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In Detroit, the city of steel, the man who had met Eugene Kim returned to his company to deliver his report.
He explained that Eugene had listened carefully to the offer but ultimately refused without hesitation, stating that he intended to remain in the military.
The listener, an older man, rose slowly from his seat and told him to think on a larger scale.
In a country built on freedom and capitalism, labor could be purchased with money, but not everything could be bought so easily.
He gazed out the window at the vast industrial empire he had built, a fortress of steel and brick that continued to produce goods without rest.
He explained that if something could be bought, it had to be secured before others claimed it, and even if it could not be bought with money, it did not mean it was unattainable.
Some things simply required a different price.
Eugene had not rejected the offer outright because he lacked interest.
He had listened, which meant he desired something greater than money.
To someone like that, offering only cash was insufficient.
The older man made his decision and ordered his secretary to clear his schedule for June 12.
He would go to New York, to West Point.
This man was Henry Ford, and he had no intention of letting an opportunity slip away.
On June 12, 1915, I was officially assigned to the infantry.
Even at the last moment, the Corps of Engineers and the artillery branch had tried to recruit me, but I refused them all.
Infantry was the only choice.
The U.S.
Army would expand rapidly in the coming war, and infantry offered the best path for advancement.
Cavalry would eventually transform into armored forces, but that would take time, and I had no intention of charging machine guns on horseback.
Artillery was also unsuitable for what I wanted.
If I was to become a war hero, it would be in the trenches, not behind the lines.
The graduation ceremony proceeded smoothly.
I could describe the grandeur, the scale, and the emotions in detail, but there was no need.
After finishing photographs with my classmates, I moved to greet my parents.
Dorothy was there as well.
I had told my family about her in my letters, though only in general terms.
My father had initially hoped I would marry within the Korean community, but eventually accepted that there were no suitable candidates of my age.
He had settled for the idea that a Chinese or Japanese daughter-in-law would be acceptable, so long as she was not unsuitable.
The moment Dorothy appeared in person, the atmosphere shifted into something resembling a formal meeting between families.
Then Charles Curtis arrived, and any sense of ease disappeared entirely.
My father realized who he was and began to panic.
While my parents spoke quietly in Korean, worrying about the difference in status between the families, Charles Curtis approached me and asked if I had not explained the situation beforehand.
I admitted that I had avoided doing so to prevent unnecessary complications.
Guests continued to arrive, including Ahn Chang-ho and Park Yong-man, who had come a long way to attend.
Their presence was welcome.
However, another guest also appeared, one I would rather not have seen.
Rhee Syngman stepped forward with a strained expression.
On a day like this, his presence was inevitable.
He exchanged greetings with Curtis, and even without words, both men understood each other’s positions.
Meanwhile, Dorothy remained firmly at my side.
I already knew what she wanted.
She urged me to act immediately.
There was no point delaying further.
I knelt and presented the engagement ring.
She accepted it without hesitation, her expression brighter than I had ever seen.
The guests applauded, and I stood again, aware that the situation had now become irreversible.
From Rhee Syngman’s reaction alone, it was clear that he understood.
Aligning myself with Curtis had shifted the balance completely.
Curtis soon suggested we move to another venue to continue the celebration.
My father attempted to protest modestly, but my mother immediately shut him down.
Watching them, I could not help but wonder if I would one day end up the same way.
At that moment, an instructor approached and informed me that another guest wished to meet me privately.
He described the person as a major figure.
I questioned the necessity, pointing out that a senator was already present.
The instructor hesitated, realizing the implications, and decided to handle the situation himself.
Later, in a smaller room, I found myself seated with Curtis and one more man.
That man was Henry Ford.
Henry Ford explained that he was interested in the concept I had proposed, a vehicle capable of traversing devastated terrain while carrying weapons.
I referred to it as a tank.
He accepted the term immediately.
Curtis interjected, questioning why Ford could not simply develop it using his own engineers.
Ford replied that a wise industrialist valued diverse perspectives, unlike politicians who only listened to supporters.
The conversation grew tense, though both men maintained polite smiles.
Curtis positioned himself as an advisor protecting a young man’s future, while Ford emphasized opportunity and vision.
I understood that both were attempting to influence my decision.
I clarified that my ideas were theoretical, and their practical value remained uncertain.
Both men dismissed that concern.
At that moment, I had to decide.
Whether to assist Ford in accelerating the development of armored vehicles, or to preserve my position and timing.
Predicting the consequences of historical change was impossible.
What remained was to negotiate in a way that maximized my own benefit.
And then, an unexpected idea formed in my mind.