Chapter 17: This Gang Might Be Doomed
That afternoon, the two of them stayed in the guest room playing poker. It was clear that Frederick had started thinking about something. Although he didn't have a deep understanding of finance, he did grasp some basic principles.
The stock bubble was about to burst. Wouldn't it be smart to buy shares in major companies while prices were low, hold onto them, and then sell when the economy recovered to make a profit? As for things like short selling—those were clearly too advanced for Frederick; such ideas hadn't even crossed his mind yet.
But it was a good question.
Nile played his last card and smiled at Frederick with a simple, sincere look before asking him:
"Who do you think you are? What kind of thing are you?"
Why would you naively believe that you could make hundreds of thousands or even millions in New York and then leave safely? Under the current stock trading system, there's no such thing as calling in an order from Europe and having it instantly executed. Even if you don't have to show up in person, your broker has to be physically present to execute trades and quote prices.
If you're playing with a few thousand dollars in the stock market, nobody cares. But once you're dealing in tens of thousands, people start watching you. When you get to hundreds of thousands, unless you have a major, publicly visible backer, you're just asking for trouble.
By that night, some enthusiastic member of a "rising social organization" might throw a grenade at you. And they might even think a grenade is too merciful—don't be surprised if they pull out a submachine gun and spray bullets until your body is in pieces before walking away satisfied.
What kind of courage makes an ordinary person think they can snatch meat from a capitalist's mouth? Do they really believe American law is effective? Or that American cops are that diligent?
When Al Capone could kill over 300 people in Chicago in a single month and still walk free, what chance do you—a nobody—have? If you die, it'll be like you never existed.
After hearing Nile's explanation, Frederick weighed his own worth. Once he left Brook County, he really was nothing. Best not to get involved in this mess.
As a nobody, one should have the self-awareness of being a nobody. Though America is known as the land of the "American Dream," there's an invisible line that separates people. The era of great adventures and big leaps is over. For an ordinary person to rise to the top now, the difficulty is growing exponentially.
That said, when the stock market hits rock bottom in a few years, holding a few shares of Coca-Cola wouldn't be a bad idea. As for stocks of big banks and corporations—they're no longer suitable as family heirlooms, since these companies will go bankrupt one after another in upcoming economic crises.
Take General Motors, the parent company of brands like Buick and Cadillac—massive as it was, it still ended up going bankrupt and getting restructured. For ordinary people, playing the stock market means losing money 100% of the time. You're just the chives waiting to be cut.
Better to drop the whole idea. It's not worth it.
Shaking off those unrealistic daydreams, Frederick began contacting his underworld friends. Of course, no transactions would happen tonight—his contacts needed time to prepare.
That night, an Italian man showed up—unsurprisingly, a member of one of the Great Lakes crime families. They used to run mafia operations in southern Italy and brought the same "promising" career path to the U.S. Judging by his appearance, the Italian man looked no different from a regular businessman.
He even had his hair slicked back, with curls on the sides, looking like some trendy merchant from New York or Philadelphia. Add fluent English, and the disguise would've been perfect.
Unfortunately, his English was just as mangled as the Irish brogue Judge Edward heard from the Brook County folks—so bad even Nile couldn't understand a word. Only Frederick, having dealt with them for a while, was used to this "strange dialect" and could carry on the conversation.
The two sat in the dining room, eating and drinking like regular friends, occasionally scribbling on a napkin—mostly numbers with a few letters. No doubt they were haggling. Even blood brothers settle accounts clearly; these two were just doing business, so of course there'd be bargaining.
Although Nile couldn't understand what they were writing, it didn't stop the two from circling numbers with pencils until they arrived at something both sides could accept.
Deal done. They finally reached an agreement.
The Italian man left satisfied, and Frederick got up and brought Nile back to the room with him. He hadn't tried to keep anything secret from Nile—it was all pretty open.
"What was that Italian guy saying?" Nile genuinely hadn't understood a single word.
"The price went up," Frederick frowned.
"How come?"
"It's a long story..."
It still had to do with Al Capone, the Italian mafia boss in the Great Lakes area. That guy had gotten way too cocky, even sending bundles of cash to bribe the mayor and police chief of Chicago. A few months ago, he'd orchestrated the "Valentine's Day Massacre," wiping out the Irish mob and executing their leaders en masse. That finally p*ss*d off top U.S. officials, including President Hoover.
Mainly, he went too far and started affecting elections. Politicians are always cautious when votes are involved.
So, on May 17 of this year, Capone was sentenced to one year in prison by a Pennsylvania district court and sent to Moyamensing Prison in Philadelphia. Capone thought he was just lying low for a while, but in reality, he'd been set up by the government and rival mobsters.
They isolated him from his gang.
Federal agent Eliot Ness launched raids on Capone's underground distilleries and targeted the trucks used for smuggling bootleg liquor. Just the confiscated trucks alone contained over 200,000 gallons of fake booze—worth $130–140 million in today's money.
So with Capone in prison, unable to act freely or give remote orders via satellite phone or anything, his gang came under heavy attack. The cash flow dried up. And the supply chains for bootleg liquor were being torn apart by the police.
There was still fake booze being sold only because Capone had a massive operation and deep resources to begin with.