Through the gray iron bars, the ivy leaves beyond were green.
William Sydney Porter, a former bank clerk from Austin National Bank, stared out the window with vacant eyes and thought, 'Where did it all go wrong?'
No, he had known from the beginning that it was wrong.
Wasn't it all a scam from the start?
But the rosy future of success had been so... sweet.
'This is something I'm telling you only, my dear client.'
'Even if I am alone, I want to repay the trust you have placed in our bank, even a little—'
'The friendship with you is a priceless treasure that no money can buy. Ha ha ha.'
He had gathered money from initial investors to set up a fake company that only looked good on the surface.
Then he collected money from secondary investors and handed it over to the primary investors.
With the money from the third round of investors, he gave half to the secondary investors and kept the other half...
From the fourth round on, more and more money was collected, but the amount embezzled grew even larger.
Thus, a world was created where everyone but him was left wounded.
It was wrong.
It was illegal.
He knew that.
But...
"What's so bad about that...!"
William Sydney Porter clenched his teeth.
Isn't that just how the world works? Those wealthy thieves and kings of crime, ruling over Manhattan and Detroit, did they earn their money morally?
From a poor family, he had chosen the path of a pharmacist, hoping not to starve, only to end up still struggling.
He had truly tried everything.
He had played the mandolin and guitar with local bands, worked as a regional newspaper reporter, and even debuted in a weekly magazine.
But all of it had failed.
However, the greatest failure was...
'Jeremy.'
Jeremy Porter. His small, fragile son, who had left for the embrace of God shortly after birth.
Fortunately, his second daughter, Margaret Porter, survived. In other words, he had to save her no matter what.
So he turned to crime. He couldn't lose his daughter too, not after losing his son.
His daughter couldn't inherit his poverty. No matter what, he had to send her to England and ensure she lived comfortably as a lady of a noble house.
So, he had only held the hand of that British employer... If only he had waited a little longer and then escaped abroad with the collected money through the Pinkertons! Then, his wife Athol and daughter Margaret... they could have lived without envy.
'But then!!'
—Put your hands up! We are arresting you for fraud!
—You have the right to remain silent and the right to an attorney—!!
The United States Mint Police. From the moment they broke down the door with shotguns, everything went awry.
At the moment he was about to flee to England, as if they had been waiting, the Mint Police rounded up him, his British employer, and everyone high and low.
He lowered his head, clutching his sore, bruised head from being hit with a gunstock.
It's over now.
William knew. Among the people he had defrauded, there were countless tycoons from Texas and neighbouring states.
The amounts he had collected from them were beyond imagination. If he had taken that money abroad, it might have been different, but since he hadn't, the sum would come back to him as part of his sentence.
He would probably never see his wife or daughter again.
Perhaps he would even face the death penalty.
Such... such things were too much.
Thud!
A bundle of papers fell in front of him.
He quietly looked up. There was the policeman who had been munching on a donut.
"Stop whining while people are eating. Just look at this."
What he had thrown was a magazine, *Temple Bar*. William instinctively reached out for it. No wonder.
'Vincent Villiers.'
It was the very magazine in which *Vincent Villiers* was serialized, the one that had provided the impetus for his current predicament.
It was a magazine he had eagerly read every month.
"Yes, yes, you're still reading, I see. Stop sulking and quietly read the book."
'What's the use now...'
Yet, he turned the pages of the book quietly. He was not intimidated by the guard's muscular build.
And soon...
"Ugh..."
—Hate the sin, not the sinner. I understand. I didn't understand either.
—But after searching for dirty money... I understood once I went to the bottom of the Caribbean.
—God always gives a second chance for repentance.
"Sniff... sob..."
Thick tears like leaves fell from his eyes.
Indeed, Vincent had also returned from the Caribbean and risen again. As long as he still had his wits, he could start over. Even if he could never rise again as a financier, he could still move his fingers. And he could write letters.
He would write.
Wasn't there something he could do to support his wife and daughter? With that thought, William continued to shed tears like leaves.
"Ah, I told you to be quiet..."
The guard shook his head with a bitter expression.
***
Paris, U.S. Embassy in France.
"So, that's the situation, Mr. Miller."
"Hm. I see."
Mr. Miller nodded and gave me a glance over his shoulder. I also nodded, trying to conceal my excitement as much as possible.
This was not a meeting for just Mr. Miller and me.
U.S. Ambassador to France, James Biddle Eustis.
British Ambassador to France, Marquess of Dufferin.
And here was our Frederick Alba Miller, who was acting on behalf of the ailing but popular author Hanslow Jin, currently recuperating in France.
The three of them were gathered to discuss the Ponzi scheme that had struck the U.S.
"Well, thanks to the London Stock Exchange sending the problematic... um, *Pompeii Report* to the New York Stock Exchange in advance, we were able to respond quickly here in the U.S. We appreciate that."
The reality was this:
In truth, exchanges had no choice but to cooperate.
The higher-ups at the London Stock Exchange had sent my report—the so-called *Pompeii Report*—to the exchanges in Hong Kong and New York, allowing them to understand the Ponzi scheme and appropriate responses in advance.
But why is it called the Pompeii Report? Is it because it's a scam that destroys everything overnight? Hmm, it's rather fitting.
"So, have all the criminals been captured?"
"Yes. The British national who was working at the London Stock Exchange has also been apprehended by the Mint Police."
"Hm. It's truly shameful for a Brit. I offer my deepest condolences."
"No, it's thanks to the foresight of the British author that we were able to prevent this. We are simply grateful."
After all, the person in question is right here... not even British. But since it was openly praised, I couldn't help but let out a dry chuckle.
Who would have imagined that the recovering author would be here?
Anyway, the atmosphere was quite cordial. Of course, the British Embassy in Washington or the American Embassy in London might be burning with telegrams right now, but this was France.
Naturally, it was impossible to stay completely detached.
"By the way, what an impressive author you are. How does an ordinary novelist have such insight...!"
"Ah, I don't know much, but it's truly wonderful that there are such bright stars in our literature, which has become the birthplace of detective fiction."
"Hahaha! It's quite embarrassing for us as Edgar Allan Poe's country."
"No, I'm a native Korean. I'm a pureblood born on the Peninsula where Grandfather Dan-gun settled, and I've never left! So why are you so proud?"
I looked at Mr. Miller with incredulity. He cleared his throat into the speaker and then spoke.
"Ahem. Ambassador Eustis, may I inquire about the status of the Mint Police's request?"
At last, the ambassador, having finished his silent battle, turned his gaze toward us.
"Ah, yes. I called the home office and found out that while the criminals who acted upon the report are problematic, there's no intention to hold author Hanslow Jin responsible."
"Hmm, of course, that's as it should be."
"Yes. However, since there might be additional information from the publisher or the London Stock Exchange, if there is, we'd like to obtain it as reference material."
"Well, if that's the case, it's understandable. Haha, wouldn't it be a disaster if our author, already so busy, had to worry about this? He had quite a hard time with the *Peter Perry* fiasco, didn't he?"
"Haha, indeed. I was very sorry to hear about it. We were quite worried about losing such a great star of the British Empire. I will make sure to convey this properly and try my best to avoid causing any inconvenience to the author."
"I appreciate it."
Yes, that should be enough.
By the way.
"Oh, and I see that there's a reference to someone named 'William Sidney Porter'..."
At my question, the ambassador gave a puzzled look as if to say, "What's he doing here?" But after a subtle signal from Mr. Miller, he slowly began to speak.
"Hmm. Apparently, he was just a banker. In this case, he was a key figure in recruiting clients and is currently being held in custody. From what I've heard, he seems to be reflecting deeply and providing a lot of useful information, so his sentence might be reduced through a plea bargain."
Thanks to that, the process has been expedited.
He took a sip of his tea, casually chatting.
Hmm. Is that so?
Well, it's not something I need to worry about. It's not worth bothering about unless it shows a spark of talent.
Anyway, it's fortunate that the case hasn't blown up.
While thinking lightly of it,
"By the way, this is not finalized yet, but... Mr. Miller, could you please contact New York?"
"New York?"
"Yes. It seems that 'Morgan' would like to meet and personally express his gratitude."
"Whaat?!"
Morgan?
The financial mogul, Morgan?!