."

"Then come with me to the White House."

Hoover's heart began racing again.

The White House.

To meet the president.

Those things Feilan had just promised—the right to carry firearms, independent arrest powers, priority law enforcement authority—were they going to be put into effect today?

One in the afternoon, White House.

The car stopped at the entrance to the White House's West Wing.

Feilan stepped out of the car, his face expressionless. He merely adjusted his suit and walked toward the entrance.

Hoover followed behind him, each step feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds.

This was not Hoover's first visit to the White House.

As director of the Bureau of Investigation, he had previously been brought by department heads to report on work.

But he had never met Roosevelt, the new president, face-to-face.

And today, they would not merely be meeting. They might discuss expanding the Bureau of Investigation's authority. It was only natural that he felt nervous.

"Director Hoover, the president isn't a tiger. No need to be so nervous."

Feilan seemed to notice his mood and tossed out a joke without looking back.

Hoover smiled awkwardly but said nothing.

The two entered the hall, and a woman in her thirties wearing a professional skirt suit immediately came up to greet them.

"Mr. Feilan, you're here."

Her tone was warm and natural. Clearly, this was not her first time receiving Feilan.

Feilan nodded and gestured to the side. "Nancy, this is Director Hoover of the Bureau of Investigation. Take him somewhere to rest first. The president will need to see him shortly."

The woman nodded, turned to Hoover, and smiled without change. "Director Hoover, please come with me."

Hoover glanced at Feilan before following the woman toward a lounge off to the side.

Feilan walked alone toward the Oval Office at the end of the corridor.

Roosevelt had previously instructed that whenever Feilan arrived, there was no need for any announcement. He only needed to knock directly on the office door.

So when he reached it, he immediately raised his hand and knocked.

"Come in."

Feilan pushed the door open and entered.

Inside the office, it was not only Roosevelt; Louis Howe was there as well.

"How is it, Feilan? Has the matter you planned made any progress?"

Feilan nodded, placed the briefcase he had brought on the desk, unfastened the clasps, and lifted the lid.

Inside were the materials Hoover had gathered, arranged in neat order.

Roosevelt immediately put on his glasses, picked up the top document, and began reading.

The room fell silent, with only the soft rustling of turning pages.

Roosevelt read very slowly.

He carefully read every page and diligently checked every number.

Albert Wiggin's eight million dollars, those forty-two thousand shares, those four million in profits.

Charles Mitchell's tax avoidance maneuvers—those exquisite, completely legal, yet nauseating methods.

And also...

As time passed, Roosevelt's expression darkened little by little.

After negotiating with those Wall Street giants at the Treasury Department, he had heard Feilan describe these filthy matters verbally.

But hearing it spoken and seeing it now, black ink on white paper, with irrefutable evidence laid before his eyes, carried an entirely different impact.

Those figures, those dates, those transaction records, those signed documents—every single one told him that the methods of those Wall Street pirates were filthy beyond all measure.

Roosevelt sighed and turned to the next report.

But his movement suddenly stiffened.

Because it was a report concerning Richard Whitney.

This was the chairman of the New York Stock Exchange, Wall Street's public moral exemplar, the man who had bought stocks like a hero to prop up the market during the 1929 crash, the man regarded across America as Wall Street's savior.

Of course, he was also Roosevelt's classmate from Harvard, and the two had maintained quite a good relationship over the years.

This time, Roosevelt read even more carefully than before. Yet after he finished, his hand actually began to tremble slightly.

Because according to the report.

His former classmate, due to failed investments, had actually misappropriated his clients' funds and even stolen money from New York charitable funds to plug the hole.

"Th-this... how could this be..."

"The evidence is all in there. The flow of every sum, the records of every account, every document—everything has been laid out very clearly."

Roosevelt closed his eyes.

As a lawyer by training, he could naturally determine the authenticity of these documents. He simply did not want to accept the fact.