Chapter 152: Sow the Seeds and Reap the Fruits
New York, Times Square.
Standing atop the towering headquarters of The New York Times, Merson looked down in silence at the square below.
The city was still restless. Automobiles crawled through the streets like black beetles, crowds gathered beneath electric signs, and the advertisements overhead flickered with the false brightness of prosperity. Yet beneath that light, America was rotting. Banks were trembling, factories were closing, and men who had once spoken of endless wealth now lined up for bread with hollow eyes.
As a covert asset of Germany's Internal and External Intelligence Department, Merson knew better than most that this chaos was not merely a disaster.
It was an opportunity.
Outside the locked office door, Simon Oakes, the former Jewish owner of the newspaper, slammed his fists against the wood and roared until his voice cracked.
"You liar! You lawless bastard! You bribed people inside the foundation and set a trap for me! You used the foundation's stock losses during the crisis to force me into selling my shares!"
His furious pounding shook the doorframe.
"Damn you! This is my newspaper! Not your private bulletin board for revenge!"
"Come out, you beast!"
Merson's lips curved slightly.
The rage outside did not move him. If anything, it soothed something buried deep in his chest.
His hatred had not been born in a day.
His father, a German immigrant who had crossed the Atlantic with a suitcase and a dream, had once spent every cent of his savings to buy a small newspaper. Then came the financiers, smiling politely, speaking of wealth management products, loans, and opportunities. They lured him step by step into losses he could not repay, then used high interest debts to seize the newspaper and ruin the family.
Merson's two younger brothers had died as child laborers in a factory.
His mother had never recovered.
To him, this was not politics. It was not ideology.
It was revenge.
And the man in Berlin had given him the tools to achieve it.
Merson suppressed the memories clawing at his heart and said to the two guards standing beside the door, "Remove him. If he refuses to leave, break his legs."
The two retired soldiers nodded.
They were men who had once worn uniforms and then been discarded by their own country. If Merson had not given them work and food, the terrible environment of the city and the long delayed demobilization payments would have driven them into a corner long ago.
The guards stepped into the corridor.
A moment later, Oakes was seized like a chicken and dragged toward the window. The window was forced open, and half his body was shoved out into the empty air above the street.
The wind howled beside his ears.
"This building, and everything in it, belongs to Mr. Merson now," one guard said coldly. "Leave. I will not repeat myself."
Oakes's face turned bloodless.
He no longer dared to curse. He only nodded frantically, and after the guards dragged him back inside, he stumbled away in terror.
Inside the office, the accountant Wick looked at Merson's silhouette near the wall and spoke in a low voice.
"The Federal Bureau of Investigation has begun looking into our background, sir. You should not push too hard. You are currently Germany's most important asset in America."
He paused for a moment, then added, "The Chancellor is very pleased with your work. A Diamond Double Swords Silver Oak Leaves Knight's Cross is waiting for you in Berlin, provided you return alive to claim it."
"I understand, Wick."
Merson turned away from the window.
"The Bureau likes investigations, does it? Then arrange a meeting with their director. Ten percent of The New York Times shares will be my introductory gift."
He smiled coldly.
"Let them investigate. I would like to see whether their director can remain calm while holding my shares in his hand."
His gaze fell to the ledger on the desk. It was filled with the names of politicians who had accepted political donations.
"Also, Wick, I dislike the name The New York Times. From now on, it will be called The Pioneer Press."
Wick closed the ledger and nodded.
The anti Jewish wave had already begun. Next came preparations for Operation Isolated Island.
There were quite a few politicians in America who supported isolationism.
And every one of them could be useful.
Following the order issued from the newspaper's headquarters, the seeds that had been quietly planted in public discourse finally took root and sprouted.
Ford sounded the next note in the prelude.
The moment Merson advanced the idea, several newspapers controlled by Ford began to echo his position. One photograph after another appeared before the public, each accompanied by sharp captions and carefully guided commentary.
The topic pointed directly at a handful of powerful Jewish financiers and businessmen who, according to the campaign, had orchestrated the economic crisis and profited enormously from the collapse.
Jewish controlled newspapers launched a counterattack almost immediately, but against The Pioneer Press, which possessed photographs, ledgers, dates, and names, their rebuttals appeared pale and desperate.
Worse still, each denial became further fuel.
To the angry public, silence meant guilt.
Denial meant guilt.
Defense meant guilt.
For a time, Morgan, Rockefeller, and a long list of financiers found themselves trapped in a cage of public suspicion. They wanted to use money to silence the storm, but Ford and Merson, backed by the entire Internal and External Intelligence Department, did not lack money.
What they wanted was not payment.
They wanted lives.
When the New Year's bells of 1929 rang, the wave of public opinion finally turned into action.
Many Hebrew academies funded by Jewish organizations were stormed by crowds. Slogans demanding that the accused leave America echoed through the city streets.
In Baltimore, organizations funded by Ford began marching toward Washington.
At the head of the procession was a massive banner bearing a single word.
Judgment.
Beneath it were written the names of prominent Jewish merchants and financiers.
On a farm in the eastern United States, Jack Morgan and a group of Jewish representatives from various industries sat together in a heavy, airless room. After half a day of discussion, they had reached no conclusion. There were only complaints, accusations, and rising panic.
"Damn it, Jack! Do you not even know how to keep a secret?" one man snarled. "How did reporters get those photographs?"
"Is this really the time to discuss that?" another snapped. "The economy is at its lowest point, and this scandal breaks out now? Someone is obviously behind it. It must be Merson, the new chairman of The Pioneer Press, and Ford. Ford has expressed these views for years. Now he is using the crisis to stir up trouble."
"Jack, aren't you close to several violent organizations?" someone demanded. "Why not have Merson seized and killed?"
"Are you insane?" Morgan's face darkened. "At a time like this, if even a trace of that leaks, those rioters being used as pawns will come storming into our offices with submachine guns. They will sweep through us the way soldiers once swept through plantations during the Civil War."
"This will not work. That will not work. Then what are we supposed to do?"
"What about Germany? Do we still help them?"
The arguments grew louder until Jack Morgan raised his hand.
The room fell silent.
"Enough."
His voice was cold and exhausted.
"I will use my remaining connections to influence the White House one final time. If it fails, then we prepare a retreat."
He looked around the room.
"Germany is impossible. Jörg von Roman has become Chancellor. If we land there, we will be shot before our luggage is unloaded."
After a pause, he said, "Britain. We go to Britain. The Rothschild foundation there is far stronger than ours. At the very least, it can serve as a foothold. Transfer your assets quickly."
A Zionist representative sitting nearby sighed helplessly.
"I said long ago that we needed a country of our own. What about East Asia? The Japanese once mentioned a plan to me."
A banker with close ties to the British government shook his head.
"East Asia is unreliable. Britain already has a contingency plan. The Middle East is suitable. The people there are divided, backward, and easily manipulated by the imperial powers. Why not use Transjordan as a starting point, buy influence from the British, and establish our own country there?"
The room fell silent again.
This time, the silence was not born of disagreement.
It was born of calculation.
The storm had victims.
It also had gamblers.
At the Roosevelt family residence, Franklin Roosevelt rested both hands on the arms of his wheelchair and carefully searched for opportunity within the newspaper.
An aide standing beside him said, "Mr. Roosevelt, I believe we can use this momentum to condemn the Hoover administration and stand with the public. Many regions have already begun spontaneous protests. This could earn us significant goodwill."
Franklin did not answer immediately.
He removed his glasses, placed them on the table, and pondered for a long moment before shaking his head.
"Rather than move first, it is better to wait for them to make mistakes. Current public opinion is not yet at the stage where we can fully stand with the protesters without risk."
His gaze returned to the newspaper.
"Let us see how events develop."
The aide nodded.
He did not comment on Roosevelt's caution. Instead, he reported another matter.
"Mr. Ford recently sent one hundred thousand dollars in political donations. He also requested a meeting with you."
.....
[If you don't want to wait for the next update, read 50 chapters ahead on P@treon.]
[[email protected]/FanficLord03]