Arrival in Washington

"You're wrong. This isn't a crisis summary."

Roosevelt shook his head, his tone complicated.

William froze for a moment, then hurriedly asked, "Mr. President, then what is this?"

"This was given to me by a young man several months ago, on the very night you assured me that the financial markets would not suffer a collapse in the short term."

The document nearly slipped from William's hand. He stared at Roosevelt in disbelief. "Mr. President, this... this is impossible. I don't believe anyone could dissect this crisis in such detail months in advance and formulate such a complete response plan, unless he were Alexander Hamilton!"

Alexander Hamilton was one of the United States' Founding Fathers and its first Secretary of the Treasury.

With his extraordinary intelligence, he had established the United States financial system and was later hailed as the father of American finance.

Roosevelt did not respond to William. Instead, he turned to his assistant. "Call Helen immediately. Tell her to bring Feilan to see me at once!"

"Yes, Mr. President."

At Kennedy's private estate on the outskirts of Boston.

Joseph sat upright behind a dark hardwood desk, a document held between his fingers. His gaze repeatedly swept across the pages, his face filled with confusion and disbelief.

The document contained a detailed record of everything about Feilan.

His date of birth, childhood experiences, education, and those particularly conspicuous marks of misconduct.

Skipping school, drinking heavily, associating with street thugs, indulging in nightlife, even being arrested by the police several times for causing trouble in a crowd.

From beginning to end, the file portrayed nothing but a spoiled playboy from a prominent family. How could he possibly resemble a financial genius with the sharp insight to foresee a nationwide financial crisis?

Joseph closed his eyes, replaying the scene from that night in his mind.

"The Federal Reserve Bank of New York's gold reserves have fallen by nearly 15% over the past three months. In particular, the net outflow to Europe is accelerating. This isn't normal trade settlement. It looks more like capital fleeing..."

"Second, the commercial paper market. Interest rates on high-grade commercial paper have jumped 80 basis points over the past two weeks, yet transaction volume has shrunk by 40%. It is obvious that banks are unwilling to lend to one another..."

Looking back now, every single one of Feilan's predictions had come true.

Could it be...

That certain people, or some institution, had used Feilan's mouth to deliver their message?

But that did not make sense either.

Even those people on Wall Street, even the financial analysts under his command, had failed to foresee a situation this dire. Who else could have predicted it?

"This young man seems rather interesting..."

Confusion and amusement mingled on Joseph's face.

New York.

Feilan was listening to the news broadcast on the radio.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

He assumed it was another one of those fair-weather friends hoping to curry favor with the White House, but when he opened the door, he found Helen standing there.

"Helen, come in."

Feilan's heart skipped a beat as he gestured for her to enter.

Helen walked into the apartment, instinctively preparing to cover her nose against the smoke, alcohol, and mess.

But when she looked closely, the apartment was almost excessively clean.

The floor gleamed, and the books were neatly arranged on the shelves.

Spread across the table were not empty liquor bottles and racing papers, but thick bound volumes of The Wall Street Journal, the Commercial and Financial Chronicle, and other publications, along with stacks of manuscript paper covered in notes and figures.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Feilan asked from behind her.

"No."

Helen walked over and sat on the sofa. "I came today to understand one thing."

"What is it?"

"Several months ago, at Hyde Estate, whose words were you conveying when you spoke about the banking crisis?"

Feilan paused, then answered openly, "No one's. Those were conclusions from my own research."

Helen's gaze suddenly sharpened as she fixed her eyes on him. "Even the Wall Street conglomerates and their best analysts failed to foresee how severe this crisis would be. And you, Feilan, my little brother—I've known you since you were five. I watched you grow up. No one knows better than I do what you're capable of!"

Feilan was somewhat helpless. He could only raise his right hand. "My dear sister, I swear by God, and in the names of our father and mother, that every word of those analyses and predictions came from my own thoughts and judgment. No one directed me from behind the scenes, and I am not anyone's mouthpiece."

Helen frowned. After several seconds of silence, she said, "Do you know that Uncle Franklin called me? He wants me to take you to see him."

"Fine. When do we leave?"

Feilan's heart leaped violently, and immense joy surged to his head in an instant, but he forcibly suppressed it.

"Fine, my foot, Feilan. Do you think you're going to a family gathering? Besides him, the Secretary of the Treasury, the Secretary of State, and every core Cabinet member will be there. They are the shrewdest group in the entire country. You won't be able to fool them!"

Feilan met Helen's warning stare. "Then let them have a good look."

"You brought this on yourself!"

Helen rose to her feet in anger and strode toward the door.

Feilan immediately grabbed the coat from the rack and followed her out.

The Lincoln Model K was already waiting downstairs, and the driver was still Beechy, the man who had picked Feilan up last time.

After opening the car doors for the siblings, he got in at once, started the engine, and drove onto the southbound highway.

In 1933.

Most people traveling from New York to Washington would choose the train or travel together in a truck, which was both cheap and convenient.

As for traveling by automobile, it not only consumed a great deal of fuel but also required paying hefty tolls. Only people from the upper classes could afford it.

After several hours on the road, the outline of Washington emerged on the horizon ahead.

Washington, D.C., in 1933 was far from the grand, crowded modern metropolis of later generations, filled with monuments and power.

It was more like an overgrown Southern town. A few imposing classical buildings stood in the central district, but most neighborhoods consisted of low houses.

The Lincoln finally stopped before an inconspicuous federal building.

It was far from the White House, clearly a temporary command center chosen by Roosevelt's team.

It was more discreet, and better able to avoid the Hoover Administration's last-minute interference.

Inside the building, the smoke in the conference room was so thick it was nearly impossible to see through.

The meeting had already continued for most of the day. Fatigue was etched across every face, yet no one complained, no matter how exhausted they were.

The Hoover Administration was still functioning in name, bearing the final legal responsibility.

But in a few days, the real pressure would shift entirely onto their shoulders.

They had to find an effective solution while they still could.

Just then, Roosevelt's assistant entered. "Mr. President, Miss Helen and Mr. Feilan have arrived."

"Bring them in."