America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

Inside the editor's office, the faint scent of pine wood mingled with the smell of old paper.

Arthur crouched down and helped Isabella pick up the scattered Parker pens.

His fingertips occasionally brushed against Isabella's cold hand, causing the heiress to recoil as if electrocuted, her fair neck instantly flushed a cherry blossom pink.

"Th-thank you."

Isabella stammered, then sat back down in her chair, clutching the pen she had just picked up tightly in her hands.

Arthur stood up, his gaze sweeping over her almost transparent pretty face, and then suddenly stopped.

"Miss Harrison, don't move."

"Huh?"

Isabella froze, as if she had been frozen in place, her large amber eyes filled with innocence and confusion.

Arthur pulled a clean silk handkerchief from his pocket and leaned forward slightly. The distance between them instantly closed, so close that Isabella could clearly see Arthur's thick eyelashes.

She held her breath, her chest rising and falling slightly, and the snow-white skin beneath her black silk dress dazzled Arthur in the light.

"You have ink on the tip of your nose."

Arthur's voice was deep and gentle as he lightly wiped Isabella's small, delicate nose through his handkerchief.

The unsightly blackness disappeared, replaced by a delicate red that quickly warmed with shyness.

Isabella felt like her brain was about to suffocate; this unprecedented intimacy made her almost want to crawl under the table immediately.

"Is it... all done?"

Her voice trembled violently, like a taut string.

"alright."

Arthur stepped back, put the handkerchief away, then picked up a piece of paper and wrote several names on it.

"These are some assistant editors I know, all graduates of NYU. They're fairly reliable, and they might be able to help you."

Isabella was very excited and quickly took the paper to read it.

"Besides a few candidates, I suggest you contact Professor Pete at the law school first. Although he's old-fashioned, he's an authority on newspaper law and trust fund protection. With him around, those vultures in Manhattan who want to devour the New York Herald will be much more restrained."

Isabella nodded quickly and carefully wrote down the name on the sticky note on the table.

Her pen-holding posture was very professional, a mark left by years of legal training, but in Arthur's eyes, this professionalism and her current social anxiety created a strange and endearing contrast.

"I will go. Arthur...aren't you really considering coming here?"

She couldn't help but ask again, her eyes filled with a humble hope.

Arthur smiled. "It's not the right time yet, Miss Harrison. Trust me, this newspaper will only get better."

He did not explain further.

He now only wants to use his reputation and resources to quietly help this female classmate stabilize the newspaper, which is his way out.

Isabella smiled faintly: "Arthur, you're different from when you were in college."

Arthur asked, somewhat puzzled, "Will it get better or worse?"

Isabella did not answer, but thought to herself: He has become a considerate and kind gentleman, someone who makes me feel warm.

Arthur walked more briskly as he left Harrison's newspaper office.

But he didn't notice that in the black Ford sedan across the street, a pair of sinister eyes were staring intently at his back.

……

The next morning, when Arthur returned to work at the New York Daily News, he keenly sensed that the atmosphere had changed.

The junior editors who had previously fawned over him were now hiding in the shadows, whispering among themselves, their eyes sweeping over him with an inexplicable sense of fear and alienation.

Editor-in-Chief Jason sat in his office, looking at Arthur through the glass window with a complicated expression, unaware that cigarette ash had fallen onto his trouser leg.

Meanwhile, Brent, sitting opposite Arthur, was engrossed in a pile of scrap paper, a twisted smile that he couldn't hide gracing his lips.

Arthur sat back down, and just as his fingers touched the typewriter keyboard, a heavy, rhythmic sound of leather shoes echoed at the entrance to the hall.

"Tap, tap, tap."

Those were the arrogant yet precise footsteps characteristic of the upper class.

A man wearing a gray double-breasted suit and a gold badge of the city hall on his chest walked through the crowd.

He held a heavy envelope with a wax seal in his hand; the expensive paper texture seemed out of place in this editorial office filled with the smell of ink.

The entire hall fell into such silence that you could hear a pin drop.

The man stopped in front of Arthur's table, took off his top hat, revealing a neatly combed slicked-back hairstyle.

"Mr. Arthur Kennedy?"

Arthur slowly raised his head: "I am."

"Your Excellency Mayor, Mr. Jimmy Walker greets you."

The man handed over the envelope with both hands, speaking politely, but his eyes revealed an undeniable sense of pressure.

"The mayor greatly appreciates the 'humor' you displayed in your article 'Mr. Silas.' He believes that a talented person like you, with unique insights into New York's prosperity, should not just stay in the newspaper office."

Several suppressed gasps rose from the surrounding area.

Brent's smile froze on his face. He had thought the mayor would send the police to arrest Arthur directly, but he hadn't expected this outcome.

Arthur took the envelope, his fingertips able to feel the stiffness of the thick invitation inside.

"The mayor is going to hold a charity ball called 'Saving Unemployed Workers' tomorrow night in the central garden."

The attendant bowed slightly and raised his voice a few decibels, as if deliberately speaking to the entire newspaper office.

"The mayor personally instructed that you, the 'honest man of Wall Street,' be invited to sit at the head table."

At that moment, Arthur felt countless gazes piercing his back like steel needles.

His identity has been revealed. At least, that's true for Jimmy Walker.

The thought flashed through Arthur's mind.

He knew that someone within the newspaper must have betrayed him; otherwise, the arrogant Jimmy Walker would never have sent an invitation to an assistant editor.

But you're satirizing Wall Street, what does that have to do with New York City Hall?

However, this mayor is certainly not a kind person.

Even a junior editor like the original owner had heard about his corruption scandals, let alone the Tammony Association, which had extremely close ties with him.

Although the Tammany Society is now dominated by Irish people, this kind of organization will not let him off the hook just because he is also Irish.

This invitation is telling him: I know who you are, I know where you are, and now I want you to put on the suit I gave you and come to my territory to receive your reward, or to receive your death.

"Tell the mayor I am flattered."

Arthur slowly tore open the envelope, revealing a dazzlingly bright golden invitation.

"I will be there on time. After all, I'm really curious to see if those 'rescued' unemployed people will actually get to drink the champagne bestowed upon them by the mayor."

The attendant paused for a moment, then gave a meaningful smile and turned to leave.