The Rise of Charlie Lee: Power, Politics, and Business in Chicago
The door clicked shut behind Aiken, leaving Charlie Lee alone in the quiet of his office. As the noise of the departing footsteps faded, he sank into the plush leather sofa, exhaling slowly. He loosened his tie, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension that had built up over the course of the afternoon's negotiations.
McCormick wants in on the bond market…
The proposition was enticing. With the Chicago Consortium's extensive resources and political connections, Charlie could expand his financial empire faster than he had originally anticipated. But alliances came with obligations, and obligations meant control—something Charlie was reluctant to cede.
Aiken had made a compelling case. "We handle the clients; you secure the bond issuance rights. Profits split down the middle—everyone wins."
On the surface, it seemed like a straightforward arrangement. The McCormicks would bring in a steady flow of eager investors, while Charlie's hard-earned bond-issuing license, the product of months of meticulous lobbying, would provide the necessary infrastructure. But in Charlie's world, partnerships were never purely about profit—they were about survival.
The Great Depression had decimated weaker businesses, leaving the landscape littered with bankruptcies. Charlie, however, had diversified early, acquiring manufacturing plants, expanding into real estate, and positioning himself strategically in the financial sector. His recent acquisition of A.O. Smith's Milwaukee factory was a prime example of this foresight. Yet success had a price—complacency was never an option.
He drummed his fingers against the armrest, weighing the risks. Cooperation over competition. He had learned that lesson early in his career. If McCormick's men wanted access to his bond-issuing capabilities, they would have to play by his rules.
"Let the teams handle the details," he had told Aiken, watching the man's face break into a pleased smile.
Trust was a luxury Charlie couldn't afford, but he could control the flow of information. His think tank would audit every transaction, ensuring no unseen hands meddled with the accounts. Ben, his sharp-eyed lieutenant, would oversee the operations personally.
As the office settled into silence, Charlie allowed himself a rare moment of stillness.
Across the mahogany desk, Ben reviewed the latest factory retrofit plans, his brow furrowed. "So, the Pioneer Tech R&D center stays here in Milwaukee?"
His tone carried a note of surprise. The original blueprint had placed it in Los Angeles, but Charlie's recent decision to keep it in the Midwest was a calculated move.
"LA isn't ready," Charlie replied, tracing a finger along the schematic. "The infrastructure isn't strong enough to support our expansion. Milwaukee has better rail connections to Chicago and the East Coast. Plus, the labor's cheaper."
The unions in California were growing bolder, and their demands for better wages and conditions were intensifying. The Midwest, on the other hand, was overflowing with skilled workers desperate for employment—a cold but necessary economic reality.
Ben nodded in understanding. "I'll expedite the renovations. The new smelting equipment arrives next week."
"Good. And the Kingdom Plaza project?"
Charlie's pet project, a sprawling mixed-use development in downtown Los Angeles, was proceeding ahead of schedule, a testament to his obsession with efficiency. The venture was set to redefine the city's commercial landscape, solidifying his foothold on the West Coast.
"Still on track for a July completion. McDonald's will open its first franchises simultaneously." Ben hesitated slightly before continuing. "But the veterans… Lawrence's team is already stretched thin managing the subway construction crews."
Charlie's jaw tightened.
The 2,000 ex-soldiers he had recruited were both an asset and a liability. Trained, disciplined, and desperate for work, they had proven invaluable in construction. But their loyalty was fragile. Many harbored resentment toward the government—betrayed by broken promises of pensions and jobs that had vanished in the economic collapse.
If discontent spread among them, work stoppages and strikes would follow, threatening not just the subway project but also the Kingdom Plaza development. Delays could spook investors, unraveling months of meticulous planning.
"Increase their wages by ten percent," Charlie decided. "And have Lawrence implement a rotation system for shifts. Keep them busy."
Ben made a note of the directive before exiting the room.
The veteran crisis was a growing national firestorm.
In Washington, President Hoover's administration was floundering as thousands of unemployed veterans took to the streets, demanding their promised benefits. The so-called "Bonus Army" was setting up makeshift camps near the Capitol, their frustration reaching a boiling point.
Charlie's decision to employ large numbers of veterans had been a calculated gamble—providing them with steady pay in exchange for their labor while subtly positioning himself as a benefactor. It also served as a shield against scrutiny; with so many veterans under his payroll, politicians were less likely to target him.
That morning, Dwight's memo had highlighted the growing unrest.
"The numbers in Washington are swelling. They're organized. They're not leaving without a fight."
Charlie had no room for sentimentality. The economy was collapsing, industries were struggling, and power was shifting unpredictably. His empire relied on stability, and stability required control.
Yet, where others saw chaos, Charlie saw opportunity. As rivals hesitated, his enterprises absorbed the displaced workforce—engineers, foremen, even disillusioned military officers. His think tank had coined a term for it: human arbitrage—the art of acquiring talent at a discount during times of upheaval.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
Dewey stood in the doorway, a stack of textbooks under his arm. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
Charlie gestured for him to sit.
The boy was bright but undisciplined—too engrossed in academic debates, not nearly invested enough in practical business matters. Charlie slid a report across the desk.
"Your grades in economics are mediocre," he stated bluntly. "This isn't a charity, James. Either commit to the curriculum or find another patron."
Dewey's face flushed with embarrassment. He palmed the report, his gaze lowered. "I'll do better."
"See that you do," Charlie said, his tone cool but firm. "The world is falling apart. The ones who adapt"—he tapped his temple—"the ones who think—will inherit what's left."
By evening, the office had emptied.
Charlie stood by the window, gazing at the Chicago skyline, its towering structures outlined against the dimming horizon. The city was his chessboard, each building a piece in his grand strategy.
Somewhere across town, Aiken was likely celebrating their deal, McCormick's brokers were drafting contracts, and Ben was already setting the next phase of the Milwaukee factory renovations into motion.
Control. Adapt. Expand.
The mantra steadied him. Los Angeles could wait. For now, the Midwest was ripe with opportunity—cheap land, desperate workers, and politicians eager for investment.
Let the East Coast elite cling to their old-world prestige. Let the California magnates battle their rising labor unions. Charlie would build his empire in the grit and steel of America's industrial heartland.
Yet, beneath the surface of his careful planning, unease lingered.
The Bonus Army's unrest, Dewey's lack of focus, Lawrence's overextended resources—each was a potential fracture in his growing empire. One mistake, one overlooked detail, and the entire structure could be at risk.