The Hearing Began at Once (Please Keep Reading)

The people's anger spread like wildfire.

From New York to Chicago, from San Francisco to Boston, people on the streets of every city were discussing the same thing: Albert Wiggin, president of Chase Bank, had used the bank's money to short his own stock and made a staggering four million dollars.

Someone pounded the table in a restaurant and cursed.

Someone held up a newspaper in front of a relief station and shouted slogans.

Someone simply wrote up a big-character poster and pasted it onto a streetlamp on Wall Street: "Albert the vampire, give us back our blood-and-sweat money!"

Just as this tide of public outrage reached its peak, the House Committee on Banking and Currency stepped forward at the "perfect" moment.

A brief statement was delivered to people across the nation.

[The House Committee on Banking and Currency has taken note of the suspected violations involving Chase Bank and Mr. Albert Wiggin. Under authorization from Congress, the Committee has decided to immediately launch a formal investigation into this matter and will hold public hearings at an appropriate time to uncover the truth.]

"Fuck, they should investigate those bastards thoroughly!"

"Throw that damned vampire into prison!"

"Investigate them—investigate them hard! Pull up the radish and bring out the mud; dig out every last one of those Wall Street maggots!"

As soon as the news came out, people everywhere applauded and cheered.

The Oval Office, White House.

Roosevelt leaned back in his wheelchair, an irrepressible smile on his face.

He set down the newspaper in his hand and looked at Feilan. "Using Hearst's newspapers to expose them, Feilan—that was a beautiful move."

"If any other newspaper had exposed this, Wall Street could have claimed someone was deliberately framing and smearing them, then mobilized every resource they had to fight back."

"But Hearst—"

Louis Howe could not help laughing. "Everyone knows Hearst is a friend of those people on Wall Street. But now that even Hearst has started digging up their dirty secrets, what will the public think?"

"They'll think that even Wall Street's 'good friend' has turned against them, so the dirt must be real. Maybe Hearst knew too much and was afraid of being silenced, so he rushed to expose it first!"

Roosevelt burst out laughing.

Feilan sat off to the side, quietly listening with a faint smile on his face.

He had already planned this whole setup from the day Hearst sent someone to invite him for "a chat."

Giving Hearst the evidence was giving him a choice.

But that choice had never truly been a choice.

Hearst thought he was choosing whether or not to report the matter.

In truth, he was only choosing whether to jump into the fire pit with dignity or be kicked into it.

And Hearst had indeed "lived up to expectations."

There was a light knock on the door.

A staffer entered and dipped his head slightly. "Mr. President, a representative of Rockefeller has called."

Roosevelt's smile faded for a moment, then he waved a hand. "From now on, if Wall Street calls, or if they send representatives to request a meeting, tell them I'm busy. I will see none of them."

"Understood, Mr. President."

The staffer nodded and turned to leave.

The door closed again.

The corner of Roosevelt's mouth curled up as he looked at Feilan and Louis. "Gentlemen, then let us see what happens next."

That afternoon, Wall Street.

The atmosphere in the conference room of the Morgan Building was so heavy one could have wrung water from it.

Around the long table sat Wall Street's leading tycoons.

Albert Wiggin's ashtray was already piled high with cigarette butts.

He was still wearing the same expensive tailored suit, but his tie had gone crooked, and his hair was no longer immaculate. In just a few hours, he seemed to have aged several years.

Charles Mitchell sat across from him, clutching an unlit cigar, his brow tightly furrowed.

John Rockefeller Jr. sat beside the head seat, lightly tapping the armrest with his fingers. The rhythm betrayed the agitation in his heart.

The other tycoons, whose names carried just as much weight, were all present as well.

But the true leading man was standing by the window.

Jack Morgan stood with one hand on his hip and his back to everyone, a cigar between his fingers as he gazed out at the Wall Street skyline.

The door opened.

A middle-aged man strode in.

Everyone's eyes instinctively turned toward him.

"We still haven't been able to get through to the White House. The President's office gave the same reply: 'The President is very busy and cannot meet any Wall Street representatives for the time being.'"

A wave of sighs and curses rose in the conference room.

The man continued, "As for Congress, reliable sources say the Banking and Currency Committee has already obtained some key information. The investigative hearing is expected to be held within the next two days."

The mood in the room grew even heavier at those words.

Within two days.

What did that mean?

It meant they did not have enough time to prepare or handle public relations.

At the same time, it meant the Committee must have something substantial in its hands. Otherwise, it would not be in such a hurry to convene a hearing.

Albert's face turned even uglier. His hand trembled slightly, and he had to quickly crush his cigarette into the ashtray.

"No matter what it takes, find out as soon as possible what the Committee has."

Little John spoke harshly.

"I'll do my best."

The man nodded, then turned and left.

The door closed again.

A brief silence fell over the conference room.

Little John looked toward the man who had not turned around once. "Jack, what do you think?"

Jack Morgan did not answer immediately.

He simply stood there, took another draw of his cigar, and slowly exhaled the smoke.

A few seconds later, he finally turned around.

There was no anger on that face, no panic—only a strange calm.

It was the kind of calm forged through decades of storms and hardship.

He walked back to the table, pressed his cigar into the ashtray, then braced both hands against the tabletop. His gaze swept across every face in the room. "For decades, Wall Street's rules have always been this way. But now, someone wants to break those rules."

"In that case, let us first see what cards they are holding."

Albert Wiggin raised his head, a trace of despair in his eyes. "Jack, I..."

"Albert, this is no longer just your problem. It is Wall Street's problem. Once the hearing begins, we'll know what they truly want. But first, you must cast aside that damned fear of yours!"

"Roosevelt was right about one thing: the only thing we have to fear is fear itself!"

"So after you are summoned, you must walk in there with your head held high and tell everyone in a confident voice that everything you did was within the bounds of the law. Then no one will be able to do anything to you. Do you understand?"

Jack said sharply.

Albert knew he had no way back. He could only nod. "I understand."