America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

At 4:50 p.m., Hearst’s office door remained closed.

The financial section, however, was already filled with an unspoken atmosphere of anticipation.

Brent, the senior editor of the social section, strolled over to the cubicle next to editor-in-chief Jason with his coffee cup in hand and leaned casually against the partition.

"If you ask me, Jason, no one but you deserves that twenty dollars tomorrow, and the columns that follow."

Jason sat in his leather swivel chair, not immediately displaying his usual humility. He leaned back, unable to suppress the smile on his lips.

"The results haven't been announced yet, Mr. Brent Hearst. He has his reasons."

Jimmy, the young editor of the financial section, leaned over: "What are you considering? We were just saying that the financial section is all up to you, editor-in-chief. We can't rely on a young guy like Kennedy who can only run errands."

This made Brent chuckle softly.

Jason then raised his hand and smiled, "Young man, it doesn't hurt to get to know people at the grassroots level. But financial commentary is ultimately about expertise and perspective."

Brent picked up the conversation: "So it's you. I heard that they're thinking of creating a new deputy editor-in-chief position specifically for economic news..."

Jason's eyes flashed almost imperceptibly for a moment, then returned to their usual calm:

"I'm just doing my job well. Brent, your social section needs to follow up with its reports quickly."

The surrounding editors echoed his sentiments, and amidst the subtle flattery, Jason almost burst out laughing.

Just then, the door to the boss's office opened. William Hearst walked out, carrying a stack of manuscript papers.

"It seems everyone has submitted theirs. Now, let's announce the results."

Everyone held their breath.

He picked up the top one, glanced at the title, didn't even raise an eyebrow, and casually placed it on an empty desk next to him.

"Brent, *The Ordinary Person's Guide to Investing*. It's safe, but too much like a textbook table of contents. Not exciting enough."

Brent's face darkened, and he remained silent.

The second book was Jimmy's "The Cleaner's Stock Market Diary." Hearst glanced at it, let out a soft hum, it was hard to tell if it was a laugh or something else, and put it aside.

"The characters are interesting, but the conclusions are superficial. The stock market is not a fairy tale."

Jimmy's face flushed red, and he shrank back, wishing he could disappear into the ledger in front of him.

The third, the fourth... one manuscript after another was picked up, examined, and placed on the ever-growing pile of "rejection tables" next to it.

With each copy placed down, an editor's expression grew increasingly somber; some sighed, others shook their heads in resignation.

Jason's lips began to curl into an uncontrollable smile. His manuscript wasn't among the ones that had been rejected.

Hearst only had three left.

He picked up another copy and read the title aloud: "This one, 'How Hollywood Stars Manage Their Finances.' It's quite lively, but it's more suitable for the entertainment section. We need economic commentary, not celebrity anecdotes."

Only two copies left. Jason's heart raced. He saw the title of one of the copies in Hearst's hand, "How Long Can the Bull Market Last?", which was his work.

Hearst picked up Jensen's copy. He quickly flipped through a few pages, his face expressionless.

"Jansen's article provides a comprehensive analysis and solid data, and systematically demonstrates the optimistic outlook for the current market."

Jason's face practically glowed, and he straightened his back. The editors around him exchanged knowing glances.

But Hearst quickly changed the subject: "We've seen this style a lot in the past six months. Newspapers and magazines are full of articles that are optimistic about the market outlook and encourage people to enter."

He paused, put the manuscript aside, and said, "Readers will inevitably feel that they are all the same after reading too many of these articles."

The editing room was silent. Jason's smile froze on his face.

He picked up another sheet of paper, the one that looked the thinnest.

"The title of this article, 'Van Dyke's Stock Market Notes,' is quite interesting."

The editorial office fell silent. Nobody had ever heard of this headline.

The signature is "Honest Man on Wall Street".

Whispers broke out.

Who wrote it?

"An honest man? There are no honest men on Wall Street!"

"What kind of pen name is this...?"

Hearst ignored the discussion and began reading. The only sound in the office was the rustling of his pages turning.

He flipped through a few pages, initially just raising an eyebrow.

When he reached the part where Van Dyke started rambling incoherently, the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch slightly, but he quickly regained his seriousness. He read more slowly than he had ever read before.

Finally, he put down the manuscript and looked around.

He cleared his throat: "This piece is written in a very different style. It's not the typical financial commentary we usually see. It doesn't preach any grand principles, nor does it present much data; it tells a... somewhat absurd story."

The editors looked at each other, puzzled by their boss's meaning.

Hearst tapped his fingers on the manuscript paper, as if carefully choosing his words.

"Jansen's articles are certainly more professional and better meet our usual expectations for financial news. However... readers might be tired of newspapers filled with 'rises,' 'opportunities,' and 'prosperity' every day."

He picked up the manuscript of "Van Dyke's Stock Market Notes" and looked at it again.

"This article takes a unique angle, even bordering on...contrarian. It doesn't explicitly say the market is bad, but the almost foolish fervor in the story is quite interesting."

He paused for a moment, then said, "I've decided to publish this tomorrow."

Hearst looked up, his gaze sweeping across the editorial office: "Who wrote this? Step forward, and the twenty dollars are yours."

He paused. "Who wrote this? Step forward."

No one moved.

The editors looked at each other, bewildered. No one admitted it.

Hearst frowned: "You're afraid to admit you're using a pseudonym?"

He looked towards the front desk: "Dorothy, did you see who submitted the manuscript?"

Dorothy stood up from her seat, somewhat hesitantly: "Mr. Hearst, I saw...it was Mr. Kennedy who submitted the manuscript. Around 4:15 p.m.

"Janette?" Hearst raised an eyebrow. "Which Kennedy?"

"Arthur Kennedy, assistant editor of the financial section."

The office erupted in chaos.

"What?! Impossible, absolutely impossible."

Jason was the first to stand up, his face flushed red.

Brent shook his head as well: "Dorothy, are you sure you're not mistaken? That Kennedy kid..."

Jimmy's eyes widened: "Wasn't he sent to the docks for an interview by Editor-in-Chief Jason this afternoon?"

"He even needs permission to change a punctuation mark," the female editor Margaret whispered.

Hearst raised his hand to stop the murmurs. He looked at Dorothy: "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Dorothy nodded. "I also asked him about his pen name. He said 'Honest Man of Wall Street' is his pen name."

Hearst was silent for a few seconds, then laughed: "Interesting."

He slapped the manuscript into Jason's arms.

"Look at yourself, Jason. See how others write economics."

Jason took the manuscript with trembling hands.

The editors behind him swarmed around him—Brent, Jimmy, Margaret—all eyes fixed on the leaping black text.

As the reading progressed, gasps of breath rose and fell throughout the office.

The manuscript circulated in the editorial department. Everyone who read it had the same expression: shock, disbelief, and disbelief.

"Could it be plagiarism?" someone whispered.

"What are you plagiarizing?" Hearst asked. "Has anyone seen a similar story? Can anyone find an article with the exact same structure, writing style, and satirical angle?"

No one spoke.

Hearst pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it.

Amidst the swirling smoke, he said slowly, "The article will be in the paper tomorrow. Twenty dollars for the article; I'll give it to him when Kennedy gets back."

Jensen's face instantly turned ashen.