America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

At 1 p.m., Arthur finally squeezed out of the subway station.

The streets of Manhattan have descended into complete chaos.

Normally impeccably dressed and composed financial elites are now wandering the streets like headless flies.

Some people squatted on the roadside, clutching their briefcases and wailing, some waved their fists wildly at the air, and others slumped on the sidewalk, staring blankly at the sky.

Most of these people use 10% of their margin to borrow money to speculate on stocks.

Simply put, many people only have 1 yuan in their hands, but invest 10 yuan in the stock market. If the stock price drops by 10%, they will lose everything.

The sirens wailed incessantly.

Arthur saw police tape being put up around an office building not far away, and several officers were dispersing the crowd. He knew without asking that someone else had jumped from the building.

The newsstands lining both sides of the street were packed with people. Everyone was frantically buying newspapers, hoping to find a glimmer of hope, or at least an explanation, in those printed words.

"The New York Times is sold out!"

"The Wall Street Journal is gone too!"

"Is the New York Daily News still around? I want to read that 'honest man's' articles! He was right! He was right all along!"

Upon hearing this, Arthur paused slightly.

He saw a news vendor holding a copy of the New York Daily News, surrounded by a dozen people. They were jostling to pull out their money, and some even shouted, "I'll pay double!"

"Everyone, everyone! Don't push! Today's *New York Daily News* is sold out! This is yesterday's stock, it includes the article 'Van Dyke's Stock Market Diary'! Five cents a copy, first come, first served!"

Five cents?

Arthur remembered that the newspaper normally cost two cents. This news vendor was taking advantage of the situation, while the usually shrewd New Yorkers readily handed over their money.

"Give me one!"

"I want two!"

"Damn it, get out of the way! I was here first!"

The crowd nearly overturned the newsstand.

Arthur saw a well-dressed old gentleman wrestling with a young man over a newspaper, his top hat falling to the ground and being trampled to pieces.

Arthur stood not far away, watching this scene, a complex and indescribable emotion welling up inside him.

His article, the one that only earned him twenty dollars and which Hearst said had "mediocre sales," is now being snapped up for five cents a copy.

"Irony, utterly ironic."

He turned and continued walking towards the newspaper building.

The entrance to the New York Daily News building was completely blocked by a crowd. Security guards formed a human wall, desperately trying to stop those who attempted to rush in.

"I want to see that 'honest man'!"

"Let him out! Let him tell us what's going to happen next!"

"He must know something! He must know something else!"

The crowd was almost frenzied. Some were crying and shouting, some were cursing, and some were kneeling on the ground praying.

Arthur stood on the periphery of the crowd, watching all this, when suddenly a chill ran down his spine.

He realized that he had done more than just write a prophetic article. Unwittingly, he had become the last lifeline for these desperate people.

They weren't trying to thank him; they wanted answers from him. What should they do next? Would the stock market continue to fall? Could they recover their money?

"Damn it," Arthur muttered under his breath.

He suddenly understood why true prophets often met tragic ends. Because people wouldn't appreciate your warnings; they would only blame you for not speaking up sooner, or for not providing enough detail.

Arthur went around to the side entrance of the building, where there were relatively fewer people. He took out his work ID and showed it to the security guard.

"Mr. Kennedy!" The security guard's eyes lit up when he saw him.

"You're finally back! Editor-in-Chief Jason was going crazy; the entire editorial department was looking for you! Come on in!"

The security guard practically shoved Arthur into the building and then quickly closed the door, shutting out the frantic shouts from outside.

Inside the elevator, Arthur leaned against the cold metal wall and closed his eyes.

His heart was pounding, a mixture of extreme excitement and fear.

He told himself, "I just wrote an article. I just wrote down what I knew. I have no obligation to save everyone, nor can I save everyone."

But he knew that from this day forward, his life would be completely changed.

The elevator doors opened, and before Arthur could even take a step out, he was surrounded by a group of people.

"Janedy!"

"Arthur!"

"You're finally back!"

Editor-in-Chief Jensen was at the forefront, his face flushed red, his tie askew, and he looked like he had just finished a marathon.

"Do you know? Do you know what's happening outside?!"

Jason grabbed Arthur's shoulders and shook him violently.

"Your article! Your article is viral! No, not just viral, it's exploded! Everyone's looking for you! Everyone wants to know how you predicted it!"

"Editor-in-chief, calm down." Arthur tried to appear composed. "I just..."

"Just what? Just a coincidence? Just good luck?"

Brent pushed his way out of the crowd; his eyes were red and swollen, clearly from crying.

"Arthur, you wrote that article two days in advance. You described every detail of the crash clearly: the big players pumping up the price to unload their shares, retail investors frantically chasing the rally, and ultimately losing everything. This isn't luck, this is... this is..."

He couldn't continue, because he himself was that retail investor who had "lost everything".

"This is inside information."

A voice came from deep within the office.

The crowd automatically parted to make way.

William Hearst walked out of his office.

The media mogul's expression was unusually complex, a mixture of admiration for Arthur's talent, apprehension about his background, and a shrewd calculation typical of businessmen.

"Mr. Kennedy, I think we need to have a serious talk."

Hearst walked up to Arthur and looked him up and down with a scrutinizing gaze.

Arthur met Hearst's gaze without flinching.

"Of course, Mr. Hearst," he said calmly.

"But before that, I'd like to ask a question: regarding what you said yesterday about 'free trial manuscripts,' does that still count?"

The office was deathly silent.

Everyone held their breath, waiting for Hearst's answer.

Hearst stared at Arthur for a full ten seconds, then suddenly burst out laughing.

"You're very smart, Kennedy."

"No, that doesn't count. From now on, you're a financial commentator for the New York Daily News, earning fifty dollars a week. Your column will be on the front page, and the title will be..."

He paused for a moment, a glint of light flashing in his eyes.

"How about we call it 'The Honest Man's Observations'?

Fifty dollars.

Arthur quickly did the math in his head. It was 2.5 times his previous weekly wage, enough for him to rent a decent apartment in New York and even occasionally dine at an upscale restaurant.

"Deal." Arthur held out his hand.

Hearst took his hand and squeezed it firmly.

"Welcome to the real game, Mr. Kennedy."

Hearst whispered, "But I must warn you, from today onwards, you will be the most talked-about person in all of New York. Some will see you as a savior, some as a fraud, and some... will want you dead. Are you ready?"

Arthur looked into Hearst's deep eyes and suddenly smiled.

"Mr. Hearst, I have never been so well prepared."