America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

Chapter 101 Does He Have a Bottom Line? (Published 6/10)

San Simeon, California.

Hearst Castle remains magnificent, but in the eyes of its owner, William Hearst, it has lost its former glory.

He was holding a copy of The New York Times, which provided a detailed account of the "rabbit movement" taking place in New York.

What alarmed him even more was that the circulation of The New York Daily had fallen to an all-time low.

That article, "This Is a Murder," completely cemented the New York Daily's place in the annals of shame.

Although the murder was committed by Dillard, in the public eye, Hearst, as an ally of the Tammony Society, as the plaintiff in the defamation case, and as a media mogul who had been attacking Arthur in the newspapers and whitewashing corruption, was the one who handed him the knife.

The codename "Curly" was like a branding iron, deeply imprinted on Hearst's forehead.

Thomas, editor-in-chief of the New York Daily News, spoke in a trembling voice over the phone: "Boss, shouldn't we call a ceasefire?"

Hearst remained silent for a long time.

Throughout his life, he has defeated countless opponents, from politicians to business tycoons. He is accustomed to crushing everything with money and public opinion.

But this time, he faced an opponent he had never seen before: a young man who didn't play by the rules and didn't even care about the game's rules.

Arthur Kennedy not only understands the news, but also the human heart. He deconstructs power with his novels, awakens conscience with his stories, and breaks down the strongest alliances of interests with the simplest emotions.

Hearst gave a wry smile: "Ceasefire? What's the point of a ceasefire now? They've already got bayonets to our throats."

1

"Then—what do we do? Keep fighting?"

Hearst suddenly erupted in fury: "What the hell! If you keep hitting it, the New York Daily News will become toilet paper! No, even worse than toilet paper, at least toilet paper doesn't make you feel disgusted!"

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. As a shrewd businessman, Hearst knew when to cut his losses.

"Contact Kennedy."

Hearst's voice carried a deep weariness.

"Tell him we want to settle. Drop all lawsuits against him and publish an apology on the front page."

Thomas exclaimed, "Boss, that's the face of the New York Daily News!"

Hearst said coldly, "Face? What's face worth? If we don't apologize, and the state prosecutor actually brings Dira back and traces the money chain we used to transfer funds to that clerk, then it won't just be face we lose, it will be the entire newspaper empire!"

Hearst added, "Also, ask him how much compensation he wants. Fifty thousand? One hundred thousand? I'll give him whatever he asks for."

Thomas said, "Yes—I'll take care of it right away."

After hanging up the phone, Hearst slumped into the antique chair that was supposedly owned by Louis XVI of France.

Looking out at the California sunshine, he suddenly felt very old.

The once-powerful newspaper tycoon who aspired to be president was utterly defeated by a young upstart.

Thomas Duane, the once-glorious editor-in-chief of the New York Daily News, is now sitting in a cheap fast-food restaurant called "Joe's Restaurant" in Lower Manhattan.

He was sitting opposite Arthur Kennedy.

Thomas took a deep breath and pulled a document from his briefcase: "Mr. Kennedy, this is the final offer from your boss—Mr. Hearst. Fifty thousand dollars. This is compensation for the damage to your reputation, and for the previous misunderstanding—reparation."

Fifty thousand dollars.

At the beginning of 1930, this was a huge sum of money.

But Arthur didn't even glance at the check and continued chewing his beef.

Arthur swallowed his food and sneered, "A misunderstanding? Mr. Thomas, you call bribing a clerk, fabricating evidence, and even sending an assassin to strangle a witness a misunderstanding?"

Cold sweat beaded on Thomas's forehead: "The assassin thing—we really didn't know anything about it. It was Dillah's doing. Mr. Hearst is a businessman; he has his bottom line."

Arthur seemed to have heard a joke: "Bottom line? Mr. Hearst's bottom line is that he has no bottom line. He fabricated news during the Spanish-American War, and now he's fabricating lies during the economic crisis. The only difference is that no one dared to expose him before, but now I have."

Arthur finally put down the sandwich, picked up the check, and flicked it, making a crisp sound.

"I'll accept the money. I'll donate half of it to the Unemployment Relief Fund and the other half to expand the New York Herald's printing plant."

Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. As long as he was willing to take the money, things would be easy.

Arthur changed the subject: "However, regarding the apology statement, I already discussed it on the phone. It has to be issued according to my draft."

Thomas pulled a sheet of paper from another document; it was Arthur's draft statement. His facial muscles twitched as he read the words again.

"JFK Kennedy, this is going too far. Admit to malicious fabrication," "abuse of media power," "apologize to the citizens of New York"—if this is published, it's not just an apology, it's an obituary for the *New York Daily News*!

Arthur stared into Thomas's eyes: "Do you think the New York Daily News is still alive? From the moment you decided to side with the Tammany Society and treat the public like fools, you were already dead. Now you're just rotting corpses."

Thomas said, "Mr. Hearst will not agree to this wording. It will ruin the newspaper's reputation!"

Arthur pointed out the window.

Outside the restaurant window, several newsboys were hawking their wares.

The large stack of New York Daily News they were holding was almost completely ignored, while the newsboy next to them with the New York Herald had already sold out his entire stock.

One passing worker even mistakenly bought a copy of the New York Daily News from a newsboy, then threw it straight into the trash can, muttering, "It's too hard to even wipe Curry's ass."

Arthur withdrew his finger: "Do you see clearly? You have no reputation left. Now, your only way out is to cut your losses. By issuing this statement, Mr. Hearst can still keep his newspapers in other cities. If you don't—"

Arthur leaned forward and lowered his voice: "I have several other financial documents provided by Judge Samuel, which, while not fully verified, are enough to cause the sales of other Hearst newspapers to drop by half again."

This is a blatant threat.

But Thomas knew that Arthur could do it.

The Arthur Kennedy of today is not just a writer; he is a special advisor wielding the power of the Investigative Committee.

Thomas slumped into the chair, as if all his strength had been drained away.

He managed to say with difficulty, "Okay—it'll be on the front page tomorrow. We'll publish it."

Arthur nodded in satisfaction, picked up the $50,000 check, and put it in his pocket.

Arthur stood up and tossed a coin. "A wise choice. This meal's on me. Also, Mr. Thomas, as a fellow journalist, I have a piece of advice: find another job soon. The New York Daily News is a scuttler ship."