"Boss, this is what you want," Charlie Lee muttered as he lay on the grass, staring at the man brought by the monk. The man had a thin frame, a high nose, sunken cheeks, and a pair of piercing eyes that radiated intelligence, cunning, and an unsettling chill.
"Introduce yourself," Charlie said kindly, sitting up against the tree.
"Dear Sir, my name is Shlomo Ben Itzkic. I am a Spanish Jew, representing Morgan—J.P. Morgan on Wall Street," the man replied smoothly.
Charlie raised an eyebrow and glanced at the monk, his surprise evident. He had merely planned to buy some stocks; how had he attracted the attention of such a financial titan?
Even with limited knowledge of Morgan's empire in his past life, Charlie had spent recent months educating himself. J.P. Morgan wasn't just a financial powerhouse; it was the financial powerhouse. Emerging from the Civil War as a rising star on Wall Street, Morgan had amassed fortunes through steel, railways, gold, and treasury bonds, solidifying its position among America's elite consortia.
By now, the Morgan family controlled over half of the United States' banking and industrial assets. They were, in no uncertain terms, the world's creditors.
"J.P. Morgan?" Charlie muttered, clearly intrigued.
Ben offered a professional smile but couldn't help noting Charlie's youth. A mere 17-year-old had already captured the attention of his company's executives—a feat that filled Ben with both awe and envy.
J.P. Morgan's tradition of investing in talent—no matter how unconventional—had been firmly established since the era of its founder. As little Morgan once said during a historic hearing, "Even if a tramp comes to me without collateral, I'll write him a check for $1 million—if I believe in him."
While Charlie was far from being on little Morgan's radar, the young Chinese entrepreneur had certainly made waves in Chicago.
"So, let's talk business," Charlie said, suppressing his amazement. He didn't see why he should refuse this unexpected opportunity.
For now, Charlie had nothing significant to offer Morgan. He wasn't naïve enough to think they were after his modest $150,000—Morgan was a giant.
Not afraid of being used, just afraid of being useless.
Charlie understood this principle all too well. He had once complained bitterly about the world being against him until someone bluntly told him, "The world isn't targeting you—it doesn't need you at all."
That painful truth had reshaped Charlie's perspective.
"I have $150,000 for a short-term investment until early September," Charlie said directly. "What do you recommend, Ben?"
Ben adjusted his glasses and launched into his pitch.
"Copper and aviation are solid choices," he began. "Steel and General Motors are excellent companies, but their stock prices are steep. Given our funds, they're less cost-effective. The Federal Reserve has tried curbing speculative excesses, but American confidence in the stock market remains high."
Ben's demeanor shifted from formal to collaborative, addressing Charlie as we instead of you.
Two months earlier, Citibank had announced a $20 million loan allocation, undercutting the Federal Reserve's efforts to stabilize the market. This move rekindled investor frenzy, creating ripe conditions for speculative gains.
"We can make a lot of money in the stock market," Ben concluded confidently.
Charlie nodded. He wasn't aiming for long-term profits—just a quick windfall before the looming crash.
He vividly remembered the lead-up to the Great Depression: a seemingly invincible stock market suddenly crumbling after a European bank's failure. Although he couldn't recall the exact details, he knew enough to plan for Black Tuesday.
For now, however, his $150,000 was laughably small compared to the wealth about to exchange hands. A single misstep could wipe him out completely.
"I suppose you have the contract with you," Charlie said, pulling out a sleek Montblanc Meisterstück pen.
Ben produced the documents, and Charlie skimmed them quickly before signing.
Ben was momentarily stunned. Most investors would hire lawyers, scrutinize every clause, and deliberate endlessly before committing to a contract—even with J.P. Morgan.
Charlie's decisiveness left Ben both impressed and cautious. It wasn't recklessness—it was bold confidence.
For Charlie, the reasoning was simple: no amount of legal scrutiny could outmaneuver financial experts like Ben. Instead, Charlie trusted the gun in his holster and the reputation Morgan valued so highly. If they dared cross him, he'd make them regret it.
After handing over his $150,000 check, Charlie watched Ben leave, feeling the familiar sting of poverty.
"Paul needs to be dealt with soon," Charlie muttered. He couldn't delay any longer.
Paul Ricca, however, would have preferred never to see Charlie again. Unfortunately, fate had other plans.
Late that night, Paul Ricca was in his countryside villa. Having just finished a passionate evening with his mistress, he descended the stairs in silk pajamas, pouring himself a glass of brandy.
"Paul, can I have a drink?"
Startled, Paul nearly dropped his glass. Turning toward the voice, he spotted Charlie Lee lounging in a shadowy corner, casually holding an empty glass.
Paul forced a smile, grabbed a bottle of brandy, and walked over.
"The finest French brandy, shipped fresh last month," he said, handing the bottle to Charlie.
Charlie took a sip and frowned. "Maybe you should try Chinese liquor someday—far superior to this."
Though Charlie left his critique unspoken, Paul could feel the disdain. "Philistine," he thought bitterly.
The room fell silent as Paul sat opposite Charlie, waiting for him to speak.
Finally, Paul broke the tension. "All right, you win. Tell me your plan."
Charlie smirked, swirling his drink. "Divide and conquer," he said simply.
Paul frowned, waiting for more details, but Charlie offered none. He wasn't a mastermind strategist, but he understood the basics of dismantling power structures.
With Capone isolated in prison, Chicago's criminal empire was splintering. Frank and McGuin's territories were up for grabs, while Paul Ricca and Joe dominated the remnants.
Meanwhile, Cicero—Capone's old stronghold—was under increasing pressure from federal investigations, leaving its leaders vulnerable.
Charlie intended to exploit these fractures, seizing control of Chicago's underworld while avoiding Capone's tainted legacy.
Paul's silence signaled his grudging acceptance. He knew he was running out of options.
After leaving Ricca's villa, Charlie felt the weight of his plans settling on his shoulders. His ambitions were bold, his resources limited, and the stakes higher than ever.
But for the first time in his life, he wasn't afraid of failure. The world was watching—and Charlie Lee was ready to prove he was worth its attention.