Two days later.
The morning sunlight slanted in through the factory windows, revealing every single dust mote that had settled in the air overnight.
Normally, this would have been the hour when the thunder of machinery signaled the start of the day, but now it was eerily silent, as if everyone was holding their breath.
“This can’t be happening…”
Yu Ilhan muttered absentmindedly, holding the morning newspaper in his hand.
His fingers trembled faintly, the newspaper rustling with a dry, thin wail. The acrid scent of ink rose from the paper, stinging his nose, and somehow, it felt even more biting than usual.
He tried to put the paper down, but his fingers wouldn’t obey.
He raised the paper again, reading the bold Headline. Or at least, he tried, but the letters blurred before his eyes.
“Railroad Tycoon Bancroft, Released on Massive Bail”
The huge letters smeared indistinctly across his vision.
He couldn’t believe it.
No, to be exact, he didn’t want to believe it.
Just two days ago, he remembered that arrogant, insolent face as Bancroft was led away in handcuffs by the Police.
Now the fact that he was free again simply refused to feel real.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Yu Ilhan?”
Walter, just arriving at work, noticed Yu Ilhan’s grim expression and approached, concern written across his face.
Walter’s heavy footsteps echoed across the empty wooden factory floor, faster and louder than usual.
Instead of answering, Yu Ilhan pointed with a trembling finger at the front page of the newspaper.
Something hot and tight seemed to clog his throat, making it impossible to speak. He swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t budge.
Walter looked down at the paper, his lined face gradually hardening.
Yu Ilhan could see the muscles in Walter’s jaw twitch as he clenched his teeth. Walter’s eyes fixed on a photograph in the center of the page.
It was a photo of Bancroft leaving the holding cell.
He wore a spotless, expensive suit, hair slicked back with pomade, staring straight into the camera.
There was a faint smile at the corner of his lips—closer to a sneer. As if to declare, “This is the difference between worms like you and me.” That gaze, full of arrogance, looked down upon the world.
“How… how could this happen…”
Yu Ilhan’s voice cracked as he barely managed to speak.
His words seemed to be the signal—one by one, the other workers arriving for their shift gathered around.
Thomas, Sam, and even Jane’s hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway.
In an instant, more than ten workers surrounded the newspaper, but no one dared break the silence.
A heavy hush pressed over the entire factory like a block of lead.
Just two days ago, this place had been in a festive mood. “We did it!” they had shouted, slapping each other on the back, believing all their nightmares were over when they saw Bancroft being taken away by the Police.
But that had been a foolish, naive delusion.
“He must have bought off the Judge.”
Walter spoke through gritted teeth.
His voice was filled with the bitterness and anger of someone who’d witnessed the city’s filth for decades.
His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists.
“That’s the way it goes around here. If you have money, even a murderer can walk the streets. That’s Brooklyn for you.”
He looked out the window with a bitter sigh.
On the filthy streets of Brooklyn, last night’s trash had been scattered about, looking like Justice itself thrown down and abandoned.
The article was brutally succinct.
Bancroft’s attorneys had offered a staggering Bail Bond, and the Judge accepted it, claiming the evidence was insufficient since the key witness in the case from five years ago had suddenly disappeared.
It was the story of Justice kneeling before money, summarized in just two paragraphs.
“So… what happens to us now?”
Jane, not even twenty years old, spoke in a trembling voice. Her frightened eyes were filled with terror at the thought of the retaliation to come.
No one answered.
Everyone already knew. What kind of man Bancroft was, and how ruthlessly he took revenge on anyone who hurt his pride.
Now, his bloodthirsty vengeance would begin, and they all instinctively sensed it would be even more horrific than they could imagine.
Anxiety, cold as fog, seeped through the factory, smothering even the sound of the machines.
Rrrrring!
Just then, the sharp ring of the office phone pierced the silence.
Everyone started as if on cue, shoulders flinching. Normally it would have been a trivial background noise, but at that moment it sounded like the tolling of a bell for an execution.
Yu Ilhan picked up the receiver with shaking hands.
The black Bakelite handset felt several times heavier than usual.
“Hello, this is La Choy Foods.”
“Is President Lee in the office right now?”
It was Robert’s voice.
He sounded breathless, as if he’d been running hard from somewhere.
All his usual composure was gone.
“Yes, he’s in the office, but—”
“Put him on right now! This is very, very urgent!”
At that hour, Lee Jun-hyuk was quietly setting his newspaper down in his office.
A thin shaft of sunlight streamed between the blinds, casting a line across his desk and making the floating dust particles glimmer gold.
Even the faint sound of the paper hitting the desk sounded heavy now.
He tried to sigh, but couldn’t.
Instead, something hot welled up from deep within his chest, rising like molten lava.
It was anger.
He tried to suppress the fury welling up to his throat, but the boiling in his gut was impossible to contain.
“So, in the end, everything in this world can be bought with money.”
The more he thought about it, the more it made his teeth grind.
Justice, the law, Truth—before a stack of bills, they were all helpless, forced to kneel. The Judge, the Police, even the newspapers—ultimately, they were all slaves to capital.
This was the naked reality of New York in 1920.
Rrrrring!
The phone rang shrilly.
Lee Jun-hyuk slowly reached for the receiver.
The cold feel of metal seemed to cool his rage just a little.
“This is Lee Jun-hyuk.”
“Boss, did you hear? William Bancroft’s been released!”
Robert’s urgent voice burst through the receiver.
“I know. I just read the paper.”
Lee Jun-hyuk’s voice was icy cold, his anger buried deep beneath the surface.
Like a volcano just before it erupts—calm on the outside, but seething within.
“That’s not all, Boss.”
Robert’s voice lowered further.
It was a cautious, wary tone, as if he were checking his surroundings.
“As soon as he got out, rumors say he met with the leader of Brooklyn’s Irish gang, the O’Donnell Family.”
Lee Jun-hyuk’s heart dropped with a chill.
His grip on the receiver tightened until his knuckles turned white.
That was the very same Irish gang Kim Bong-seok’s grandfather had warned him about—old rivals of Joe Petrucci’s organization.
“Is he going after Petrucci?”
“Most likely. Bancroft’s been boasting everywhere, saying ‘I’ll make them pay dearly for daring to cross me.’ That’s meant for Petrucci… and us, too.”
Lee Jun-hyuk hung up and stood, walking to the window.
Outside, it was a dazzlingly clear spring day, but in his eyes, he could see invisible storm clouds gathering over the entire city. Bancroft’s revenge was now coming not just for himself, but for Petrucci, who had helped him.
A business dispute was about to explode into a mafia war.
He went straight back to the phone and dialed Petrucci’s number.
The ringing tone dragged on, but no one picked up.
He tried again, but the result was the same.
A sense of dread gripped his throat like a cold hand.
3:00 p.m.
The factory’s front gate burst open with a bang.
Every worker on the floor stopped what they were doing and turned as if on cue.
The thunderous sound of the door slamming against the frame echoed through the entire factory.
It was Bancroft.
He wasn’t alone.
Two large men followed close behind him, casting shadows like guard dogs risen from hell.
Their broad shoulders, clad in black suits, almost filled the doorway. From the bulge inside their jackets, it was obvious they were hiding guns.
One by one, the machines began to fall silent.
The conveyor belt stopped turning, and the canning presses halted their stamping.
The workers looked on in terror. Some took a step back, while others hurriedly ducked behind their worktables.
Bancroft strode slowly into the factory.
The clack, clack, clack of his heels against the concrete floor echoed ominously in the now silent space.
He turned his head this way and that, surveying the place with the arrogant gaze of a lord inspecting his estate.
He glanced over the production schedule on the wall, then nudged a stack of canned goods aside with the tip of his shoe.
“I posted bail.”
Bancroft stopped at the foot of the stairs leading up to Lee Jun-hyuk’s office and spoke coldly.
Instead of using the doorknob, he kicked the door open with force. The wooden door crashed against the wall, making a picture frame tremble precariously.
“Did you really think you could lock me up forever on some petty arson charge from five years ago?”
Lee Jun-hyuk slowly rose from his chair.
He felt his legs trembling slightly, so he gripped the corner of his desk tightly to steady himself.
His palms were slick with sweat, but he tried his hardest to keep a composed expression.
“What’s your business here?”
He tried to keep his voice steady, but a slight tremor slipped through. Bancroft didn’t miss it, his lips curling like a snake’s.
“Why am I here?”
Bancroft let out a sneering laugh, full of contempt.
He strode up to Lee Jun-hyuk’s desk, slamming his palm down. The papers on the desk scattered like leaves in a storm.
“You dared insult me. Went to the Police, sold my name to the papers?”
“I wasn’t the one who reported you.”
Lee Jun-hyuk replied calmly.
He looked Bancroft straight in the eye, without the slightest flicker. He was afraid, but he knew that if he looked away now, he’d lose everything.
“I don’t use such cowardly methods.”
“Hah.”
Bancroft snorted in disbelief.
He circled the desk and stood right in front of Lee Jun-hyuk. The reek of tobacco and whiskey was suffocating.
“Then who was it? That Italian lapdog of yours? You were in it together, weren’t you, you filthy rats!”
His voice rose, spittle flying.
Tiny droplets landed on Lee Jun-hyuk’s cheek, but he didn’t move an inch. To flinch even a little would be to show weakness.
Outside the office, the workers watched in silence from the hallway.
Yu Ilhan clenched his fists and moved to step forward, but Walter gripped his arm tightly and shook his head. To intervene now would only pour fuel on the fire.
“You’ve made a huge mistake. Chose the wrong enemy.”
Bancroft hissed into Lee Jun-hyuk’s ear, his voice dripping with venom. The heat of his breath sent chills down Lee Jun-hyuk’s spine.
“I won’t kill you. That would be far too merciful.”
Stepping back, Bancroft now raised his voice for all the terrified workers to hear.
“Instead, I’ll take everything from you. Your factory, your people, even your pathetic hope. One by one, I’ll smash them to pieces, slowly, right before your eyes!”
Lee Jun-hyuk’s fists shook with rage.
He felt as if he’d cough up blood, but he had to hold back.
If he exploded here, he would lose.
That’s exactly what Bancroft wanted.
To provoke him into violence first, so he could justify crushing him under the guise of self-defense.
“Do as you please.”
Lee Jun-hyuk hid his trembling hands beneath the desk, forcing his voice to remain as calm as possible.
“But we will never submit to you.”
“Oh, really?”
Bancroft snorted again.
He pulled a gold pocket watch from his pocket, checking the time ostentatiously before waving it in front of Lee Jun-hyuk’s face.
“We’ll see how long your arrogant Oriental spirit lasts.”
He turned and walked toward the door.
His heavy footsteps echoed across the floor once more. He paused at the threshold, then without looking back, spat out one last poisonous remark.
“Oh, and say hello to your friend Petrucci for me. Tell him the real party’s about to start, so he’d better keep his head down and wait.”
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