1960: My uncle is the FBI Director

Chapter 11 What, xx, called xx's obedience!
The protagonist believed that his uncle had been controlling him since childhood, from where he went to school, what courses he chose, what activities he participated in, and even which family's daughter he would marry and where he would work. His uncle had arranged everything.

After finally mustering the courage to have a big argument with his uncle, he decided to run away from home, cut off all contact with his family, and never speak to his uncle again.

Although it's unclear what the point of his actions was, in a sense, he did achieve something.

Theodore was not a rebellious youth, and he was skeptical of the role his uncle, the FBI director, played in concealing his identity by using his middle name as his surname and working for the police department.

Yes, his uncle was the famous John Edgar Hoover.

The rumored cross-dressing master, gay man, founder of the shadow government, intelligence chief, staunch anti-GCZY, gravedigger of the Black Panther Party and CPUSA, assassin of Dr. King, mastermind behind the assassination of JFK, a wicked old man... He has too many titles to fit in the homicide squad office.

He was never mentally prepared to come into contact with this legendary figure.

But when will we be ready? Are we just going to leave such a good resource sitting idle and wasting it?
Theodore grabbed the receiver and dialed a number.

The call was answered by Hoover's private secretary, Helen Gandy.

There's a saying that circulates within the FBI: "Even if you offend Director Hoover, don't offend Miss Gandy."

Helen Gandy was one of Hoover's two closest confidantes, whom Hoover called 'indispensable'.

The other was Hoover's rumored boyfriend, Clyde Tolson.

The former held all of Hoover's secrets, while the latter was the embodiment of Hoover's spiritual and emotional needs.

Hoover firmly believed that these two men would never betray him. And indeed, they proved it. After Hoover's death, both men demonstrated their absolute loyalty through their actions.

"Office of the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

Helen Gandy's voice came through the phone, making it easy to imagine the scene on the other end: a woman dressed in a black business suit, wearing glasses, and with a serious expression like an old nun.

“I am,” Theodore paused, “I am Theodore. Is he here? I would like to speak with him.”

“Theodore?” There was a pause on the other end, and Helen Gandy’s surprise was evident. “You finally called.”

With just one sentence, Helen Gandy quickly demonstrated her professionalism, saying, "The Director is available, please wait a moment."

After a brief silence, a deep voice came from the other end, "Hello?"

Theodore shuddered.

He looked down in confusion, wondering why he was trembling when he didn't seem scared. This sounded quite kind.
"I'm……"

Theodore was just about to introduce himself to break the ice, but the other side didn't give him the chance.

"How long are you planning to stay in that lousy police station?"

"Did you think I wouldn't find you just because you're hiding in Texas? You should run north, all the way to the other side!"

The steady voice carried a hint of anger.
"It seems that Sunday school didn't teach you what obedience is."

"I have already sent someone to bring you back."

"After you come back, you'll spend two years training in the Marine Corps. Learn the meaning of obedience!"

Excuse me?

Pardon?

kind?

Theodore could still hear the words, "I've sent someone to bring you back," and "You'll be training in the Marine Corps for two years," echoing in his ears.

Next year, the Vietnam War will begin, and Emily will deploy 500,000 troops over the next 12 years, of which nearly 400,000 will be buried in a small Southeast Asian country.

If Hoover was truly determined to teach him what 'obedience' meant, he wouldn't be able to resist. His string of titles wasn't for nothing.

Theodore didn't directly refute Hoover, as that would only anger him and close off any possibility of negotiation. Instead, he proposed a seemingly impossible condition.

"Give me three years. After three years, I can be promoted to Sergeant. If I can't, I will obediently follow your arrangements." Sergeant is the lowest command rank in the police rank system, marking the transition from ordinary police officer to management position. Promotion to sergeant requires at least 5 years of police service, generally 7-9 years, and must be approved by an internal vote of the police union.

“You have no right to bargain,” Hoover said loudly.
He was somewhat angry. In his opinion, Theodore had learned to boast during the few months he'd been away.

“You have to let me try,” Theodore pleaded. “Otherwise, even if you take me back, I’ll always want to run away.”

“You have to let me try,” he repeated. “If I’m still a failure after three years, I promise I’ll do whatever you say from now on, and I’ll never object. If I can really get promoted to sergeant in three years, you won’t have to worry about me anymore, will you?”

Based on his memories, Theodore didn't believe that Hoover was simply manipulating him; he probably just didn't trust him.

If Hoover really wanted to manipulate a child, there was absolutely no need to send him to the best schools, give him the best education, ensure he participated in every parent-teacher activity from elementary school to university, or pave a smooth path for him to enter Congress after graduation.
Theodore's reasons for refusing the arrangement differed from the original owner's; primarily, he knew clearly that this path was a dead end.

He's a tech-savvy person who makes a living, and he's doing quite well. He could be a tech director, but he couldn't be a congressman. He can't learn to talk nonsense, nor does he want to.

A brief silence fell on the other side, followed by the faint sound of conversation.

About a minute later, Hoover's voice returned to its steady tone: "You don't have three years."

"I'm only giving you seven months, until Christmas."

"Alright, I'm going to have lunch with Clyde now."

…………

Theodore didn't know whether to be happy or annoyed.

Thankfully, I made the call and managed to get a seven-month 'probation' instead of being immediately taken back to DC and thrown into the Marine Corps.

Frustrated, I made the phone call and created an impossible task for myself.

Seven months later, promoted to sergeant?
Ascend to heaven.

Theodore decided to ask Bernie for advice on battlefield survival when he arrived, in order to prepare for the future.

After writing for a while longer, people finally started arriving one after another.

Unlike yesterday, many people today looked like they hadn't woken up properly, listless and weak as they greeted the people who arrived, and then uniformly drank coffee like crazy.

It seems that the effects of working overtime late into the night are much weaker than drinking all night.

When Bernie arrived, Theodore quietly asked him about what happened last night.

Bernie, on the other hand, was in high spirits. While organizing the documents for 600403 and 600511, he told him that he had asked the local police to take them home yesterday. Of course, some of them did not go home but instead went to Rose Street next door.

As he spoke, he pointed to the man sleeping on the table in front of him and whispered to Theodore that he was one of the men who went to Rose Street.

Theodore asked about last night's expenses again, and Bernie told Theodore not to worry.

“We get bonuses from both headquarters and the branch offices for solving homicide cases.” He pulled a crumpled gas coupon from his pocket and showed it to Theodore. “The individual bonuses have already been converted into this junk, so they can’t possibly deduct the team bonuses.”

"This portion of the prize money is used to pay for last night's group activities."

"Besides this, our homicide squad also has a collective operating fund. That should be enough to cover last night's expenses."

Theodore thought to himself, "No wonder they were drinking so freely yesterday; it turns out they had 'team-building funds' to cover it up."

He then asked Bernie for battlefield survival skills. Bernie's eyes lit up, and he rattled off a whole bunch of things before preparing to devise a training program for him.

Bernie dragged him to the training ground to check out his skill level, but this was overheard by someone nearby and spread throughout the entire murder squad within a minute.

So a large group of murderers marched toward the training ground.

While the group was firing their guns on the training field, Wenner stood in his empty office, lost in thought.

(End of this chapter)