The Much-Anticipated Scene

Two days later.

Washington, Capitol Hill, House Office Building, third floor.

Beyond a heavy oak door lay a broad corridor.

At the end of the corridor stood an even taller, grander set of doors—the Weyburn Hearing Room.

Built in 1902 and named after a veteran congressman from Ohio, this hearing room was reserved specifically for formal hearings of the Banking and Currency Committee.

The interior of the hall had a classic old-fashioned style, with dark oak wainscoting on the walls and portraits of former committee chairmen hanging above.

Directly ahead stood a dais raised roughly half a meter off the ground. On it sat a curved long table, behind which were seated the core members of the committee.

Henry Stiegler sat at the center, with five or six congressmen on each side. Before every one of them stood a nameplate, a glass of water, and a thick stack of documents.

Below the dais was a slightly lower seat, occupied by one man.

Ferdinand Pecora.

He sat there in a dark gray suit, several documents spread before him and a fountain pen in his hand. His posture was relaxed, yet he exuded the oppressive air of a beast ready to strike, like a leopard lying in the grass with its eyes fixed on its prey.

And directly below them was the focal point of the entire hearing room.

The witness stand.

It was a solitary oak table placed in the center of the hall, facing a dozen or more congressmen on the dais and the legal advisers below.

Ahead were congressmen looking down from above; to the left were legal advisers with eyes like blazing torches; to the right and behind were densely packed rows of reporters and spectators.

Hundreds of eyes stared at you from every direction. Anyone seated there would be swallowed by the crushing pressure of being watched.

It was a form of psychological torture.

At this moment, the spectator gallery was already full.

Feilan sat near the edge of the third row, with Louis Howe beside him.

In the United States system, the president belonged to the executive branch, while Congress belonged to the legislative branch. The two were independent of one another.

Once the president appeared in person, it would be tantamount to acknowledging that Congress had the right to question him face-to-face. Thus, no matter how interested a president might be in a hearing, political considerations generally kept him away.

So today, Louis was serving as his eyes.

"He's here! That vampire is here!"

Someone shouted, and everyone immediately turned toward the independent passageway on the left.

Albert Wiggin emerged.

When the scandal broke two days ago, Albert had indeed panicked.

But after two days of adjustment and mental preparation, he had recovered the composure befitting one of Wall Street's top bankers.

There was not a trace of panic on his face. His chin was slightly raised, his steps steady, as though he were attending an ordinary business meeting.

Someone else followed behind him.

A man in his fifties, lean-faced and sharp-eyed.

Samuel Untermyer.

In the spectator gallery, Feilan's eyes narrowed slightly.

This was one of Wall Street's finest defense attorneys.

The most astonishing thing about his career was not that he had won any particular case, but that he had won every case.

He had won more than a hundred major commercial lawsuits in succession in court without losing a single one. That record remained unbroken to this day.

There was a saying in the legal profession about him—so long as Samuel Untermyer stood behind you, you could lie to everyone without a care in the world.

"Vampire!"

"You damned parasite!"

"Hang him!"

"..."

Curses poured down from the spectator gallery like a torrential rain, battering Albert.

Some stood and waved their fists. Some crumpled the newspapers in their hands into balls and threw them at him. Some even tried to break through the railing, only to be firmly restrained by the marshals.

Albert's steps paused for a moment.

Then he straightened his back and continued forward without changing expression, as if those curses were nothing more than the wind outside the window.

Feilan watched his figure and nodded inwardly.

To have commanded wind and rain on Wall Street for so many years, he truly was no ordinary man. Whether that composure was forced or not, his mental fortitude was indeed remarkable.

Albert reached the witness stand and sat down.

Samuel sat beside him.

The curses continued.

Stigler sat on the dais, but he did not speak up to stop them immediately.

Of course, he was doing it on purpose.

First, he would use the public's fury to give Albert a taste of the rod. Once the questioning began, Albert's psychological defenses would be easier to shatter.

At last, when Stigler felt the heat was about right, he raised his hand and lightly tapped the gavel on the table. "All right, gentlemen. The hearing is about to begin. We will now examine the summoned witness. Please maintain order."

The crowd gradually quieted down.

They knew that curses would not send Albert to prison. Only if the committee convicted him could he be sent in.

Stigler lowered his head to glance at the documents before him, then looked up, his gaze fixed directly on Wiggin. "Mr. Albert Wiggin: Regarding October 1929, when you diverted eight million dollars from Chase Bank, then shorted forty-two thousand shares of Chase Bank stock, ultimately profiting four million dollars..."

"Excuse me, Congressman."

Before he could finish, a voice interrupted him.

Samuel Untermyer rose to his feet, composed and unhurried. "I must correct your wording. My client, Mr. Albert, did not 'divert' eight million dollars from Chase Bank. At the time, he applied to Chase Bank for a loan through normal commercial lending procedures."

"That loan had complete application documents and a proper approval process. As for a bank executive borrowing money from the bank where he serves, that is entirely legal commercial conduct."

"As for 'shorting his own bank's stock,' securities law does not prohibit corporate executives from buying or selling shares in their own companies. Therefore, Mr. Albert's transaction was entirely in accordance with the law."

"So, Congressman, I once again request that you use accurate legal terminology in a formal setting. It was not 'diversion,' but 'a loan'; not 'illegal,' but 'legal.'"

His tone was steady, yet every word landed like a heavy punch across the faces of those who had been waiting to see Albert make a fool of himself.

The entire hall fell silent for a moment.

In the spectator gallery, people looked at one another.

At the reporters' tables, some lowered their heads and began taking rapid notes.

Louis Howe narrowed his eyes.

Feilan remained expressionless.

Stigler's brow furrowed slightly, but he was, after all, a seasoned Congress hand. He quickly adjusted and nodded. "Mr. Samuel, we have noted your correction. But whether something is 'legal' or not is not for you to decide."

He turned to Pecora. "Mr. Pecora, please begin."

Pecora slowly rose to his feet.

The eyes of the entire hall instantly focused on him.