William stared fixedly at Francis, saying nothing.
Their exchanges had left him thoroughly outmatched, and though it bruised his pride, he had to admit that Francis seemed to see the situation more clearly than he did.
“Gentlemen, what do you think of the approach behind this bill?” Roosevelt asked.
Rather than commenting on Francis’s proposal, he swept his gaze across every member of the cabinet.
Cordell rested his chin on his hand.
“From the standpoint of financial stability, I think the overall approach is sound.
The details, however, should be refined with input from more experts.” Harold nodded.
“The bill is certainly aggressive, but the United States is in desperate need of aggressive medicine right now.” “…” Most of the cabinet members voiced their agreement.
At last, Roosevelt turned to William.
William remained silent for a few seconds.
Unable to come up with a better alternative, he could only nod.
Roosevelt looked back at Francis.
“My boy, since this legislative framework was your idea, I’d like you to join the drafting team.
Are you willing?” Francis’s heart surged with excitement.
He knew this meant he had finally secured a ticket into the inner circle of power.
Without hesitation, he nodded.
“For the sake of the United States, I’d be honored.” “However…
I’d like to recommend a few people who could be of great help with this bill.” “Go ahead.” “Arthur Ballantine.” He was currently an Assistant Secretary of the Treasury and a holdover from the Hoover administration.
During the banking crisis of 1931, he had led the Reconstruction Finance Corporation’s rescue efforts, giving him practical experience in bank classification and liquidity injections.
Of course, according to the original course of history, not only would he remain in office, he would also become one of the principal architects of the Emergency Banking Act.
The reason Francis went out of his way to recommend him was simple.
He wanted Arthur Ballantine to owe him a favor.
That would make the work on the legislation much smoother going forward.
Roosevelt turned to William.
“What do you think, William?” “Arthur Ballantine is a capable man.
I think he’ll do.” As the incoming Secretary of the Treasury, William had long since decided who he intended to keep and who he would dismiss after taking office.
Arthur Ballantine was one of the people he had already marked as worth keeping.
Even if Francis hadn’t brought him up, William would have retained him once he took office.
Roosevelt nodded.
“Anyone else?” “Hugh Samuel Johnson.
He worked on the draft of last year’s economic recovery program and has a unique understanding of emergency executive authority.
If we want this bill to survive congressional scrutiny while still leaving us enough room to act, his perspective will be valuable.” “And…” Francis proceeded to list more than a dozen additional names.
With every name he spoke, William’s expression grew more complicated.
It wasn’t because he didn’t recognize them.
Quite the opposite.
Some were people he had already planned to recruit.
Others were candidates he was still weighing.
A few hadn’t even crossed his mind yet.
Yet the order in which Francis named them, the way he categorized them, and the reasons he gave sounded as though he were reading from a roster he had memorized countless times.
It was as if a designer had already poured his heart and soul into creating the finished product, leaving everyone else with nothing to do but carry out the plan.
“That’s everyone.” By habit, Roosevelt’s eyes shifted to William.
William raised no objections.
That, in itself, was his approval.
“Good.
Until we take office, preparations for the bill must remain strictly confidential.
The Hoover administration only has a few days left, and I can’t be certain they won’t try to throw obstacles in our way during the transition.
At a time like this, any premature leak could make us a target.” Roosevelt swept his gaze across the room.
“Everything will be announced after we’ve assumed power.” The words were like a silent decree, bringing the lengthy meeting to an end.
Cordell closed his notebook.
Harold rubbed his temples.
William quietly slipped his fountain pen back into its case.
For the first time in days, everyone felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
Almost instinctively, their eyes turned toward Francis.
At barely twenty-five, the young man had appeared in their darkest hour like a reef emerging through thick fog, giving a ship on the verge of running aground a place to anchor, if only for the moment.
Without him, there was no telling how much longer today’s disastrous meeting would have remained trapped in its endless cycle of despair.
One by one, the cabinet members rose to leave.
As Harold passed by Francis, he did something almost unheard of—he gave him a firm pat on the arm.
The Secretary of the Interior, a man known for his hardline demeanor, showed no change in expression, but the gesture itself spoke volumes.
William was the last to stand.
The moment he stepped into the hallway, he turned to his waiting aide.
“Wilson, I don’t care how you do it.
By tomorrow, I want a complete dossier on Francis Roosevelt sitting on my desk.” The aide froze for a moment before immediately nodding.
At the same time, in different corners of the hallway, similar quiet instructions passed between advisers and secretaries.
“Yes, that young man.
Bring me everything you can find on him.” “Contact New York.
Find out whether James Roosevelt really has a son named Francis Roosevelt.” “…” After tonight, the name Francis Roosevelt had officially entered the watchlist of the highest circles of power in the United States.
Once the cabinet members had left, the conference room fell silent.
Roosevelt leaned back in his chair, removed his pince-nez, and slowly pressed the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
For the first time, fatigue showed through the composed, steady expression he had maintained throughout the meeting.
A moment later, he lowered his hand, put his glasses back on, and spoke to the aide who had remained standing behind him.
“Arrange a place for the boy to stay.
Let him get a few days of proper rest.” Then he looked at Francis.
“Go get some rest, my boy.
You’ve already handed in your answer today.
As for the battles ahead…
we’ll fight them one step at a time.” Francis nodded and followed the aide toward the door.
After the door closed, Roosevelt pointed to the chair William had been sitting in, signaling for Helen to take a seat.
She immediately did so.
“Uncle Franklin, you want to know more about Francis, don’t you?” “Yes.
Tell me everything about the boy.” Helen nodded and recounted Francis’s life from childhood to the present in meticulous detail.
Roosevelt listened in silence.
“Before Father passed away, he called me to his bedside and said, ‘Helen, if you can help that boy in the future, do so.
It wasn’t his fault he came into this world.’ So afterward, even when he was arrested by the police several times, I stepped in and kept the incidents from escalating.” “Dropped out of school, got into fights, accumulated debts, drank himself into a stupor…
That’s the sum total of his first twenty-five years?” Roosevelt’s face was filled with confusion.
He simply couldn’t understand how someone who had made such a complete mess of his life could seemingly become enlightened overnight.