The entire conference room fell silent.
Albert froze.
Though he was still holding the draft proposal, his hands had begun to tremble ever so slightly.
Anyone who knew him well would have recognized the look in his eyes—it was the panic of someone who had just been struck at his weakest point.
He couldn’t understand how Francis knew about this.
And if Francis knew…
did that mean Roosevelt, the Treasury Department, or even the entire government knew as well?
Roosevelt slowly turned his head to look at Francis.
There was no visible shock in his expression—at least, not on the surface.
But William noticed.
The President’s fingers had tightened around the armrest of his wheelchair.
Having known him for years, William understood exactly what that meant.
It was a tell that only appeared when the President was genuinely astonished.
Ballantine stood there with his mouth slightly open.
Hugh Johnson drew in a deep breath before slowly letting it out, the sound unusually loud in the otherwise silent room.
It was the first time any of them had heard about this.
But if what Francis had said was true, then this was no longer just Albert’s personal affair.
At a time like this, it would become one of Wall Street’s biggest scandals.
“Forgive my curiosity, young man, but may I ask your name?” It was John D.
Rockefeller Jr.
who finally broke the silence.
Yet anyone could hear the implication behind his tone.
He was trying to use his age, status, and pedigree to force this unexpected threat back into the place where he believed he belonged.
Francis met his gaze without flinching.
“Francis Roosevelt.” Jack Morgan and the others instinctively turned toward the man seated at the head of the table.
A muscle twitched at the corner of John’s eye.
A Roosevelt?
He searched his memory at once.
Whether Theodore’s branch or Franklin’s, he had never heard that name before.
But he didn’t press the matter.
He merely gave a slight nod.
His tone became somewhat more restrained, though it still carried the unmistakable distance of someone looking down from above.
“Very well, Mr.
Francis.
As for the matter concerning Chase Bank, that’s an internal affair of the Wall Street banking community.
It involves confidential business information, so I’m afraid it’s not appropriate to disclose too many details to outsiders at this time.” Albert finally came back to his senses.
“Mr.
Rockefeller is right.
I have no intention of making any explanation or statement regarding this matter for the time being.
But I can assure you that everything I’ve done has been fully within the legal framework of the United States.
It has all been entirely lawful and fully compliant.” He deliberately emphasized that last sentence.
“Lawful…” Francis looked at him, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint smile.
“Fine, Mr.
Albert.
Then go tell that to the people who were ruined when the stock market collapsed.
Go tell the people who lost their life’s savings, their homes, and their loved ones.” “Go tell them that the four million dollars you made by short-selling your own bank’s stock was perfectly legal, and see whether they care about your explanation.” Albert froze once again.
Only then did he realize that he’d forgotten what kind of situation the United States was in.
In an instant, news reports from the aftermath of the stock market crash in the fall of 1929 flooded back into his mind.
A banker in Pittsburgh had once been surrounded outside his own home and had nearly been beaten to death.
In Chicago, someone had thrown a bomb at a financier’s mansion.
And then there was the image that surfaced from history— The enraged crowds of France storming the Bastille, dragging nobles into the streets and hanging them from the lampposts.
If this ever got out…
If the public were to find out about these supposedly “legal” trades at a time when they had already been pushed to the breaking point…
He didn’t dare think any further.
Albert lowered his head and said nothing more.
The silence in the conference room lingered for several seconds.
Then another voice broke it.
“Enough.
I don’t believe Chase Bank is the main issue we’re here to discuss today.
Let’s get to the real matter at hand.” Jack looked at Roosevelt, then at William, and finally at everyone seated across the long conference table.
“Without Wall Street’s endorsement, without our syndicated credit support, the government’s promise to reopen the banks after the Bank Holiday is nothing more than empty words.” “So yes, the government needs us.
That’s a fact, and I don’t think anyone here would deny it.
Yet you wouldn’t even let us enter through the front door.” “If the government truly needs us, then show us the respect we’re due instead of treating us like beggars who’ve come here asking for alms.” Jack’s words struck a nerve with every financier in the room.
They were used to being invited.
Used to being consulted.
Used to being treated as honored guests.
Used to being the central figures at meetings.
Not being told, ‘You will do this,’ or ‘You will accept this,’ as though they had no dignity whatsoever in the negotiations.
“Mr.
Morgan, I think you’ve misunderstood one thing.” Francis smiled faintly as he rose to his feet, walked over to the window, and drew back the curtains.
Outside lay Washington in March 1933.
The sun was shining, yet the streets were eerily empty.
“Please, go outside and take a look.
Look at what this country has become.” Francis turned to face the row of Wall Street titans.
“Right now, the lines outside the relief stations stretch for blocks.
People start lining up at four in the morning just for a bowl of soup and a piece of bread.” “Forty percent of the nation’s factory chimneys have gone cold.
The waiting rooms in train stations are packed with the homeless.
In Chicago, farmers are burning corn they can’t sell because shipping it costs more than the corn itself.” His gaze settled on Jack’s face.
“And what about Wall Street, Mr.
Morgan?” “The New York Stock Exchange is trading at barely a tenth of its 1929 volume.
One out of every three listed companies can’t even pay a dividend.” “The interbank lending market has frozen.
It’s not that banks don’t want to lend—they don’t dare to, because they have no idea whether the other bank will still be standing tomorrow.” His voice grew calmer and calmer, yet that very calmness carried a crushing weight.
“Wall Street—that palace you’ve built so high above everyone else—already has cracks in its foundation.” Jack Morgan’s expression hardened.
“You just said that ‘the government needs us.’ You’re right.
We need your credit.
We need your capital.
We need your network.
But, Mr.
Morgan, there’s one thing you need to understand.” “The government isn’t asking for your charity.” “You need the government far more than the government needs your generosity.
You need us to repair the foundation beneath that palace of yours so you can keep sitting inside it, comfortably enjoying your fine wine and steaks.” The conference room fell into deathly silence.
Morgan said nothing.
Rockefeller said nothing.
DuPont, Mellon, and every one of the men who controlled half the wealth of the United States remained silent.
Because they had no rebuttal.
They could ignore the relief stations.
They could ignore the suffering of ordinary people.
But they could not ignore Wall Street’s collapsing figures, the plunging market indices, and the markets that had ground to a halt.
Those were facts they simply could not argue with.