The oath had been administered.
Roosevelt raised his head and faced the sea of people stretching out before him.
“Today is a day of profound national significance.
I firmly believe…” Everyone listened intently.
Then, a few minutes later, Roosevelt suddenly paused.
This pause was even longer than the last.
Everyone could feel it.
It was as though a beautiful piano concerto had reached the moment just before its grand crescendo.
“Now, let me state one firm conviction: the only thing we have to fear is fear itself!” The square erupted in deafening cheers.
Francis felt his heart pounding violently.
He had read that sentence countless times, quoted it countless times, analyzed it in countless academic papers.
But only now, hearing it spoken by Roosevelt himself, did he truly understand.
It wasn’t merely a famous quote.
It was the bugle call to charge.
The cheering continued for a full minute before it gradually subsided.
Roosevelt raised a hand slightly, signaling for silence.
“This great nation will endure these trials, just as it has endured others before.
It will recover.
It will prosper.” “So allow me to speak frankly about the situation we now face.
I believe our present crisis is not one of material scarcity, but of shattered confidence.” “Certain money changers in the financial world have fled from their high seats in the temple of our civilization.” “They managed the financial markets with stubbornness and incompetence—and they failed.” “And now they ask the public to trust them once again…” Hearing that, Francis’s gaze immediately swept toward the front row of the VIP section.
Just as he expected.
The deeply sarcastic phrase money changers froze the smiles on the faces of Morgan, Rockefeller, DuPont, and the others who had been chatting and laughing only moments earlier.
Francis knew exactly what they were thinking.
That madman.
That cripple.
We helped put him in the White House—how could he…
how dare he turn his guns on us?
They had believed themselves to be the kingmakers—the puppet masters, the force behind the curtain that controlled everything.
But they were clearly mistaken.
“If Congress fails to act, I shall ask it to grant me the last instrument left for meeting this crisis: broad emergency powers, equivalent to those granted in wartime!” “Powers as great as those we would receive if we were, in fact, invaded by a foreign enemy!” The entire square fell silent.
It wasn’t the silence of people saying nothing.
It was the vacuum created when hundreds of thousands held their breath all at once.
In the front row of the VIP section— Morgan and the others, who had yet to recover from Roosevelt’s money changers remark, stood frozen in disbelief once again.
In the congressional seating area, even the veteran politicians who had weathered countless political storms were stunned.
The Republican leader’s lips moved slightly.
The Democratic heavyweights exchanged glances with one another.
There was no excitement in those looks.
Only astonishment.
Emergency wartime powers.
They understood better than anyone what it meant for those words to come from the mouth of the President of the United States.
This wasn’t Hoover’s polite appeals for the business community to cooperate.
It was an ultimatum backed by the law, the military, and the coercive power of the state.
Yet no matter how dire the situation had become, Hoover had never dared ask for authority like this.
The speech continued.
But Morgan, Rockefeller, the senior officials, and the members of Congress were no longer listening.
As for the ordinary citizens, they had stopped applauding and shouting as well.
They simply stood there in silence.
Some people were crying.
Not from grief.
Not from excitement.
But from the indescribable ache that comes when something buried deep inside is finally touched.
At last, someone had said what they had been longing to hear.
Not “Things will get better.” Not “Just hold on a little longer.” But rather: From this day forward, even if it means standing against everyone else, I will fight to put bread and milk on your tables.
The speech came to an end.
Applause that had been suppressed for far too long suddenly erupted.
Hoover was the first to rise.
He made no gesture toward Roosevelt, nor did he look back at anyone.
He simply walked straight to the waiting limousine.
The moment the door closed behind him, he let out a cold laugh and muttered, so quietly that only he could hear it: “He wants to make himself Emperor of the United States.” …
Washington, D.C.
The Treasury Building.
The gray granite structure east of the White House and west of Treasury Plaza had been shrouded in a heavy atmosphere ever since the banking crisis erupted.
On the third floor, in the east wing, the mood inside one conference room was even grimmer than outside.
A dozen or so people sat around a long oak table.
They wore impeccably tailored dark suits.
Their faces carried the composure of bankers, the caution of lawyers, and the tension shared by everyone living through these times.
Hugh Samuel Johnson sat halfway down the table.
The forty-nine-year-old former cavalry officer, later businessman, and member of the transition team’s economic advisory staff was carefully studying everyone in the room with eyes that had seen war.
A few days earlier, William had approached him about joining an important project.
He still didn’t know exactly what that project was.
But after hearing Roosevelt’s speech…
Money changers had fled from their thrones.
Emergency wartime powers.
Those scattered pieces pointed toward a possibility that made his pulse quicken.
Perhaps they weren’t drafting an ordinary executive order.
Perhaps they were forging a sword.
The door opened.
Everyone rose to their feet at once.
William Woodin strode into the room, with Arthur Ballantine following close behind.
Then a third figure appeared in the doorway.
A young man.
Around twenty-five years old, tall, and dressed in a perfectly tailored suit.
Among everyone present, his face looked strikingly young.
But Hugh’s attention was drawn to his eyes.
As his gaze swept across the conference room, there was none of the awkwardness or curiosity of a newcomer.
Only a calm, almost clinical appraisal.
As if they were saying: I know who you are.
I know what you’re capable of.
And I know exactly why I need each of you.
William stopped at the head of the long table.
Instead of taking his seat, he planted both hands on the tabletop and swept his gaze across everyone present.
“Gentlemen, I know you have many questions, but time is running short.
Before we begin, allow me to make an introduction.” He stepped aside, raised a hand slightly, and gestured toward Francis.
“This is Francis Roosevelt.” A ripple of subdued murmurs spread through the room.
No explanation was needed for what the name Roosevelt meant here.
But this man…
Many of those present had never heard of him.
Where had he suddenly come from?
“Francis will serve as one of the principal architects of the legislation we’re about to draft.” Every eye in the room immediately turned toward Francis.
Confusion and disbelief were written plainly across many faces.
Even if he was a member of the Roosevelt family, he was still only a man in his twenties.
What made him qualified to stand at the center of all this?