Chapter 68: The Attack in May

The Host, looking intrigued, jumped into the conversation.

“That’s certainly an ambitious plan. But isn’t Boston already home to some of the nation’s leading food companies? The competition must be fierce.”

“That’s true.”

Lee Jun-hyuk replied calmly.

As he answered, he leaned forward slightly to the mic, making the chair creak softly.

“But where there is competition, there is also opportunity. And…”

He intentionally lowered his voice.

It was an intimate tone, as if he were sharing a secret with everyone in the radio booth and all the listeners beyond the airwaves.

“Recently, I witnessed something very interesting in Boston.”

“Oh? What happened?”

There was pure curiosity in the Host’s voice.

Outside the studio glass, the PD was gesturing excitedly. It signaled that listener calls were already flooding the radio station.

“It was just a few days ago when I visited Boston on business.”

Lee Jun-hyuk spoke slowly, vividly, as if recalling a memory from just yesterday.

“As I was passing by School Street, I saw a huge crowd gathered, lined up in front of a building. I thought perhaps something big had happened, so I went closer…”

“And what did you find?”

“It was in front of an investment company. Men and women of all ages were lined up, each holding wads of cash, faces full of hope.”

“An investment company?”

“Yes. I later learned it was a place that promised a return of 50% on your principal in just 45 days.”

The Host nearly shrieked in disbelief.

“50% in 45 days! That’s— Is that even possible?”

“I could hardly believe my own eyes and ears at first.”

Lee Jun-hyuk spoke with a reassuring smile.

“But I saw people with my own eyes actually receiving the money they were promised. One elegant lady, who had invested a thousand dollars as a lark last month, was crying tears of joy when it turned into fifteen hundred dollars.”

“My goodness, is that really true?”

“Yes. And that’s not all. Some gentleman, proudly waving the profit he had just received, declared, ‘I’m going to invest it all again and become truly rich!'”

Lee Jun-hyuk spoke as if he himself was amazed.

“If fifteen hundred dollars becomes twenty-two hundred fifty in another forty-five days… Even I, just standing there, was excited at the prospect. It’s truly a staggering rate of return.”

“So, did you, sir, invest there as well?”

It was a decisive question.

All of New York must have been holding its breath, waiting for his answer.

Lee Jun-hyuk acted as though he hesitated for a moment.

“To be honest… yes, I invested.”

He chuckled self-consciously, as if a little embarrassed.

“La Choy desperately needed expansion capital for its future, and more than anything, I personally confirmed so many people’s success stories.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how much did you invest?”

“It’s difficult to disclose the exact amount here, but…”

Lee Jun-hyuk paused thoughtfully.

“It’s a considerable sum. In fact, I invested all the funds I was going to use for the Boston factory—everything—for the future.”

“So you’ll be getting your returns in June?”

“Yes, precisely on June 3rd.”

Lee Jun-hyuk stated the date clearly and deliberately.

So Bancroft, listening to the radio right now, could mark it on his calendar.

“With the huge profits I’ll receive then, I plan to move forward in earnest with the Boston factory. Oh, and…”

He laughed, as if he suddenly remembered something amusing.

“There was an elderly gentleman—quite a bigwig—who glared at me as if he didn’t like that I invested. Then he pulled out a sum of money much, much larger than mine and invested it himself—maybe he was feeling competitive?”

“Haha, perhaps so.”

The Host laughed heartily.

“When a successful young businessman invests, it can certainly spur others into action.”

“It seems so. In any case, that gentleman will surely receive a much larger payout than me on June 3rd.”

Lee Jun-hyuk spoke with a hint of meaning.

“As for the name of that incredible investment place…”

“Ah, that’s a secret.”

Lee Jun-hyuk politely but firmly refused.

“Too many people are already watching. If I mention its name on air… it might take away the precious opportunity from others.”

“I understand. That makes sense.”

He’d intentionally changed the topic, not to lure more victims, but to ensnare Bancroft, and not cause further harm.

So he left it unmentioned.

The Host, a little disappointed, shifted the subject.

“Then, could you tell us about La Choy’s new product plans?”

The broadcast continued.

La Choy’s new canned goods lineup, its strategy for entering the eastern markets, even details about quality control.

But the listeners’ attention would surely be drawn to the mysterious and astonishing Boston investment.

“And lastly, could you say a word to our listeners?”

“Thank you to all the people of New York who love La Choy, and to everyone in Boston who may be listening now.”

Lee Jun-hyuk leaned into the mic and spoke sincerely.

“In June, there will be very good news for both La Choy and myself. Please look forward to it.”

“Thank you very much for joining us today.”

“Thank you.”

The red ‘ON AIR’ sign turned off.

As soon as the signal disappeared, Lee Jun-hyuk let out a deep breath he’d been holding in. His shirt clung damply to his back, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

“That was wonderful! Perfect!”

The PD, excited, rushed into the studio.

His face was flushed, and his hands were full of memos.

“Even before the show ended, we had more than 150 calls come in! Especially when you mentioned the Boston investment, the operators were overwhelmed!”

“You must be exaggerating a bit.”

“I’m not exaggerating at all! Please, you must come on again next week!”

Lee Jun-hyuk slipped on his jacket and left the studio.

Robert and Yu Ilhan were waiting in the hallway, looking serious.

“How did it go?”

Robert asked.

“This is just the beginning.”

Lee Jun-hyuk said boldly.

“If Bancroft heard this broadcast, he’ll definitely respond—and it will be a fierce reaction.”

They left the building. At 7:30 in the evening, 34th Street was still crowded. The theater district neon signs flashed brilliantly, and people were gathered in small groups, chatting.

“Shall we walk?”

Yu Ilhan asked.

“Yes, I need to clear my head a bit.”

They walked slowly toward Fifth Avenue. As they walked, they passed by the Del Donico Restaurant.

When they arrived at the office, Mary was waiting for them.

“Sir, you’ve received two telegrams.”

She handed him the first.

“Bancroft glared at the radio during the broadcast as if he wanted to smash it. His face turned red, and his fists were clenched tight. – Petrucci, Intelligence.”

The second telegram.

“Bancroft, urgent call to lawyer. Orders liquidation of all available assets. Preparing for June 3rd, ‘Decision Day.’ – Wall Street Intelligence.”

Lee Jun-hyuk set down the telegram, a cold smile on his lips.

“Bancroft is making thorough preparations.”

“For what, exactly?”

Robert asked.

“He’s probably dreaming up happy plans for what to do with the $15 million he’ll get on June 3rd.”

Lee Jun-hyuk looked out the window.

The lights of Fifth Avenue sparkled like jewels.

He probably plans to invest all that money back into Fonzi, convinced the $15 million will quickly become $22.5 million.

“But come August…”

Yu Ilhan said.

“Yes, by August, it will all vanish like a mirage.”

Lee Jun-hyuk turned around.

“Before then, we’ll recover our $150,000 investment and get out, but Bancroft…”

He broke off.

Just then, the office phone rang sharply.

“Hello?”

“Mister Lee??”

It was Petrucci’s voice.

But unlike usual, his tone was tense and urgent.

“Something’s happened. Bancroft’s gone completely mad.”

“What happened?”

“This morning, he went to Boston to meet Fonzi in person. And then…”

Petrucci hesitated for a moment.

“What did he do?”

“He asked for a $5 million advance, using the $15 million he’ll receive on June 3rd as collateral.”

Lee Jun-hyuk’s expression hardened.

“What did Fonzi say?”

“Of course he refused—said there was no precedent for that. But Bancroft threatened him. Said that if he pulled out, all the other Wall Street bigwigs would start doubting Fonzi.”

“So what happened?”

Lee Jun-hyuk gripped the receiver tightly.

“In the end, Fonzi, as a ‘special exception,’ advanced him a million dollars.”

Petrucci’s voice was heavy with concern.

“A million dollars… What could Bancroft possibly want to do with that money?”

“He’ll probably use it to attack you and me. There’s a rumor he’s hiring Brooklyn gangsters to threaten us…”

Lee Jun-hyuk looked out the window. It was the last night of April, and Fifth Avenue was still lit up.

“Be careful, Mister Lee. A cornered rat will bite the cat.”

“Thank you, Petrucci.”

He hung up, and looked at Robert and Yu Ilhan.

“Bancroft borrowed a million dollars from Fonzi.”

“A million dollars?”

Robert was appalled.

“Using the money he’ll receive in the future as collateral?”

“Yes. And it looks like he plans to use that money to attack us.”

Yu Ilhan spoke anxiously.

“Shouldn’t we seriously beef up security?”

“We must.”

Lee Jun-hyuk nodded.

“Robert, I don’t care how much it costs, hire the best people in the business.”

“Understood, sir.”

Saturday morning, May 1, 1920.

Brooklyn La Choy Factory.

Lee Jun-hyuk arrived at his office earlier than usual. On his desk was the final sales report for April.

$92,347.

A stunning result, far surpassing expectations. The radio broadcast had proven its power.

Knock, knock.

“Come in.”

Thomas entered with a grim face, holding a bundle of newspapers.

“Sir, I think you need to see this.”

He spread the newspapers on the desk: The Boston Evening Transcript, The Boston Herald, The Boston Globe.

Every front page, as if by arrangement, was attacking La Choy.

“Unidentifiable Canned Foods Made by an Oriental—Are They Safe?”

“La Choy Foods, Shocking Allegations of Unsanitary Conditions”

“People of Boston, Don’t Be Fooled by Poison from New York”

Lee Jun-hyuk read through the articles.

“According to an anonymous informant, La Choy Factory uses strange Oriental ingredients unfamiliar to Americans…”

“A former employee who revealed himself as ^ stated the sanitary conditions inside the factory were so appalling, they’re unfit to be described…”

It was all outright lies.

But the readers wouldn’t know that.

“This is the handiwork of William Bancroft.”

Lee Jun-hyuk set down the newspaper and spoke.

“Yes, it must be.”

Thomas replied, his voice burning with anger.

“How much did he have to spend to get this kind of garbage printed on every front page? At least $50,000, I’d bet.”

“He borrowed a million—this is pocket change for him.”

Lee Jun-hyuk let out a bitter laugh.

“Sir, if we let this go, our reputation in Boston will—”

“No, don’t worry.”

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

Even though it was Saturday morning, the factory was busy keeping up with incoming orders. Workers bustled around, and delivery trucks left the main gate loaded with goods.

“We have something they don’t—the most powerful weapon of all.”

“And what’s that?”

“Radio. And…”

Lee Jun-hyuk turned around.

“The truth.”

He returned to his desk and sat.

“Call Robert and Dr. Yu Ilhan to my office, right now.”

Soon, the two men came in, faces grave.

“Did you see the papers?”

Robert asked, face dark.

“Yes. Bancroft’s finally making his big move.”

Lee Jun-hyuk said calmly.

“Dr. Yu, can you contact the radio station today? We need to arrange a special emergency broadcast.”

“When do you want it?”

“Monday at 7 p.m.—prime time, when the most people are listening.”

“Understood. But what will you say? Are you going to refute each article one by one?”

“No.”

Lee Jun-hyuk shook his head.

“Denials will only raise more suspicion. Instead…”

He looked at Robert.

“We’ll turn this noise marketing into an opportunity—completely open our factory to the public.”

“The factory?”

“Yes. This Saturday, anyone—men, women, young or old—can come and see everything inside our factory for themselves. We’ll hold a Factory Open House.”

Robert’s eyes shone with respect.

“Ah, seeing is believing—you’re going straight at the problem.”

“Exactly. And…”

Lee Jun-hyuk took two envelopes full of cash from his drawer. There was $1,000 inside.

“Robert, use this money to distribute La Choy products for free in Boston’s poorest South End neighborhoods. As much as possible.”

“For free?”

“Yes. The rich read newspapers, but the poor listen to radio. And…”

Lee Jun-hyuk smiled meaningfully.

“Word of mouth from people who have actually eaten our food—that’s the most honest and powerful advertisement of all.”

Robert accepted the money in admiration.

“If Bancroft buys the press with money, we’ll win the people’s hearts with sincerity.”

“That’s right.”

Monday arrived.

Over the weekend, the attacks from Boston’s newspapers grew more intense.

But at the same time, in Boston’s South End, a very different story was quietly spreading.

“They say that La Choy company gave away free canned food!”

“My kid said it was the best thing he’d ever tasted in his life.”

“That Oriental boss must be a really kind person.”

Monday, May 3rd, evening, Welcome Radio Station.

Lee Jun-hyuk entered the studio.

This time, he wasn’t alone.

“And who is this?”

The Host asked.

“This is Mrs. Mary O’Neil, visiting from Boston.”

Lee Jun-hyuk introduced her.

“I invited her as today’s special guest.”

Mrs. O’Neil, in her mid-fifties, was plainly dressed, but her eyes were as warm and gentle as the Virgin Mary’s. She had spent over thirty years volunteering at free soup kitchens in Boston’s South End, and was respected by all.

The broadcast began.

“Today, we have a very special guest: Boston’s own ‘Angel of the Slums,’ Mrs. Mary O’Neil.”

The Host introduced her.

“Mrs. O’Neil, I hear La Choy Foods recently donated a large amount of canned goods to your organization.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Mrs. O’Neil’s voice was calm, but full of genuine feeling.

“Last Saturday, a big truck arrived and dropped off five hundred cans in front of our soup kitchen. At first, I couldn’t believe it.”

“What did you do with the cans?”

“The very next day, Sunday, we distributed them all at the soup kitchen to our hungry neighbors.”

Mrs. O’Neil’s voice trembled with emotion.

“More than two hundred people had a warm, delicious meal for the first time in ages. Especially the children… It had been so long since I saw them so happy.”

Lee Jun-hyuk took the mic.

“We only wanted to offer a little help to Boston’s less fortunate. We plan to continue such efforts in the future.”

“Truly, thank you. Thank you so much.”

Mrs. O’Neil spoke with heartfelt sincerity.

“Mr. Lee Jun-hyuk.”

The Host, cautiously, changed the topic.

“But recently, some Boston newspapers have questioned the hygiene of La Choy’s products…”

“That’s exactly why we’ve prepared this.”

Lee Jun-hyuk replied, as if he’d been waiting for the question.

“This Saturday, May 8th, we will open our Brooklyn factory completely to the citizens of New York, and even to Bostoners if they wish.”

“You mean you’ll open the factory to the general public?”

The Host asked in astonishment. At the time, it was an unprecedented move.

“Yes. From 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., anyone—young or old—can come and see every part of our production process. We won’t hide a single step.”

Mrs. O’Neil interjected.

“I’d really love to visit. I’d like to see with my own eyes how you make such delicious, clean food.”

“You are always welcome, ma’am.”

Lee Jun-hyuk said with a smile.

“Come see for yourself just how clean and systematic our work is. Surely, seeing with your own eyes is better than a hundred explanations.”

“Indeed. That’s a very wise approach.”

The Host agreed.

“But why go to such lengths to open your factory?”

“Because the truth has nothing to hide.”

Lee Jun-hyuk said firmly.

“Some forces attack us with lies bought with money, but La Choy will respond with honesty and quality—with the truth.”

After the broadcast, they left the studio.

Robert was waiting in the hallway.

“You did very well. Inviting Mrs. O’Neil was a masterstroke.”

“What will Bancroft do now?”

“He’ll probably lose his temper and attack even more fiercely.”

Lee Jun-hyuk said.

“But it doesn’t matter. Time is now completely on our side.”

Wednesday, May 5th.

Three days before the open house, preparations were in full swing.

“Sir!”

Yu Ilhan ran into the office, flustered.

“What is it?”

“I just got a strange call. An anonymous tip…”

Yu Ilhan lowered his voice.

“He warned that during Saturday’s open house, Bancroft is planning something using hired men.”

“I expected as much.”

Lee Jun-hyuk replied calmly.

“Don’t worry. We’re already prepared.”

That afternoon, Lee Jun-hyuk headed to a quiet downtown cafe.

At a corner table, a man in a fedora was drinking espresso.

It was Al Capone.

“Long time no see, Mister Lee.”

Capone smiled and reached out to shake hands.

“Sorry to call you out on such short notice.”

“No problem. I actually wanted to talk to you, too—about Bancroft.”

Capone sipped his coffee.

“He’s been throwing big money at Brooklyn’s rats to have your factory attacked on Saturday.”

“How much?”

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

Lee Jun-hyuk sighed.

“So I took care of things first.”

Capone grinned.

“I spoke directly with the boss of Brooklyn, and on Saturday, not a single rat will dare go near your factory.”

“Really?”

“I gave my word, so you can count on it. But…”

Capone leaned forward.

“I have one condition.”

“Go ahead.”

“As we discussed before, let me have exclusive rights to supply La Choy products in Chicago. Of course, I’ll pay the proper price.”

Lee Jun-hyuk considered for a moment.

Chicago was a huge market.

And an alliance with Capone would be useful in many ways.

So long as it’s above-board business, there’s no harm.

With someone as influential as Al Capone, it’s a good deal to make.

“Alright, it’s a deal.”

“A wise choice.”

Capone stood, satisfied, and put on his hat.

“Oh, and is it true Bancroft invested ten million dollars with Fonzi?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“That guy’s insane.”

Capone snorted.

“That conman Fonzi won’t last long. If you ask me, he’ll be finished before summer is out.”

Lee Jun-hyuk was surprised.

Could Capone be a regressor too?

“How can you be so sure?”

“You work this business long enough, you learn to smell when money’s rotting.”

“Is that so!”

He just let it pass.

Capone turned at the door.

“Be careful out there. The ones who are crazy for money are the scariest people in the world.”

Saturday, May 8th.

Factory Open House.

At 8:30 a.m., when Lee Jun-hyuk arrived at the factory, he could hardly believe his eyes. The area in front of the factory was already packed with a sea of people.

“I never expected this kind of turnout…”

Robert said, astonished.

Newspaper reporters, curious housewives, even families with children in tow. At a glance, there were at least two hundred people.

“This is the power of radio.”

Lee Jun-hyuk said boldly.

“Alright, let’s open the doors.”

Nine o’clock sharp.

The main gate of the factory swung wide.

“Welcome to La Choy Foods!”

Yu Ilhan grabbed the mic and called out in a booming voice.

“Today, we’re showing you everything! Come and see with your own eyes how we make America’s best canned goods!”

People entered in an orderly line.

From the tasting corner at the entrance, exclamations of delight burst out.

“Wow, this is delicious!”

“I can’t believe this is canned food!”

Reporters were frantically scribbling notes.

“This is our raw materials inspection area.”

Walter the Manager began his proud explanation.

“All ingredients go through three strict inspections. If there’s even the slightest problem with freshness, we discard the entire batch on the spot.”

People nodded in admiration.

They moved to the production line.

Workers in pristine white sanitary uniforms worked with expert skill. All the machines moved with a lively rhythm, and cans were produced one after another.

“How do you handle hygiene management, specifically?”

A reporter asked sharply.

“We disinfect everything every morning.”

Walter replied confidently.

“And every employee washes their hands every two hours and changes into new gloves. This is our unbreakable rule.”

“Very impressive.”

The reporter jotted down notes eagerly.

Just then—

“Cut out this fake show!”

A thunderous shout rang out.

At the entrance, a red-haired man was pushing past the security guards, leading his men inside.

It was William Bancroft.