Chapter 65: Bound for Boston

April 17, 1920, Saturday morning.

Grand Central Station.

Lee Jun-hyuk paused for a moment in the plaza outside the station.

Massive stone columns, like those of a Greek temple, supported the sky, and beneath them, people carrying every sort of desire and story flowed by like a mighty river.

Gentlemen lugging heavy travel cases, ladies with dazzling dresses fluttering behind them, newsboys shouting at the top of their lungs.

The vitality of the era made the whole station writhe like a living creature.

“Sir, at this rate we’ll be late.”

Robert spoke up, gently urging him.

In his hand were three train tickets.

Bound for Boston.

First Class.

Lee Jun-hyuk nodded, but his feet wouldn’t move easily. It felt as if invisible shackles held his ankles fast.

“Ponzi Scheme…”

That name he’d read countless times in economic history books in his past life. The most famous and colossal financial fraud in human history.

And now, he himself was about to become an actor on that vast stage of deception.

No, more accurately, he was trying to push that greedy Bancroft into the trap.

“Sir, each First Class ticket was $15. Since it’s round-trip, that’s a total of $90.”

Yu Ilhan spoke from beside him.

The abacus in his mind was moving as quickly as ever.

“$90… That’s the price of 600 cans of La Choy. A staggering amount.”

Lee Jun-hyuk smiled faintly.

That’s right. All of this is to protect La Choy, and the people inside it. And…

He absentmindedly touched the sharp corner of the business card in his pocket.

“Alphonse Capone – Import/Export”

The business card Al Capone had handed him the previous night.

That moment was still seared vividly in his memory.

The thunder of the Thompson Submachine Gun, the sharp scent of gunpowder pricking his nose, and the cold gaze of that young gangster who seemed to scorn everything.

“It hurts more to be hit with dollars than with bullets.”

Capone’s words echoed in his mind.

As they entered the station, the domed ceiling of the enormous hall overwhelmed them.

The acrid smoke of the steam locomotive stung their noses.

The scent of heated coal, machine oil, and the earthiness of countless people mixed together to create the fragrance of the era.

The platform was even more crowded.

“Boston! Boston-bound train departing soon!”

The station attendant’s booming cry cut through the noise.

The train was huge.

Its black steel body lay stretched out like a dragon descended to the earth. Steam seeped from cracks, letting out hissing sounds as it spewed hot vapor.

They boarded the First Class carriage.

Plush red velvet seats, shining brass handles, and outside the window, the chaos of the platform. A space completely separated from the world outside—filled with wealth and leisure.

Lee Jun-hyuk took his seat.

The seat was so soft, it made his body tense up.

The train began to move with a heavy lurch.

Clack, clack.

The vibration of the rails coursed through his whole body.

The scenery outside the window retreated like a ghost.

The station, and New York, were fading away.

“Sir.”

Robert opened his briefcase.

“Additional information on Charles Ponzi.”

He pulled out two thick stacks of paper.

Newspaper clippings, memos from informants, and even several photographs.

“The rumors weren’t exaggerated. Over half of Boston’s elite have already invested.”

Robert’s voice grew quiet.

“And the scariest part is, he’s actually paying out a 50% profit in exactly 45 days.”

“In reality?”

Yu Ilhan asked, his expression shocked.

His fingers unconsciously moved in the air, as if flicking abacus beads.

“That means $100 becomes $150 in just a month and a half… This is magic, isn’t it?”

“Exactly. An unbelievable kind of magic.”

Robert nodded.

“A friend of mine’s third cousin invested $100 just for fun last month, and on the exact 45th day, he received a promissory note for $150 in the mail.”

The train picked up speed.

The rattling became rhythmic, like the pendulum of a giant clock.

Lee Jun-hyuk looked out the window.

They passed through the industrial district on the outskirts of New York.

Chimneys endlessly pouring out black smoke.

And beyond that, vast fields just beginning to turn green.

“August 1920…”

History tells of the end of the Ponzi Scheme.

But now it was only April. There were still four months left until the crash. He had to end everything within that time.

“Sir, are you really sure about this?”

Yu Ilhan asked worriedly.

“If Ponzi’s a fraud, won’t we just lose our money?”

“He is a fraud.”

Lee Jun-hyuk answered firmly.

“100%—no, 58,000% certain it’s a scam.”

Both men stared at him in shock.

“Then why… why would we put our money there…”

“We’re going to use Bancroft’s greed. It’s his greatest weakness.”

Lee Jun-hyuk leaned forward.

The chair creaked in protest.

“He’ll have no choice but to take the bait.”

“Bait?”

“I’ll show him the image of a young businessman betting La Choy’s future—and investing a huge sum of $10,000.”

A cold smile curled Lee Jun-hyuk’s lips.

“He’ll want to invest even more than I do. Convinced that he’s superior to some Asian, that he deserves to make more money, blinded by arrogance.”

Only then did Robert seem to understand the whole picture, nodding.

“So that’s why you brought up the La Choy Second Factory…”

“Exactly. We have to make a huge show of it. Loud enough for Bancroft to hear clearly.”

The train passed into a tunnel.

Suddenly the world was plunged into darkness.

The gas lamp in the carriage flickered, its yellow light illuminating the serious faces of the three men.

“Are you really planning to build a factory in Boston?”

Yu Ilhan asked.

“No.”

Lee Jun-hyuk shook his head.

“We’ll just go around looking at the most expensive plots of land, putting on a show. But…”

He stopped speaking.

The train exited the tunnel.

Dazzling sunlight poured in through the window once more.

“The rumors, though, I’ll make sure they’re huge.”

“‘La Choy, planning to build a Second Factory in Boston.'”

“‘The rise of a Canned Empire set to dominate the entire East.'”

“‘Young entrepreneur Lee Jun-hyuk’s ambitious Expansion Plan.'”

He ticked them off on his fingers as if reciting newspaper headlines.

“Bancroft won’t be able to stand it. Just seeing me succeed in New York is enough to make his stomach churn, and now, to think I’d dare stretch out to Boston?”

The train picked up speed again.

Sixty miles per hour. An unimaginable speed for the time. The scenery outside blurred.

The trees became lines, the houses dots.

Lee Jun-hyuk touched Capone’s business card once more.

“Chicago…”

A place he would have to go someday.

But not yet.

“Sir.”

Robert pulled out another document.

“Ponzi’s office address. 27 School Street, Boston.”

“Securities Exchange Company.”

Lee Jun-hyuk murmured.

Saying that name aloud gave him a strange feeling.

The office of the historic swindler he’d only ever read about in textbooks in his past life!

Now he would walk into that place himself.

No, he would use it with his own hands.

“When we arrive, let’s head to the harbor first.”

“The harbor?”

“Yes. We need to play the part of a promising businessman here to inspect factory sites.”

Lee Jun-hyuk smiled.

“So that as many people as possible see us. The bigger the stir, the better.”

The train sounded a long whistle.

That thunderous cry cut through the green fields.

Four hours to Boston.

Four hours until the trap to ruin Bancroft was set.

Lee Jun-hyuk closed his eyes.

But sleep did not come.

In his mind, all the events that would unfold in Boston played out as vividly as a film.

***

Boston.

April 18, 1920, Monday morning.

27 School Street.

Lee Jun-hyuk stopped in front of the building.

A nondescript five-story brick building. So ordinary that the vastness of the greed hidden inside felt surreal.

But—

“What on earth is this?”

Yu Ilhan muttered in disbelief.

People were lined up in front of the building. No, it was more like a huge procession than a line.

Starting at the entrance, the line snaked around the corner and stretched like a serpent to the next block.

Well-dressed gentlemen, ladies in glamorous fur coats, even elderly men in clerical attire. On every face, an excitement that bordered on religious fervor.

“They’re all investors.”

Robert explained in a low voice.

“A 50% return in 45 days… Anyone would lose their reason and go crazy.”

Lee Jun-hyuk slowly walked alongside the line, observing the expressions of the people.

Excitement. Anticipation. A hint of unease. But above all, a blind hope that this time, they could finally become rich.

“Did you hear? Mrs. Smith invested $1,000 last month and got $1,500 back—exactly.”

“Only that? I’m putting my whole $5,000 in, with my house as collateral!”

“My word, are you insane? That means you’ll get $7,500 in just 45 days?”

Snatches of conversation floated from every direction.

As Lee Jun-hyuk walked among them, he thought,

“All of these people—soon to become victims who will lose everything…”

But what could he say? “Everyone, this is all a scam!”? No one would believe it. Those blinded by greed can never see the truth.

At last, they reached the entrance.

“Securities Exchange Company”

The gleaming brass nameplate caught the sunlight, dazzling his eyes. He opened the door and stepped inside.

The interior was even more astonishing than outside.

The lobby was packed, not a single spot left to step.

Thick cigarette smoke, the buzz of excited people, and…

Shrrrk, shrrrk, shrrrk.

All around, the sound of money being counted.

Like thousands of insects gnawing at paper—a strange, mesmerizing noise.

“Next, please.”

The clerk called out.

A middle-aged gentleman walked up, clutching a wad of bills.

“I’d like to invest ten thousand dollars.”

“And your name, sir?”

“William Adams Junior.”

“On June 2nd, exactly 45 days from now, you will receive fifteen thousand dollars.”

The clerk handed him a receipt.

The gentleman accepted it as if it were a sacred relic, turning away with a beaming face.

“Fifteen thousand dollars!”

He boasted to the man next to him.

“That’s five thousand dollars profit in just 45 days!”

Watching this feverish scene unfold, Lee Jun-hyuk felt a chill. The gulf between the dry print he’d read in history books and the heat of reality before his eyes was immense.

“How may I help you, sir?”

A young clerk approached.

Neat suit, hair slicked back with pomade. The image of a typical salesman.

“I’d like to meet Mr. Charles Ponzi.”

“Mr. Ponzi? Do you have an appointment?”

“No. But…”

Lee Jun-hyuk took out his business card and handed it over.

“I’m the representative of Lee Trading Company from New York. We’re considering a large-scale investment.”

At the words “large-scale investment,” greed flashed in the clerk’s eyes.

“Please wait a moment! I’ll go report to him right away!”

He hurried up the stairs, pushing past people.

Five minutes later.

“Mr. Lee! Please come upstairs! The boss will see you now!”

Second-floor office.

When he opened the door, the man sitting behind the desk shot to his feet.

Charles Ponzi.

In person, he seemed much smaller than in the photographs.

Maybe 160 centimeters, if that?

But the energy radiating from his small frame, his sharp gaze, and the oddly disarming, charming smile all proclaimed him a master swindler.

“Mr. Lee! You’ve come a long way! Welcome!”

His English was accented—clearly Italian.

“I hear you run a very promising canning business in New York.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Lee Jun-hyuk shook his hand.

Ponzi’s hand was astonishingly soft and warm.

The hand of a man who had never done manual labor.

“Please, have a seat on the sofa over here. Would you like some coffee?”

“Thank you.”

He sat on the finest leather sofa.

So soft, it felt like he might sink right through it.

Ponzi sat across from him.

“So, you’re interested in the incredible returns our company offers?”

“Yes. But to be honest…”

Lee Jun-hyuk intentionally hesitated, sounding cautious.

“50% in 45 days… It sounds too good. Is there really such easy money in the world?”

Ponzi laughed as if he’d expected it.

“Everyone says that at first. But once you learn the secret, you’ll be amazed.”

He pulled out a document and spread it on the desk.

“Are you familiar with International Postal Reply Coupons (1016『 ㅁ 34008! 860/ ㅇ 04001))?”

“I’ve heard of them, but I don’t know the details.”

“It’s quite simple. We buy coupons in Europe, where their value collapsed after the war, at dirt-cheap prices, and sell them in America, where prices are stable. It’s a perfect arbitrage based on the exchange rate difference.”

Ponzi launched into a passionate explanation. Exchange rates, postal agreements, the arbitrage structure…

Lee Jun-hyuk listened, silently impressed.

It sounded so convincing.

To someone ignorant of economics or world affairs, it would sound like a perfect business model.

“So, how much are you thinking of investing?”

At last, Ponzi got down to business.

His eyes gleamed with greed.

“I’m considering about $100,000…”

Lee Jun-hyuk intentionally mentioned a larger sum than planned, to properly bait Bancroft. He’d originally intended $10,000, but it was all money that would be withdrawn at the first sign of trouble anyway.

“$100,000… That’s an enormous sum for me.”

Lee Jun-hyuk got up and walked to the window.

He acted the part of a nervous investor.

Looking outside, the line hadn’t shrunk at all since he’d entered.

“Who are all those people?”

“They’re all my happy investors. We bring in an average of $250,000 a day now.”

“Really, all those people received a 50% return?”

“Of course! If you’re doubtful, you can go downstairs and ask anyone yourself!”

Ponzi spoke with total confidence.

Lee Jun-hyuk already knew.

Ponzi was really paying out the promised money.

It was the early stage of the game of musical chairs—using new investors’ money to pay the old.

“This money represents the future of our company.”

Lee Jun-hyuk hesitated again, tossing out the decisive bait.

“I’m planning to build a Second Factory in Boston. It’s crucial capital…”

“Ah! Then you’ve come to the right place!”

Ponzi leapt to his feet.

“In 45 days, that’ll be $150,000! More than enough to build your factory and buy the latest equipment!”

Lee Jun-hyuk kept up his uneasy expression.

Robert and Yu Ilhan, too, played along with anxious faces.

Right at that calculated moment, the door burst open.

“Sir, Ms. Brown has decided to invest an additional $50,000!”

An employee shouted in excitement.

“$50,000?”

Lee Jun-hyuk feigned surprise, as if part of the audience.

“Yes! She invested $20,000 before and walked away with $30,000!”

Ponzi looked at Lee Jun-hyuk with a triumphant smile.

“See, Mr. Lee? Once people experience our system, they come back with even more money. Isn’t that proof that my business is rock-solid?”

Lee Jun-hyuk glanced out the window again.

Somewhere around the corner, a spy planted by Bancroft was surely watching all of this.

“Understood.”

Lee Jun-hyuk finally spoke as if he’d made up his mind.

“I’ll come back tomorrow morning. I’ll bring the cash.”

“Haha! I look forward to your wise decision!”

Ponzi beamed and shook his hand.

They left the office.

Step by step, Lee Jun-hyuk walked down the stairs.

Each footfall echoed like the beating of his heart.

The lobby was still a furnace of human greed.

“Next, please!”

“Three thousand dollars, I’d like to invest!”

“Welcome! You’ll soon be rich!”

Outside, the crisp spring breeze blew.

But cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Sir,”

Yu Ilhan said in a low voice.

“Is… is he really a con artist? He’s actually paying out money…”

“That’s the most frightening part of a Ponzi Scheme.”

Lee Jun-hyuk replied as they walked.

“At first, they pay. They pay more precisely than promised. That’s how they draw in more people and even bigger money… Then, in a single instant, everything collapses.”

“When will that be?”

“This August.”

Lee Jun-hyuk said with certainty.

“We have to finish everything before August comes.”

They walked down the street.

Boston’s spring was a bit chillier than New York’s.

And in the distance—

A man watched their movements, then quietly melted away into the crowd.

A man in a black coat and fedora.

One of Bancroft’s men.