Chapter 87

Killing Pigeon (9)

After Wilson collapsed, the fact that he had effectively become a stroke-stricken old man was thoroughly concealed.

In the original history, Wilson’s second wife, Edith Wilson, with the active cooperation and tacit approval of his aides, essentially governed the country while pretending to be Wilson.

A woman sixteen years younger than Wilson—who until recently knew nothing about politics—suddenly began running the United States, bypassing even the vice president.

Part of this was due to the vague legal definition of “presidential incapacity,” but more importantly, the inner circle of the White House had completely hidden Wilson’s true condition.

During this absurd power vacuum, Attorney General Palmer launched a massive Red Scare.

And as expected, this “Red hunt” didn’t target actual revolutionaries trying to overthrow the United States—it became one-sided violence against Eastern Europeans, Jews, Italians, and labor activists.

Palmer and his faction continuously stirred fear, claiming that “a communist revolution is imminent” and that “there are those seeking to build a Soviet Union atop the corpse of the United States.”

Faced with such fierce momentum, and still accustomed to wartime repression and control, ordinary citizens had no choice but to shrink back.

That is—until an article appeared in a relatively unnoticed new newspaper, The Sun.

[THE WITCH MORGAN FINALLY CLAIMS THE THRONE!]

[THE WHORE OF BABYLON RULES THE UNITED STATES!]

[AMERICA FALLS INTO THE HANDS OF A FEMME FATALE—THE VICE PRESIDENT A MERE DECORATION!]

At first, people were appalled.

Sure, newspapers would print all sorts of things to sell copies—but what on earth was this tiny rag even talking about?

But something felt… off.

The Sun kept escalating, day after day, plastering massive headlines claiming, “Wilson is a living corpse, and the First Lady is stamping documents in his place.”

No matter how free the country was, could anyone survive saying things like that in such a volatile time?

As attention gradually shifted toward The Sun—

[SHOCK INTERVIEW! “WILSON IS ALREADY DEAD!”]

[“He’s shriveled up, begging to be put out of his misery!”]

[THE PHARAOH OF THE 20TH CENTURY—THE SECRET OF MUMMY WILSON!]

At last, an “anonymous whistleblower”—Syngman Rhee, claiming to be a former disciple—stepped forward, plunging American politics at the end of 1919 into total chaos.

‘Let me introduce him, father-in-law. This is Syngman Rhee.’

‘Wasn’t he one of Wilson’s people? He seems like the same man who caused trouble for you back then.’

‘It doesn’t matter. He’s a snake, but now he’s my snake.’

Once he chose to stab Wilson in the back, there was no turning back. Having aligned himself with the Republicans, Rhee could never restore his ties with the Democrats.

Of course, with his silver tongue, he might have managed to rebuild those connections over time—but his agreement with me included one condition: he would never return to the United States.

And so, the Republicans sharpened their knives, waiting for the moment to strike Wilson and the Democratic Party.

As The Sun intensified its barrage in a second wave, the Republican crossfire began.

“The American people are watching the White House!”

“If President Wilson is sound, let him appear before Congress immediately!”

“If all these articles are lies from a trashy paper, then simply showing himself would prove it!”

But the White House remained silent.

At first, Democrats reflexively dismissed it as slander, fabrication, and propaganda—but as time passed, even they grew uneasy, turning their eyes toward the White House.

Why isn’t Wilson moving?

If he’s capable of governing, then why?

Around this time, a politician rose like a comet within the Republican Party, quickly becoming a national figure.

“The United States is a nation of justice and morality. President Wilson, as a representative of the people of Massachusetts, I ask you—are you currently fulfilling your duties as president?”

His name was Calvin Coolidge.

Having steadily built his political career as lieutenant governor and governor of Massachusetts, he gained national prominence by responding firmly to the Boston police strike and granting additional bonuses to war veterans from Massachusetts.

When a sitting governor publicly threw a bombshell—“Is the federal government even functioning right now?”—the impact became uncontrollable.

“Mr. President! Show yourself immediately and crush those insane Republicans!”

“Why is there no response from the White House? Why?!”

And around this time, people began to realize the truth.

When anti-Wilson factions within the Democratic Party turned and openly demanded the president appear before Congress, the situation reached its peak.

[PRESIDENT WILSON UNFIT TO GOVERN!]

[THE WILSON CLIQUE EXPOSED FOR ABUSING PRESIDENTIAL AUTHORITY!]

[HOW THE WITCH AND HER MINIONS SEIZED CONTROL OF THE UNITED STATES!]

And at last, the full truth came to light.

Thus ended the Wilson administration.

***

[THE END OF THE VEGETATIVE PRESIDENT—VICE PRESIDENT ASSUMES DUTIES!!!]

[IS A FORD CIVIL WAR IMMINENT? EDSEL FORD: “YOU’LL SOON SEE CARS THAT AREN’T MODEL T’S”]

[REDS INFILTRATE THE COUNTRYSIDE! BURNING CROSSES, VOWING TO SOVIETIZE AMERICA!]

“The Sun! One copy of The Sun, please!”

“I was here first! The Sun! Hurry!!”

“Sorry, we only have one copy left.”

“What do you mean?! I was here first!!”

…What a complete madhouse.

I was the one behind it, but it was incredibly satisfying.

“Hey, is that newspaper you’re holding The Sun?”

“It is.”

“I’ll buy it! Name your price!”

Having the paper practically snatched from my hands was absurd—but seeing people everywhere clamoring for The Sun, it was clear this venture had been a massive success.

The Sun, which had brought down a sitting president, instantly became a top-tier national newspaper. Distribution channels across the country were now clamoring for more copies of that damned half-sized rag.

And while all attention was focused there, we quietly began preparing our next venture. Without even lifting a finger, we had already stirred up massive interest in a new car—Edsel Ford must have felt full without even eating.

The Red Scare—the prequel to McCarthyism—collapsed alongside the downfall of the half-paralyzed Wilson.

Having tasted Wilson’s blood, the emboldened Republicans—and even rebellious factions within the Democratic Party—set their sights on their next target: Attorney General Palmer, the man who had spearheaded the Red Scare.

“Attorney General Palmer! You suppressed American citizens without even presidential authorization!”

“You claimed you had the president’s orders, didn’t you? Well then… where are they? Strange—Wilson can’t even sign his name right now!”

“The war is over, yet you’re still invoking wartime emergency laws. Clearly, this administration intended to establish a dictatorship under the guise of war!”

“No! This was merely a conspiracy by Wilson and his faction, who wanted to become a Kaiser! It has nothing to do with our Democratic Party!”

Palmer, once riding high on his Red hunts, fell in an instant—branded as “Robespierre Palmer.”

Now, people were simply exhausted.

Exhausted of having their mouths shut by constant cries of “reds.”

Exhausted of rising prices while even mentioning wages invited police batons.

Exhausted of a government that continued to control everything with stern rigidity—even after the war had ended.

Not long ago, the public—who had smashed Kaiser dolls and busts in celebration of victory—flooded the streets once more, this time burning effigies of Wilson and Palmer while shouting, “Enough already, you bastards!”

At last, the core values of Americans—suppressed by the unprecedented experience of World War I—began to resurface.

“What? The government thinks it can control citizens? Turns out you’re the real reds!”

“Government permission? I refuse! Get lost!”

Hearing this explosive roar from the people, politicians reacted immediately.

“The U.S. Congress hereby rejects ratification of the Treaty of Versailles.”

“Woooooah!!!”

“Long live the United States! Long live!!”

“Clean up Wilson’s mess!”

With overwhelming public support, the Treaty of Versailles—into which Wilson had poured both body and soul—was rejected by the U.S. Congress.

The United States would not intervene in European affairs.

The United States would not join the League of Nations.

They would simply stay across the Atlantic, making money and enjoying themselves.

Just one year after the war ended, Americans had returned to their old ways—isolationism and economic pragmatism.

Which also meant the expiration date on my popularity as a war hero had come.

A shame—but that’s how popularity works.

If I had gotten drunk on that fame and strutted around like I was something special, I’d have been swept away by this very wave and ended up a corpse.

Watching all this, I had no choice but to cancel my plan to launch a hamburger franchise.

It was 1919—there wasn’t even a McDonald’s yet.

I had been thinking of launching a brilliantly named burger chain called “MacArthur’s” instead, but with the shelf life of a war hero now over, that plan had to be shelved.

Still, I gained quite a lot from all of this.

Syngman Rhee practically fled in the dead of night, secretly boarding a passenger ship bound for Shanghai. Wilson’s supporters wanted to put a bullet in his head—he should consider himself lucky just to have escaped alive.

One of the reasons he had been elevated within the Provisional Government was his strong connection to Wilson, the champion of national self-determination—but now that connection was gone, his political future looked rough.

Of course, with that god-given tongue of his, he managed to rebrand himself as a whistleblower—a righteous defender of the public good.

But even in 2020, whistleblowers aren’t treated well. In 1919? Even less so.

I made sure he had plenty of dollars for the journey to Shanghai, so I had nothing more to say. I briefly considered assigning someone to monitor him, but gave up—by the time they reached Shanghai, they’d probably end up worshipping him instead.

As for Woodrow Wilson, there was nothing left to say. He had no honor remaining.

People only wondered—had he ordered the White House to shut itself off, or had a wicked witch and her faction left him to rot for the sake of power?

Pathetic.

And amid this storm of politics, my plan to visit Japan was, of course, shelved.

In times like this, how could I possibly go to Japan? Impossible. Honestly, serves them right.

What remained ahead was the era of Republican dominance.

And… the Great Depression.

Before Black Thursday arrived to crush all wealth and passion, I needed to build walls so strong that no one could breach my fortress.

And the times were on my side.

***

“Incredible. Truly incredible.”

The young man carefully clipped and organized articles from The Sun he had been collecting, deep in thought.

The downfall of President Wilson was, in his eyes, the pinnacle of the most insidious and masterful political engineering in American history.

Others might not realize it—but he was certain.

“The opening move: third-rate tabloid articles. Public opinion slowly heating up. From ridicule… to curiosity. From curiosity… to suspicion. From suspicion… to unease. From unease… to outrage.”

This was art.

The art of manipulating one hundred million Americans like instruments.

This whistleblower, Syngman Rhee, was nothing more than a figurehead. As with all crimes, the one who shows his face is merely a pawn—not the mastermind.

From obtaining top-secret information no one else knew, to using national media as loudspeakers, to controlling the tempo of both Republicans and Democrats—

And finally bringing down a president.

The Sun.

Syngman Rhee.

The Republican Party.

There were still missing pieces, so he couldn’t see the full picture—but after months of obsessively gathering clues, the young man had begun to outline the structure behind it all.

His instincts—sharpened from his time as an investigator—whispered the name of the mastermind.

“General Yujin Kim.”

Yes. That’s what his intuition told him.

But why?

Why would a mere brigadier general bring down a president?

Because he disliked the Treaty of Versailles? Ridiculous.

Every crime has a motive—profit, resentment, or ideology.

But what profit could a mere officer gain from toppling a president?

A grudge? Nonsense.

Ideology? He wasn’t a communist or an anarchist. The defender of Amiens, a red? Even a passing dog would laugh.

His instincts insisted Yujin Kim was behind it.

But his reason rejected the idea.

‘Regardless… he’s extraordinary.’

There was no doubt—Yujin Kim was deeply involved. That much was certain.

Perhaps there was a true mastermind behind him—but based on the information gathered so far, it was impossible to tell.

It was almost admirable.

If this really was Yujin Kim’s work, then the gap between him and the young man—despite being only two years apart—was insurmountable in both achievement and skill.

“I want to get close to him… but how?”

If he managed to attach himself now, maybe he could secure a position under a future Republican administration.

The young man—once recruited by Attorney General Palmer to hunt down “reds,” only to become unemployed overnight—sighed as he gathered his newspaper clippings.

His name was John Edgar Hoover.