Chapter 702: The Power of Corruption
The Oval Office was suffocating.
Telegrams, briefings, and intercepted broadcasts littered the President’s desk like leaves in a storm.
Outside, the spring sun rose over Washington, but it cast no warmth.
The American Republic was, once again, on the edge of something it could not name.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt sat motionless in his chair, brows knitted, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he listened to the chaos unfold.
"...the refinery fire in Guayaquil was confirmed deliberate. No group has claimed it yet. Colombian rail authorities report five derailments. Armed militias are claiming responsibility for two, but the other three... well, they’re saying it’s likely sabotage."
"And Brazil?" FDR asked, his voice gravelled from sleeplessness.
"Still no leads," said Director William Donovan of the Office of Strategic Services.
"Every intelligence agency we have, FBI, OSS, Navy Cryptology, they’re all circling the same black hole. No fingerprints, no shell, no trail."
Across the room, Cordell Hull, Secretary of State, rubbed his temples. "It was surgical. Almost ritual. No fringe group in South America has that kind of precision."
Donovan nodded grimly.
"We’re not looking at local actors anymore. These are foreign agitators. Trained. Funded. Possibly already embedded before the speech was even scheduled."
FDR’s jaw tightened.
Outside the White House, angry chants echoed down Pennsylvania Avenue. Protesters had begun to gather within an hour of Calheiros’ death.
Now it was a daily ritual: banners waving, fists raised, shouting past one another across police lines.
Some signs read:
"No Sons for Europe!"
"Keep America Out!"
Others:
"Democracy Now, Tyranny Never!"
"Send the Bombers!"
And in the streets between, fists flew.
"What about the shipyards?" Roosevelt asked, already suspecting the answer.
Aide Reynolds cleared his throat. "Norfolk is at a standstill. Two thousand workers walked off this morning. They’re refusing to finish outfitting the cruiser USS Providence. Let alone repair the sabotage several of our battleships and carriers have suffered."
Roosevelt’s head snapped up.
"That ship was due to deploy next week."
"I’m aware, sir. The union reps say they won’t raise a hammer until they have guarantees their sons won’t be forced to fight another European war."
Cordell Hull cut in, "This isn’t just about the war. This is years in the making. Hughes’ isolationist policies gave it space to fester."
Roosevelt looked at him sharply. "Don’t give me that. We both know how the media was steered under Hughes. You’re saying this just ’happened’?"
The room went quiet.
Donovan spoke carefully. "We’ve been running background audits, sir. Tracing political donations, foundations, media ownership... university endowments..."
FDR turned slowly toward him.
Donovan hesitated, then dropped the folder on the desk with a muted thud.
"Sir, it’s worse than we ever thought sir. Our numbers initially expected 5% of American corporations to have ties to Berlin. It’s starting to appear that the Germans have long since purchased influence across every major institution of power in America...."
Silence blanketed the room.
FDR’s fingers gripped the edge of the desk.
Outside, the protest grew louder.
"NO WAR FOR EMPIRES!"
"DEMOCRACY DIES IF WE DO NOTHING!"
Two Americas, screaming past each other.
And neither aware of the hand behind the curtain.
"The labor unions were always the backbone of our industrial mobilization," Roosevelt muttered.
"The media our mouthpiece. The universities our wellspring of loyal talent. I have taken great measures to purge German influence over them all. Are you telling me I just drove them out of the public eye?"
Roosevelt rose and paced to the window, watching the sea of bodies shift and snarl below.
A memory surfaced, something he’d long since buried.
It was the conversation he had with the former President Charles Hughes.
Alone, in a cabin together on a cold winter night.
Far away from the city, from Germany’s prying eyes and ears.
He warned him of what Bruno had once said during a private discussion between the two of them in the Oval office.
"You know what I love about republics like yours? They’re corrupt to the marrow. And not subtly so, rather blatantly, proudly, systemically. Elections are a circus. Politicians claw for power, and where do they go for it? To the people. And pardon my bluntness, but the people are fucking retarded. They’ll read a single headline... Just the headline, and they will take it as gospel without looking any further into the matter. Then they will spew it to their friends, who will inevitably do the very same. One lie, one flash of outrage, and suddenly you have a storm. A tidal wave of mass hysteria crashing toward the ballot box. And where does that storm come from? The media. Which I now own. Which your system allowed me, a foreign monarch, to buy."
Roosevelt clenched his jaw.
"I thought he was bluffing. Just another aristocrat... A man of a dying era who refused to go down quietly...."
Donovan replied, "He wasn’t bluffing, sir. He was investing."
Across Latin America, things were worsening.
News from Caracas said a general had declared himself provisional president.
Bolivia had shuttered its borders. Mexico, already simmering, now boiled.
But it was America Roosevelt worried about now.
"We need a public statement," Hull said. "If we don’t name the Germans now..."
"We don’t have proof!" Roosevelt barked.
"If I accuse the Reich without hard evidence, it gives them every excuse to label us the aggressors."
"But if we say nothing, we lose control of the narrative," Hull countered.
FDR turned away from the window. "We’ve already lost the narrative."
His gaze hardened.
"From now on, we fight two wars: one abroad, and one right here. One with bombs, and one with words."
Donovan leaned forward. "Sir, respectfully... I don’t think we can win both."
Roosevelt gave a long, slow nod. "Then we make damn sure the next bullet doesn’t come from a ghost."
But even as he said it, the truth settled like dust in his lungs.
The ghosts were already here.
In the unions, in the lecture halls, in the newsrooms, behind the curtain.
And now they were pulling the trigger.
One institution at a time.