Killing Pigeon (8)
The launch of the tabloid finally began to progress rapidly once the Ford v. Chicago Tribune case came to an end.
The Chicago Tribune had denounced Ford—a pacifist and anti-war advocate—as an anarchist, and Ford responded with a one-million-dollar defamation lawsuit.
The case was enormous—if all the witness testimonies were compiled, it would amount to two million words. But the true climax came when Chairman Ford himself was called to the stand.
"Could you please read this passage?"
"…It seems I didn't bring my glasses today. My eyesight is poor, so I can't read it well. My apologies."
"Mr. Ford, are you familiar with the American Revolutionary War?"
"Yes, I am."
"When did it occur?"
"…1812?" (It began in 1775)
"You know who Benedict Arnold is, correct?"
"Yes, I do."
"What did he do?"
"…A writer?"
The lawsuit ended in Ford's victory.
—He was not ignorant enough to be called an "ignorant anarchist."
The result of the million-dollar lawsuit?
"The Chicago Tribune shall pay Henry Ford six cents."
The Tribune never paid those six cents. Instead, newspapers across the country mocked and laughed at the unbearable ignorance of the millionaire Henry Ford.
Ironically, this incident made that "ignorant man" more likable to the masses—who were largely no different—but it left an unbearable scar on the chairman's pride.
After suffering nationwide humiliation, how could he possibly sleep at night?
Now, fueled by anger, the chairman wholeheartedly joined the effort to create "a fiery, vulgar firestarter capable of chewing up the Chicago Tribune and spitting it out."
I felt a bit uneasy, as if I had poisoned the well, but wasn't it better for him to channel his passion into something profitable and constructive rather than doing something reckless?
And so, a new type of newspaper—one that bore no visible trace of me, Congressman Curtis, or Chairman Ford and his associates—finally made its debut to the public.
Yes. When it comes to tabloids, The Sun really is the best. The name rolls off the tongue perfectly. A name sharp enough to kill a man with ink.
With a pleased heart, I picked up a copy of this product of a new era—one that carried a hint of my influence—from a newsstand and bought it.
[SHOCKING TRUTH!! Yujin KIM—DESCENDANT OF THE CHINESE IMPERIAL FAMILY?!]
That damned rumor had finally crossed the Atlantic.
Old man… just because I had a Chevrolet built, isn't this revenge a bit too petty?
***
I needed to make money—fast—before the Great Depression arrived. Money, money, money. I had to expand businesses.
Was money alone enough? No. I also needed to grease the wheels in politics ahead of time. While I was here, meeting California state legislators and the governor was, in a sense, part of the formalities.
The Prohibition era was just around the corner. To achieve my grand Je-Sa Plan, lobbying was essential. And for that, what was so difficult about shaking hands with esteemed politicians and taking a photo or two?
And of course, I had to help my old comrades as well.
"G-Good day, Division Commander!"
"I've already been discharged—what division commander? Hahaha."
"You'll always be my division commander! Thanks to you, I survived. I'll never forget this for the rest of my life."
I prioritized hiring the Black men who had fled to San Francisco, including John Miller. Since Mr. Miller was a qualified lawyer, I decided to appoint him as our family's legal counsel. There would likely be plenty of legal maneuvering in the future, after all.
And as expected, there were quite a few educated individuals among them, so after discussing with my family, we began considering establishing a school.
Since it would be difficult for Koreans alone to carry out any meaningful action, it would be best to actively promote interaction among people of color from the start. In that sense, there was no better way to foster integration than placing children together in the same classroom.
Was that all? Of course not. I also had to manage the core base—the Korean community.
I tried everything to stop him, but Park Yong-man, eager to plant bullets into the heads of the Japanese as soon as possible, eventually left. As for Ahn Chang-ho, I managed to keep him for another year only after persistently pleading with him.
Handling all of this—either remotely from Washington, D.C. or by traveling in person—time passed quickly.
Meanwhile, one by one, my final duties as a brigadier general were coming to an end.
"Ghk!"
In September 1919, Wilson finally collapsed while giving a street speech.
Now it was time to strike back. No more testing the waters.
It was time to meet Prince Rhee.
***
In front of a hotel in Washington, D.C.
After a long time, I finally reunited with him.
"Welcome, sir."
"Haha. Yujin, you've become quite the fine man. A war hero really is something else."
Syngman Rhee.
It was time to establish some kind of relationship with this man as well.
He was the type who could only be satisfied if he stood at the very top, but it was also true that he was capable—and, among Koreans at present, an irreplaceable human resource.
Still, if he was someone I couldn't control, then he might as well not exist.
Outwardly smiling, I entered the hotel room I had reserved in advance with him, all the while contemplating what to do with this man.
But the moment the door closed—
Something I had never even imagined happened.
Thud!
"What are you doing?"
"Please… just spare my life."
What? Had he finally gone mad?
Rhee suddenly dropped to his knees and bowed deeply.
No—what was this? Bowing to someone young enough to be his nephew?
"Please stand up."
"Please—please just spare me!"
"Calm down! Why would I kill you, Dr. Rhee?"
"Because if I were you, I would have killed me! There's no way you'd let me live!"
He shouted in desperation.
"I'm not like the others! Don't lump me together with that dreamer Ahn Chang-ho or that gun-obsessed Park Yong-man! I'm Syngman Rhee! If it's the kind of calculations in your head, I've already run them in mine!"
"…It seems we both have a proper grasp of the situation."
I forcibly helped him to his feet and guided him inside.
"Let's have a drink. It'd be difficult to talk like this while sober, wouldn't it?"
"A drink? Prohibition's already passed—what do you mean, a drink?"
"Come on, just try a glass."
Rhee drank the liquor I poured in one go, and his eyes widened.
"This… this is… Korean liquor."
"That's right. I'm preparing to import it under the pretext of ceremonial goods."
I lightly tapped the bottle. The clear, ringing sound was quite pleasant.
"The biggest concern of the Shanghai Provisional Government is funding, isn't it? If they could legally sell alcohol across the ocean in the United States—"
"It would be enormous. Don't tell me you've thought this far ahead? You're planning to seize control of the Provisional Government's funding?"
I only smiled instead of answering—but there was no way he wouldn't understand that my silence was the answer.
Seeing that, Rhee could only let out hollow laughter.
"I see. It's all over. I… can only beg for my life. You have both the power and the reason to throw me into the Pacific. But I must live. I must live to see my country's independence. Please… spare me."
"Now that the game is over, wouldn't it be better to accept death quietly instead of struggling pathetically? Do you have no pride, begging for your life from someone young enough to be your nephew?"
Even at my mockery, he simply shook his head.
"You don't even need to say it—I already know how you see me. A man mad for power. A man obsessed with reaching the top. Am I wrong?"
"You seem well aware."
"That's because you don't know Korea. If you had seen that wretched country collapsing so miserably, you might have understood me. That Korea ruined by Yi Myeong-bok. If I—if I had worn that crown, it would never have fallen so pathetically! Not even the Japanese—Yi Myeong-bok, that vermin, threw me into that filthy prison, and that's when I made my decision!"
I silently refilled his glass, and he drank without hesitation.
"I decided I would entrust it to no one. That I would save Korea with my own hands."
"…Hah."
"If I only wanted wealth and comfort, I could've just licked the Japanese clean and lived well. But I despise both the useless royal family that feasts in luxury and the Japanese. My life's goal is this—drive the bastards out with my own hands, and spit on that grand Jongmyo Shrine while the entire Korean nation chants my name!"
Was he sincere?
Of course he was.
Politicians rarely lie outright. They mix one percent falsehood into ninety-nine percent truth.
His rage and hatred were genuine—but that didn't mean I had to sympathize with him.
And it seemed he knew that as well.
"You don't have to understand me. Let's talk realistically. The benefits I can offer you if you spare me and use me."
"Good. I like how quickly we're getting to the point."
"Right. Who else could I speak this candidly with? Haven't you been suffocating all this time? Surrounded by nothing but pretense, hypocrisy, and lofty justifications?"
I didn't answer. He merely shrugged.
"Fine. Let's talk business. As you rose as a hero in the United States, I lost my value here."
"You understand that well."
"I'll hand over my entire organization in Hawaii to you. Whether you bring them all to San Francisco or not—it doesn't matter."
"Whether you give it or not, it's already mine."
If a corpse that used to be Syngman Rhee floated up in the Pacific, whose side would the Korean community in Hawaii take? Obviously mine. Don't bring worthless bargaining chips to the table.
"…True. You could take it after killing me. But it wouldn't look good. And what about the Provisional Government?"
"If it's the Provisional Government, controlling the funding would be enough, wouldn't it?"
"Don't lie. You and I think alike. In the end, to truly control an organization, you have to plant your own people inside it. And you're planning to control it from across the Pacific? Doesn't that sound impossible to you?"
He was right. That was exactly my biggest concern.
And beyond that, the difference in perspective—between me, who intended to wait for the Pacific War, and them, who wanted immediate action—was something that could never be reconciled.
"The will of all Koreans yearning for independence. The unity of all independence activists. Sounds nice, doesn't it? But look at the U.S. Congress—those people fight day and night. Now imagine a group of desperate men with nothing but grit and desperation. You think that'll run smoothly? Without a single strong leader, the Provisional Government will never function."
That was true even in the original history.
After endless disputes and internal conflicts among independence activists, it was only after Kim Gu exerted strong leadership that the Provisional Government barely managed to function.
"I believe that's also why you held onto Dosan. Losing your means of controlling Koreans in America simply wasn't worth it, was it?"
"…Go on."
"I think the same way. Dosan can never—never—handle the Provisional Government. Only someone like me—cold, calculating, capable of ruthless schemes—can manage that den of monsters."
"You're very confident."
"As I said, my life is already the stake in this game. I'll hand over my leash to you and go to Shanghai. If you don't like what I do, just tighten the purse strings."
The Provisional Government…
If I could preserve the independence movement as much as possible until the Pacific War, it would be quite useful after independence.
Letting them be slaughtered like grass by the Japanese left a bad taste in my mouth. And if the Korean talent pool dried up, the new Republic would have no choice but to rely on collaborators, just like in the original history. That was something I absolutely wanted to avoid.
But the essence of negotiation is driving down the price.
"Does it even matter whether the Provisional Government exists?"
"What?!"
"You already know what I'm thinking. Sooner or later, the Japanese will clash with the United States. When that happens, we just smash them and install a pro-American government. What role would the Provisional Government even play in that process?"
"I won't deny that. But what if the Provisional Government could be useful—not to the United States, but to Kim Yujin?"
His eyes lit up, as if he finally had something to bargain with.
"If I take control of the Provisional Government, I'll send as many Koreans as possible to the United States."
"Oh?"
"Your biggest weakness is your support base. Isn't that why you're bringing in Black people? Because the number of Koreans who would support you unconditionally is pitifully small. I'll scrape together as many Koreans as I can and send them over."
That was tempting. Very tempting.
"So?"
"I fully agree with your strategy for the independence movement. The Provisional Government will spend decades building its foundation, waiting for the inevitable war between the U.S. and Japan. But others? They'll push for immediate independence war. That's not what you want, is it?"
Correct.
He understood exactly what I wanted.
If I didn't support the Provisional Government, I'd be criticized.
If I did support it and it escalated conflict with Japan, I'd get dragged into it anyway. As a Korean-American, there was no avoiding it.
Now it was time to see what kind of leash he would offer himself.
"So, what's the leash?"
"The same method you used."
Blood splattered across the table.
He pulled out a sheet of paper and, using the blood dripping from his finger, began writing line by line.
"I, Syngman Rhee, have requested Kim Yujin to betray the United States for the sake of Korea, but was refused. Therefore—hmm."
"Will this do?"
"No."
Nice try. As expected of a man with a sharp mind.
"If this gets out, it'll look like I abandoned Korea for the United States. That would damage my control over the Korean community as well. You said your life was on the line—do you really want to die?"
"I need to live too! How can I be sure you won't discard me?!"
"Fine. I'll accept this for now and gladly keep this blood letter at home."
Even to the very end, his scheming was impressive.
All the more reason to put an even tighter leash on him.
"You have no lingering attachment to the United States anymore, correct?"
"That's right."
"From now on, I'll handle everything in the United States. Don't ever come back. Go to Shanghai and manage the Provisional Government."
"Understood. Thank you. Truly, thank you!"
Thankful? Hardly. I'd be getting my share as well.
"Then finally, prove your loyalty. Burn down all the support you've built in America. Cut off your own retreat."
"…I'll do anything. What must I do for you to trust me?"
I stood up, placed a hand on his shoulder, and whispered in his ear.
"President Wilson is currently half-paralyzed and unable to govern."
"What do you mean?!"
"Expose it. As soon as possible."
If he could stab his own mentor in the back and set the Democratic Party ablaze, then he'd be worth acknowledging.
If he refused—
He'd be fish food in the Pacific.
So, what would he choose?
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