America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

Arthur was unaware of what was happening in the New York Daily News; he was packing his things in his apartment.

Last night, he received an anonymous letter in his apartment mailbox. There wasn't a single word in it, only a bloodstained knife attached.

This is a clear threat.

Arthur knew that this must have been done by the Gambino family, clearly an expression of their dissatisfaction with him.

He wasn't afraid of these people, but he didn't want Mrs. Dalton and the apartment's neighbors to get involved.

Therefore, moving became the best option.

While I was packing my luggage, there was a knock on the door.

"Mr. Kennedy, it's me."

Arthur opened the door and saw Mrs. Dalton holding a tray with a cup of hot coffee and some cookies on it.

"I saw you were busy early this morning, so I brought you some food," Mrs. Dalton said.

"Thank you, madam." Arthur took the tray, a wave of guilt washing over him.

Mrs. Dalton paused for a moment when she saw the suitcase in the room:

"You...you're moving out?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes, madam. I've found a new place to stay, closer to the newspaper office."

Mrs. Dalton's eyes dimmed:

"Is it because the rent is too high? If so, I can give you a discount..."

"No, madam," Arthur quickly said.

"Your rent is reasonable. It's just that I'm busy with work right now, so it would be more convenient to live closer."

Mrs. Dalton was silent for a moment, then suddenly said:

"Mr. Kennedy, are you in trouble?"

Arthur was taken aback: "Why do you say that?"

"Last night, there were several strangers loitering on the street. They didn't look like good people. I saw them standing under your window for a long time."

"This morning, I found a cigarette butt on my doorstep. Those cigars are expensive; people in our neighborhood can't afford them."

Although Mrs. Dalton was just an ordinary landlady, she had lived in this neighborhood for decades and was very sensitive to everything around her.

Arthur knew he couldn't hide it from her, and sighed:

"Madam, I have indeed encountered some trouble. But please rest assured, after I move out, no one will bother you."

Mrs. Dalton's eyes reddened:

"Child, you are a good person. I knew it from the first day you moved in."

"I've been reading your articles these past few days. Although I don't quite understand those grand principles, I know you're speaking up for us ordinary people."

"I understand that those powerful people don't like you. But don't be afraid of them, child. God will protect the good."

Arthur's eyes welled up with tears. He took Mrs. Dalton's hand:

"Thank you, madam. I will remember your words."

In the afternoon, Isabella drove to pick up Arthur.

Her car was a black Packard sedan, which stood out in the neighborhood.

"Have you packed everything?" Isabella asked.

"That's about it. Actually, there's not much stuff." Arthur carried the two suitcases into the car.

Isabella looked at the dilapidated apartment building, a sense of melancholy washing over her. Having grown up in affluent circumstances, she had never truly understood the lives of ordinary people.

"Arthur, I'd like to take you to see a few places. They're all near Park Slope, close to the newspaper office," Isabella said.

Arthur was somewhat surprised: "Park Slope? The houses there must be very expensive, right?"

"That was true before. But now... things are different."

The car drove toward Park Slope, a historic middle-class neighborhood known for its beautiful brownstone townhouses.

Before the stock market crash, this was one of the most desirable residential areas in New York. Most of the residents were lawyers, doctors, and successful businessmen.

The emerging middle class who amassed wealth during the Roaring Twenties.

But now, the streets are full of "For Sale" signs.

Isabella parked her car in front of a three-story brownstone villa. The house looked well-maintained and had a small garden in front.

Isabella explained, "The owner of this house was a stockbroker. He suffered heavy losses in the stock market crash and now has to sell the house."

A middle-aged man walked out of the house. He was wearing a suit that used to be very presentable but was now wrinkled, and his face was full of fatigue and anxiety.

He forced a smile and took Arthur's hand:

"Hello, I'm Robert Thompson. Welcome to view the property."

Upon entering the house, you are greeted by a spacious living room, an exquisite fireplace, oak floors, and a crystal chandelier.

Every detail here reveals the owner's former wealth.

Thompson explained, "I bought this house five years ago. It cost me $25,000. My wife, two children, and I have been living here ever since."

"We originally planned to live here for the rest of our lives."

His voice was choked with emotion.

"Then why sell it?" Arthur couldn't help but ask.

Thompson gave a wry smile: "Because I went bankrupt."

He showed Arthur and Isabella around the house, telling them his story as they walked.

"I'm a stockbroker who has worked on Wall Street for fifteen years. When the stock market is good, I can earn $50,000 a year."

"I think I'm smart and successful. I bought this house, a car, and sent my kids to private school. My wife goes shopping at the department store every week."

"We live a decent middle-class life."

He stopped at the door of a room on the second floor, which was the children's bedroom. The children's drawings were still pasted on the walls.

Thompson's voice grew heavy.

"But I made a mistake. I used the house as collateral to take out a loan and bought more stocks."

"I thought the stock market would keep going up. Everyone said so. The newspapers said it, the radio said it, my colleagues all said it."

"We believe this is a 'new era' and the economy will prosper forever."

Arthur listened in silence. This was the collective illusion of the entire American society on the eve of the 1929 stock market crash.

"Then, Black Thursday came. My stocks dropped forty percent in one day. The next day they dropped another thirty percent."

"My investment of $100,000 turned into less than $20,000 in a week."

"To make matters worse, the mortgage I took out on the house has come due. The bank is demanding that I pay it off immediately or they will foreclose on the house."

"I don't have the money to pay back. All my savings are in the stock market."

He walked to the window and looked at the street outside:

"Did you see those 'For Sale' signs? There are at least ten houses for sale on this street."

"We're all the same. We all think we're smart, we all think we've seized the opportunity to get rich. But we're all wrong."

"One failed investment attempt has shattered all our defenses."