mchenry-crisis.org Chapter 115 The Real Big Shots
Chapter 115 The Real Big Shots
Chapter 115 The Real Big Shots
When it comes to finance, New York is a city that cannot be ignored.
This megacity, standing on the Atlantic coast, is like a tireless heart, continuously supplying the global economy with vital energy day and night.
If you were to find the place in this city where the financial pulse beats most intensely, the answer would undoubtedly be Manhattan.
To be more specific, it is Lower Manhattan.
This land, gently embraced by the Hudson and East Rivers, is permeated with the aura of money and power.
If I had to name a specific location, it would undoubtedly be Wall Street.
The street, which is only a little over 500 meters long, is like an invisible giant python, coiled in the core of the world economy, and every movement of it is enough to cause tremors in the global market.
However, in downtown New York, any financial company would be proud to have a presence in Manhattan, but Ernst really didn't like this place.
Looking across the Hudson River, Manhattan is a silhouette of the most bustling and classic city, outlined by thousands of skyscrapers.
Those towering buildings stand like giants, proudly guarding the city's glory. Their glass curtain walls reflect the sunlight with dazzling brilliance, as if showing off their wealth and power to the world.
But those who have actually lived here or worked here for a long time understand that beneath this prosperous facade lies a sense of oppression and dilapidation.
Towering buildings stand one after another, creating an extremely exaggerated building density. The gaps between many buildings are so narrow that it seems as if you could reach out and touch the wall of the other building. They are almost stuck together, making it difficult to distinguish the boundaries between them.
In this steel jungle, 70% of Manhattan never sees the sun.
The highly acclaimed Wall Street is backed by a pervasive, unpleasant odor from the constant dampness. This stench permeates the narrow alleyways, seeping into the nostrils of every passerby.
In terms of reputation, Manhattan can naturally add a dazzling veneer to a company, greatly enhancing its status in the industry.
In terms of environment, Ernst had never seen a business district that disgusted him more than this one.
Therefore, when choosing an office space for Ernst Asset Management, he didn't give Manhattan the slightest consideration, but instead set his sights on Queens, which is just across the river.
Don't underestimate Queens, New York's backyard. In a few years, when a plane crashes in one of the worst traffic accidents in human history, a large number of financial institutions will move here.
In the area where Ernst Asset Management is now located, property prices more than quadrupled before 08.
Ernst's choice of this location also involved investment considerations.
In the future, whether a skyscraper that pierces the clouds is built on this land or a high-end residential area is developed, its value will not be less than a hundred times the current acquisition price.
But that's all for the future. What Ernst wants to know most right now is the purpose of Massim's trip.
"What exactly brought you here?"
While Queens is vastly different from Manhattan in terms of the number of financial companies, it is by no means a rare breed.
Setting up a financial company here is hardly anything to be surprised about, let alone the unexpected nonsense the other party mentioned.
Massim slowly turned around, and in that instant, Ernst clearly felt a dramatic change in the other man's demeanor.
The casualness and languor that had previously surrounded him receded like the tide, replaced by a deep and weighty aura.
The scorching sunlight was just then blocked by a dark cloud, and the originally bright light in the room became gloomy.
In keeping with Massim's current mood, he appeared much more composed, solemn, and serious.
This time, Massim did not return to the sofa lounge area, but went straight to Ernst and sat down in the chair opposite his desk.
"Although we haven't known each other for long, and this is only our third meeting, you're just my type."
Ernst frowned slightly, said nothing, but gestured with his eyes for the other person to continue.
"Haven't you always wanted to know my last name?" Massim's gaze was fixed intently on Ernst.
From the first day they met, the other party only gave the name Massim. Ernst pressed him for his surname more than once, hoping to deduce the power he represented.
But each time, Massim responded with the same excuse: "You'll know when the time is right. If we don't have a deeper connection, what good will it do you even if you find out? It might just cause you unnecessary trouble."
Thinking about it, it makes sense. Before one's abilities reach a certain level, it's not always better to know as much as possible. So Ernst stopped asking and buried his curiosity in his heart.
"My last name is Kennedy." Massim's words were not loud, but they exploded in Ernst's mind like a bombshell.
In an instant, Ernst felt every hair on his body stand on end, and his heart pounded wildly in his chest, as if trying to break free of its restraints.
His mind went blank, and it took him a while to finally find his voice, asking incredulously, "The Kennedy I know?"
Massim nodded calmly. "It's the Kennedy you know."
Being a big boss in America has always been a high-risk profession, and there's a hidden story behind every one of them who gets shot.
John Kennedy is one of the most representative examples.
Some say that his death not only took his own life, but also the fruits of nearly a century and three generations of the Kennedy family's hard work, and even symbolized the shattering of the American Dream.
Many people say that the rise of the Kennedy family was due to John F. Kennedy's father, Joseph Kennedy Sr., but the one who truly laid the foundation for the Kennedy family's growth and expansion was actually Joseph Sr.'s father-in-law, John F. Fitzgerald, the then mayor of Boston.
Fitzgerald was an Irish immigrant, but his father, Fitz, was very business-minded. Fitz started out as a dockworker and later borrowed money to open a pub.
After his entrepreneurial success, he joined Donkey and worked his way up from the Massachusetts House of Representatives to the Boston Donkey's decision-making level.
Even so, Fitz was not truly accepted, because the Protestant Anglo-Saxons looked down on the Catholic Irish immigrants.
This is what is meant by the distinction between noble and lowly among white people.
This led to Fitz's lifelong dream of shedding the lowly Irish immigrant label, so he sent his son to the best school in Boston and later to Harvard.
John did not disappoint him, and soon demonstrated his political talent, becoming the secretary of Matthew, the head of the Donkey North constituency, at a young age.
In Boston at the time, John Fitzgerald was nicknamed "Sweet Fitz" because he could talk to A in a friendly manner, touch B's hand, and look at C with a burning gaze at him. He had taken his social skills to the extreme and was known as a born politician.
Even after he was elected mayor of Boston, his Irish immigrant status still prevented him from being accepted by the true aristocracy.
To this end, he was even willing to sacrifice his daughter to fulfill his dream, wanting to marry his eldest daughter to a genuine American upper-class family in order to gain their approval.
But to his surprise, his daughter had fallen in love with a man who was also of Irish immigrant descent, Joseph Kennedy the Elder.
What he didn't expect was that when World War II broke out, a large number of immigrants from all over the world came to America, and the Irish immigrant status of the two families became an advantage for them.
Just look at Kennedy's propositions: diversity, cultural progress, and integration.
This allowed him to take over the White House as he wished, but it also touched upon the core ideas of those at the top of the American pyramid.
Whether it's the white supremacy of the elephants or the unionism and elitism advocated by factions within the donkeys, the core at the bottom is the same: white people are dominant.
Kennedy now wants to overturn this status quo and wants to play the game of racial equality. These outsiders are taking jobs from genuine Americans.
Then the shocking shooting happened, and the truth has never been found out because more than 120 officials involved in the investigation died mysteriously.
What the outside world saw was the Kennedy family's severe damage, but Ernst knew that the family's influence in the Donkey Kingdom and in America was absolutely no less than that of any of America's top aristocratic families.
There are five major factions within the Donkey: the old blue men faction that adheres to Rooseveltism, the current Laugh Tale faction, the democratic and progressive faction that broke away from Rooseveltism, and the gradually rising social democratic faction.
The last one is the liberal democratic faction that advocates for pluralism, as championed by Kennedy.
Since they were able to produce the first black tycoon in American history, who dares to say that this faction has declined, or that the Kennedy family has declined?
They simply moved from the forefront to the background, like lurking beasts waiting for the right opportunity.
The strength of this family is far beyond what Ernst can currently match; the gap between them is as insurmountable as a chasm.
"You set up this financial company because you also want to get a piece of the pie in Asia?" Massim's words pulled Ernst back to reality from his reverie.
Ernst nodded readily without the slightest hesitation.
Given that he had no reason to hide his identity from Masim, he couldn't hide it anyway.
"I can put your business on that list."
One sentence made Ernst suddenly raise his head, his eyes filled with shock and disbelief, even more so than when he heard the other person's last name was Kennedy.
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