Chapter 98: Vulture
Lia's answer earned a faint smile from Jörg.
Still, his interest in the Astor family had never been about a mere hotel connection. That was only a thread, one strand in a much larger net he intended to cast.
Germany's domestic parasites alone were too small a target for him now.
What he wanted was broader, crueler, and more final.
He did not want to merely weaken certain forces. He wanted to erase them so completely that future generations would no longer even remember what they had once been. Not enslavement, not looting, not the rough plunder of old empires, but something colder: the destruction of identity itself. Their descendants would speak only the local tongue, inherit only the local customs, and become locals in every possible sense. No separate memory. No separate name. No separate future.
Of course, the Astors alone could never help him accomplish such a thing.
To achieve that, he would need influence over the United States itself, that towering stronghold from which so much of the modern world's will now radiated outward.
The elevator rose without pause to the top floor.
Waldorf had not exaggerated. The suite was lavish to the point of excess.
Crystal chandeliers hung from gilded ceilings. Gold plated handles gleamed beneath the lights. Each room had been furnished in a different style. One resembled an English country suite, with dark wood and restrained elegance. Another carried a more overt royal flavor, bright, ornamental, and almost theatrical. Even the flowers had been chosen to match each room's atmosphere.
The arrangements were meticulous.
Of course, ordinary members of the delegation would never be given such treatment.
Lia and Senna were exceptions. One had been sent to assist him and solve practical problems. The other had been assigned, quite openly, to watch him.
Neither woman reacted too strongly. Both came from noble backgrounds. The luxury amused them for a moment, but not enough to astonish them.
Jörg chose a room closest to the study.
Loosening his tie, he stepped inside. The sight of the vast shelves lining the walls brought back an old familiarity. His fingertips brushed lightly over the spines of the books, as though greeting acquaintances from another life.
Senna, now changed into more casual clothes, walked in behind him and carefully set down a cup of coffee.
Then, remembering Hindenburg's special instructions, she deliberately adjusted her shoulder strap lower than before, hoping at last to draw his attention.
She succeeded only partly.
Jörg's gaze rested on her bare shoulder for no more than a heartbeat before moving away. He took the coffee, sat down with one leg crossed over the other, and blew lightly across the surface.
"Senna, go buy me a newspaper."
She silently pulled her strap back into place.
So the rumors were true.
A heartless political machine. Such a waste of a good face.
"What paper?" she asked, unable to keep the dryness out of her tone.
"The Dearborn Independent. Buy every issue you can find, from every period available. Pay special attention to the ones where Henry Ford published signed articles."
"Understood, sir."
With that, she turned and left.
Jörg had noticed her little performance. He simply had no interest in indulging it.
This was not a holiday.
And besides, what woman in the world could compete with the thrill of reshaping history?
At the doorway, Lia had just been about to summon a waiter for refreshments when she caught Jörg's glance. One look was enough. Her usual languid softness vanished immediately. Like a finely trained aide, she retied her bright golden hair into a practical braid and stepped forward.
"Sir, what are your orders?"
"Help me make contact with the major financial groups. Not tonight. The day after tomorrow. Arrange a private dinner and invite them."
"Morgan and Rockefeller?"
"All the major groups with real influence in Congress," Jörg said. Then, after a moment, he added, "And make a point of contacting Mr. Henry Ford personally."
Unlike Senna, Lia rarely wasted time asking why.
"Yes, sir."
Then she paused, her expression sharpening.
"And no, sir, do not think that because Senna has gone out, you are suddenly free to ignore your schedule. It is precisely one o'clock in the afternoon. You should be eating."
Jörg glanced toward the window. "Is it really that serious?"
"It is," Lia replied flatly. "President Hindenburg specifically instructed us to supervise your routine and your meals. I am sorry, but your position is not higher than the President's."
Then she closed the door behind her.
The suite fell quiet.
Alone, Jörg moved back toward the shelves, pulled out a copy of Hegel's Philosophy of Right, and resumed a reading he had never been able to finish in his previous life.
...
Meanwhile, deep inside the offices of The Dearborn Independent near Times Square, Henry Ford sat on a sofa, speaking at length while the editor-in-chief recorded his words.
"I oppose persecution," Ford said, "but that does not mean I am blind. The Weimar Republic is itself an example. Have Jews there completely integrated? I do not believe so."
He leaned forward.
"In Berlin, you still have private Jewish districts. Foreign communities set themselves apart from the local population. Wealthy Jews continue to support underground restorationist circles, and many carry themselves as though they stand above the nations they live in."
He paused only long enough for the editor-in-chief to catch up.
"The same tendency is even more visible in Britain. A great many influential Jews are constantly trying to climb into the House of Lords and similar institutions, all to influence national policy and advance their own long-term interests."
Then he lifted a hand, tempering his statement with deliberate precision.
"Of course, I do not mean every Jew. I have met many perfectly ordinary people. But if you ask me whether I would place them in executive positions inside my company, my answer remains no."
"Because I cannot know who is simply a businessman and who has been sent by larger networks. I cannot know whether they would meddle in decisions that could cost me millions. I cannot know whether the Ford Motor Company would remain Ford in anything but name."
The editor-in-chief wrote it all down without interruption.
Ford continued, his tone now harder.
"Only by removing those organizations, and the people influenced by them, can a country treat its citizens fairly as Americans, Britons, or Germans, rather than as members of some transnational political cause."
"And for those who seek restoration, infiltration, and the disruption of public order in other countries, I can only say this: they deserve what comes to them."
"May they go to hell."
The editor-in-chief finished the last line, then raised his head.
"The usual arrangement, Mr. Ford?"
Ford nodded.
"The usual. Publish it under my name."
The editor-in-chief rose and left with the notes.
As soon as the door closed, the middle-aged man who had been waiting off to the side could no longer contain himself.
"Father, I'm begging you again, stop publishing things like this. I understand your views. I've seen firsthand how ugly business competition can become. I know exactly how dirty capital can be."
He took a breath, trying to restrain his frustration.
"But the Ford Company is already powerful enough that they cannot simply shut us out. What you are doing now is creating enemies where none are needed."
"Yesterday, two of our low interest loan applications were stalled again, both by banks with Jewish directors. I had to go elsewhere and borrow at higher rates. That was an unnecessary cost, caused entirely by your public statements."
Ford waved his concern aside.
"I am only saying what I believe and what I have seen. If I don't speak, who will? Their influence has already reached too far."
He turned his gaze toward the window.
"If I stay silent now, then in a few years, whose America will America truly be? Which businessman will still dare to say these things?"
His expression hardened.
"Perhaps I will regret these opinions one day. Perhaps time will change them. But right now, I intend to say exactly what I believe."
.....
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