“Victory belongs to everyone who believes this country can overcome its hardships.” Roosevelt’s gaze was warm.
“Now tell me, what has the grown-up Francis Roosevelt been busy with these days?
Are you continuing your studies, or have you already found a cause worth dedicating yourself to?” “At the moment, I’ve been making some investments in the stock market.
But through those investments, Uncle Franklin, I’ve recently discovered something…
that deserves your attention.” “Oh?” Roosevelt’s interest was piqued.
“Go on, son.” “First, there’s the movement of gold.
Over the past three months, the New York Federal Reserve Bank’s gold reserves have fallen by nearly fifteen percent.
In particular, the net outflow to Europe has been accelerating.
This isn’t normal trade settlement—it looks more like capital flight, because investors may no longer trust that our currency can maintain the gold parity.” “Second, there’s the commercial paper market.
Over the past two weeks, yields on high-grade commercial paper have jumped by eighty basis points, yet trading volume has shrunk by forty percent.
That’s a clear sign that banks are no longer willing to lend to one another, even for the shortest-term funding.
It’s an early warning of a credit freeze.
Financial institutions have begun hoarding liquidity for themselves.” “Francis…” Helen gently nudged his arm and whispered a warning.
But Francis didn’t stop.
“Finally, there are the balance sheets of regional banks.
Through a few channels, I’ve learned that the small and mid-sized banks in the agricultural states of the Midwest have already seen their loan delinquency rates climb to catastrophic levels.
Their capital has long since been eroded, and they’re barely staying afloat by relying on short-term borrowing from the Federal Reserve.” “The moment anything goes wrong—a damaging rumor about a major bank, for example—depositors’ confidence will collapse like a sandcastle on the beach.
The question isn’t whether it’ll happen, but when.” He looked Roosevelt straight in the eye.
“In my judgment, a nationwide bank run will erupt no later than next March.
Its impact will be enough to bring America’s entire banking system to a standstill.” Roosevelt, seated in his wheelchair, was visibly taken aback.
“Francis!” Helen’s voice turned stern before she looked toward Roosevelt.
“Uncle Franklin, please don’t listen to this nonsense.” She tried to pull Francis away, but his feet seemed rooted to the floor.
At the same time, Roosevelt’s secretary discreetly signaled that it was time to move on.
There was no time left.
Francis suddenly pulled a document from the inside pocket of his suit and handed it to Roosevelt.
“Uncle Franklin, this is a Crisis Response Plan.
I think it may be of some help to you.” Roosevelt’s eyes shifted from Francis’s face to the document in his hand.
At last, he reached out with his right hand and accepted it.
“Caring about the country is a good thing.
Thank you, son.” With that, his aide slowly wheeled him away.
Francis’s eyes remained fixed on the proposal.
But what he saw was Roosevelt, as he was being wheeled toward the center of the hall, not opening it.
Instead, he casually passed it to a bespectacled assistant walking behind him.
The assistant took it and slipped it into the leather document case he carried with him.
Francis’s heart sank.
All he could do was silently pray that Roosevelt would read it after the banquet was over.
“Are you satisfied now?” Helen’s icy voice rang out.
“On a night that was supposed to be a celebration, you chose to repeat the words of some speculator to your uncle.
Letting you come tonight may have been a terrible mistake.” Francis turned around.
“You’re wrong, Helen.
I wasn’t speaking on behalf of speculators.
I was simply saying what I believe is right.” “I think you’d be better off giving lofty speeches at one of those clubs full of your so-called friends, not here!” With that, Helen turned and walked away without another glance.
“My apologies for interrupting.” Francis turned his head.
The newcomer was a man in his forties, dressed in a dark suit, his hair meticulously combed.
Joseph Kennedy.
As a historian, Francis knew that name carried considerable weight.
The future U.S.
Ambassador to the United Kingdom.
The father of the 35th President, John F.
Kennedy.
One of Roosevelt’s earliest supporters and financial backers.
A legend who had climbed from Boston’s Irish slums to the pinnacle of power—and a man so ruthlessly pragmatic that he could be downright terrifying.
One of his most infamous acts had been tacitly approving a prefrontal lobotomy for his rebellious daughter out of fear that she might jeopardize the family’s political future, permanently destroying her life.
Then, after Roosevelt’s death, he had wasted no time distancing himself from the legacy of the New Deal in order to pave the way for his son’s political career, even going so far as to publicly criticize it to win conservative support.
He was a complicated opportunist, a financial shark with an uncanny sense for opportunity, and a ruthless man who placed his family’s ambitions above everything else.
Joseph extended his hand.
“Joseph Kennedy.” “Francis Roosevelt.” Francis shook his hand.
“Mr.
Francis, I don’t believe we’ve met before.” “As an illegitimate son, I suppose it’s only natural that I seem unfamiliar to you.” Hearing the self-deprecating remark, Joseph smiled.
“My father owned a tavern.
My grandfather fled Ireland’s potato fields during the famine and worked hauling cargo on the docks and cleaning sewers.
In this country, your background is only your starting point, not your destination.
What matters is what opportunities you can seize…
and what you’re willing to pay for them.” “So, Mr.
Joseph, what can I do for you?” Francis had little fondness for someone as venomous as this man.
“Please forgive me for accidentally overhearing part of your conversation with the President-elect.
About those…
‘warning signs’ in the financial markets you mentioned—what specific data or models led you to such a bold conclusion?” “You’re giving me far too much credit, Mr.
Joseph.
There’s no sophisticated model behind it.
I’ve just been thinking things over while watching the markets lately, making a few wild connections here and there.” Francis despised capitalists, and the last thing he wanted was to reveal enough information for this man to prepare in advance.
Joseph studied Francis’s face for several seconds before saying meaningfully, “Wild connections, is it?
Let’s hope they remain nothing more than that.
Otherwise, the entire United States will be in for a catastrophe.” Just then, the orchestra at the front of the hall struck up a solemn overture, immediately drawing everyone’s attention.
The highlight of the evening was about to begin.
The President-elect’s speech.
“It seems the speech is about to begin.
It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr.
Francis.” Francis gave a slight nod.
Joseph turned and made his way toward the crowd gathered before the podium.
Moments later, Roosevelt took the stage and delivered a deeply inspiring speech.
He first thanked his supporters, reflected on the long road that had brought them there, and called on everyone to stand united in the difficult days ahead and work together to lead the United States out of its crisis.
His words were filled with hope.
Thunderous applause echoed through the hall.
Champagne glasses were raised once more, and smiles returned to every face.
The banquet came to an end beneath the illusion that host and guests alike had enjoyed a perfect evening.