America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

The following afternoon, Arthur and Patrick followed the three workers to one of the poorest areas of the Lower East Side.

The narrow streets were lined with dilapidated apartment buildings, and faded clothes hung on clotheslines.

The streets were filled with unemployed workers, and the air was thick with the smell of coal smoke and despair.

The short, stocky man led them into a narrower alley and stopped in front of a dilapidated wooden door.

A faded sign hangs on the door: "Honest Job Placement".

"This is it, Vito is inside. He's a bastard who controls a lot of businesses around here and takes a cut."

The short, stocky man's voice was filled with fear and disgust.

Arthur understood: Vito was a middleman in the underground economy, connecting those who needed "special services" with desperate workers.

He told the three workers to wait outside, and he and Patrick went inside.

The door creaked open. Inside was a small, dimly lit room, where five or six workers sat listlessly on a bench.

At the far end of the room was a counter, behind which sat a fat man wearing a greasy vest, dozing off.

A handwritten notice on the wall reads: "Our firm provides various job introductions at reasonable prices, with fair and honest service for all ages."

Arthur walked to the counter and coughed.

The fat man woke up and asked in a voice with a heavy Italian accent, "Looking for a job?"

"No, I want to know someone. Last month, someone hired three workers through you to teach an editor a lesson," Arthur said.

The room suddenly fell silent. The workers all looked up, their eyes filled with curiosity.

The fat man's expression changed, and he asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm that editor," Arthur said calmly.

"I am Arthur Kennedy."

The fat man stared at Arthur for a few seconds, then suddenly burst into laughter:

"Oh, that job! Mr. Kennedy, I've heard so much about you. What, are you here to cause trouble?"

His smile was exaggerated, but it lacked sincerity.

"I just want to know who hired you to have someone attack me."

The fat man spread his hands, feigning innocence.

"An attack? I'm just the owner of a job placement agency. I help people find jobs, what's wrong with that?"

Arthur chuckled dismissively. "Those three workers are here to work?"

"Of course, their job is to talk to you. As for how they talk, that's not something I can control."

"So you admit that you arranged it?"

The fat man's smile vanished.

He stood up, his tone becoming threatening:

"Mr. Kennedy, I advise you to mind your own business. Do you know where you are? This is the Lower East Side."

Arthur, undeterred, stared into the fat man's eyes and said:

"I know what this place is; it's a place that profits from the despair of the poor."

The fat man's face darkened further. He patted the counter, and two burly men carrying baseball bats and iron pipes emerged from the back room.

Patrick stepped forward and stood in front of Arthur.

"Vito, I advise you to think this through," he said.

Vito looked at Patrick, his eyes flickering, recognizing him, and asked:

"Patrick O'Reilly? What are you doing hanging out with this editor?"

"You actually know me? Then why did you try to harm Arthur? He's always spoken up for us; he's our friend."

Vito sneered:

"Speaking up for you? He's just using you. He writes those articles to become famous and make money. Do you really think he cares about you workers?"

"I know you're a star on the Brooklyn docks now, but how can you be so childish and ridiculous?"

Patrick remained unmoved.

"Whether it's exploitation or not, we'll judge for ourselves. Now, answer his question: Who hired you to find someone to attack him?"

Vito looked at Patrick, then at the two burly men, weighing his options.

Just then, the door was pushed open again.

Everyone turned their heads.

A man walked in, leaning on a cane, his steps steady. He looked to be about fifty years old, his hair neatly combed, and his face expressionless.

It was Samuel Sibyl.

He walked into the room, his gaze sweeping over everyone before finally settling on Vito.

The fat man, Vito, changed his expression instantly upon seeing Samuel, his arrogance turning into fear.

His lips began to tremble, his hands gripped the edge of the counter tightly, his knuckles turned white, and he said in a trembling voice:

"Mr... Mr. Samuel?"

The two burly men stopped, too afraid to move. They stared at Samuel with fear in their eyes. Clearly, they recognized him, or at least had heard of him.

The workers sitting on the benches also stood up, watching this scene with tension.

Samuel slowly walked to the counter and gently tapped it with his cane. The tapping sound was exceptionally clear in the quiet room.

He said calmly, "Mr. Vito, we meet again."

Vito swallowed hard. "Mr. Samuel, I...I didn't know you would come."

"I knew Mr. Kennedy would come here, so I arrived early."

He turned to Arthur and nodded slightly: "Mr. Kennedy, we meet again."

Arthur looked at Samuel, realizing that Samuel had been watching him closely and had even anticipated his arrival. This man's intelligence network was far more powerful than he had imagined.

"Mr. Samuel, it seems you know my whereabouts quite well." Arthur nodded.

"I'm just doing my job," Samuel said.

Then, he turned to look at Vito, his gaze sharpening:

"Tell Mr. Kennedy who hired you to have someone attack him."

Vito's forehead began to sweat. He glanced at Samuel, then at the two burly men, and then at the doorway. He was searching for an escape route, but clearly, in the current situation, running away was pointless.

His voice was filled with despair as he said:

"I...I can't tell. If I do, they'll kill me."

"Even if you don't tell me, I'll find a way to put you in jail. You know I have that power." Samuel's voice turned cold.

Vito's face paled even more. He knew, of course, that Samuel had that authority.

Samuel Sibri, the state legislature-appointed chairman of the court corruption investigation committee, has the authority to investigate any suspected corruption case, to subpoena any witness, and to recommend prosecution to the prosecutor.

"Furthermore, if you cooperate, I can protect you. But if you don't cooperate, I will deal with you; those people can kill you at any time. And I won't waste resources protecting someone who doesn't cooperate."

This is a blatant threat, but it is also the truth.

Vito remained silent for a long time. His hands trembled, and sweat dripped from his forehead onto the counter.

Everyone in the room was waiting for his answer.