Going Home for the New Year

The way things unfolded was exactly as expected—the people from the Tammany Association revealed their rotten core in an instant. The old saying, "When the wall falls, everyone gives it a push; when the drum breaks, everyone takes a swing," couldn't be more accurate.

In fact, the corruption within the Tammany Association had long been an open secret.

Take that $250,000 building we talked about—it ended up costing $8 million to construct. In those days, the dollar was solidly backed by gold.

With $8 million, you could build something grander than the Empire State Building. Anyone with half a brain could see this was a swamp of corruption.

Reports and anonymous tips flooded in. Some jumped out to confess, while others tried to flee with the money. But the police had been waiting on the streets—they wanted you to run with the money. Where did you get all that cash? Obviously dirty money.

Confiscated!

For the members of the Tammany Association, this marked the fall of their empire. But for everyone else, it was an opportunity to join in a perfectly legal feeding frenzy.

Anyone with the slightest power or opportunity pounced to tear off a piece of Tammany's fat. For decades they'd manipulated New York, hoarding billions. Even a single bite could make someone rich. Not going in for a bite now would be foolish.

As for any resistance from the Democratic city government or the Tammany Association? Feeble, to say the least—basically nonexistent. Aside from a few angry outbursts from scattered figures, there was nothing.

Seeing the chance, Dewey immediately stepped up and announced investigations into over 60 city officials with Tammany backgrounds. That sure boosted his reputation.

The collapse of Tammany-style corruption stirred public outrage. Wilkie rallied major and minor newspapers to amplify the scandal. Discontent had been simmering since winter began, due to poor relief efforts, and now protests erupted across the city.

Protesters demanded the Democratic administration crack down on corruption and increase aid to struggling citizens. Naturally, someone eventually shouted for the mayor to resign.

If your entire staff is neck-deep in corruption, how can you claim to be innocent? Even if you are, you clearly failed to manage your people.

Resign!

But who would? Only a fool would step down voluntarily. No matter how much bad press you get, the perks of staying in office outweigh it. Might as well hang in there until the next election.

New York had descended into complete chaos. Fiorello, eyeing the next mayoral election, and Dewey, aiming to solidify his anti-corruption fame, along with a slew of other opportunists, dove into a full-scale war against the Democratic city government.

"I've got to head home for Christmas," Niall announced, having just scored a major win—time to take a break.

"See you after New Year's," said Wilkie, beaming. With Niall's help, they had won the opening battle handsomely.

Nothing major would happen during the holidays anyway, so Wilkie and Niall—those invisible hands behind the scenes—could now sit back and watch the clouds drift by.

"Run more promotions at the supermarket during Christmas—it doesn't cost much," Niall added. He may be going home, but as Wilkie's advisor, he still had responsibilities.

"I've already arranged it."

Big giveaways were happening—things like a year's supply of toilet paper for a family of six, or 200 kilograms of potatoes. This time, they'd even added a grand prize:

A $500 supermarket voucher!

Most white-collar workers couldn't earn $500 in a year; farmers might need several years to make that much. But now, just by shopping, people could win that kind of luxury. Tempting, right?

Of course, the money ultimately came from customers' pockets—it all circled back to Wilkie's supermarket anyway. No big loss.

And with the prize dangling there, and it being peak shopping season, the store was packed. One could almost forget the Great Depression was still going on.

The winning ticket wouldn't even be added to the draw box until Christmas Eve—just enough to keep customers shopping, chasing the dream.

Initially, store managers opposed Niall's idea to offer weekly deep discounts on a quarter of all goods. They feared losses and assumed customers would only buy discounted items. But sales proved them wrong—low prices boosted overall traffic, and people ended up buying far more than just the cheap stuff.

When you're in a store filled with tempting goods, it's hard not to indulge. Only a few can truly resist temptation.

"I'll head out tomorrow," Niall said. Having issued his instructions, there was no need to linger.

"No problem." Wilkie told Moses outside the office to book Niall a train ticket.

Back then, if you bought a luxury train or ship ticket at an agency, someone would hand-deliver it to your door. One phone call from the office, and they guaranteed delivery within half an hour.

Since that was taken care of, Niall stayed a while longer.

Wilkie, perhaps feeling generous, pulled out a bottle of the same apple cider he'd once shared with Taft and handed it to Niall—a Christmas gift.

On American Christmas dinner tables, brownies with molten centers were often paired with a glass of apple cider.

"Thanks," Niall said, accepting the wooden box.

He and Wilkie were on the same team now. Accepting a small gift was perfectly natural. The man was a millionaire lawyer—he wasn't short on generosity.

Opening the box, Niall praised the cider's flavor and noticed a thick envelope tucked beside the bottle. Judging by its heft, Wilkie had provided a rather generous New Year's allowance.

With the wine in hand and the ticket in his pocket, Niall set off for home—what a fulfilling year it had been.