Chapter 513: East Coast Elite

"Speaking of gold," said another man, younger, about sixty, his hair meticulously combed, "Prime Minister, was your meeting with the President today… successful?"

Asquith recognized the face. Jacob Shiff, head of the Kuen-Lob Company, Morgan's biggest rival on Wall Street. Unlike Morgan's flamboyant American style, Shiff was more restrained and cautious, bearing the meticulousness typical of a German‑Jewish banker.

"President Wilson is a man of principle," Asquith chose his words carefully, "He understands the difficulties we face, yet he maintains Meilika's neutral stance. However, he has shown… reasonable interest in the economic data."

"Interest won't win a war." A third voice entered the conversation. This time it was a younger man, under fifty, blond hair, blue eyes, a handsome face of Swedish descent. Bernard Baruk, a self‑taught financial prodigy, one of President Wilson's informal economic advisers. "The President must be persuaded, and persuasion requires evidence—not military evidence, but evidence that voters can understand."

Asquith looked at Baruk. This man was crucial. He was not from a traditional Eastern family; he carved out his own realm on Wall Street through talent, and therefore understood the mindset of ordinary Meilika people even better. More importantly, his private friendship with Wilson was solid.

"What suggestions do you have, Mr. Baruk?"

The waiter silently approached, refilling each person's glass. Baruk waited until the waiter left, then lowered his voice and said:

"Meilika people don't care about territorial changes in Europe, they don't care who rules Alssas‑Lorraine, and they barely understand the difference between 'monarchy' and 'republic.' But they care about two things: first, their own wallets; second, moral justice."

He took a sip of his drink and continued:

"The economic data, you've already shown the President. Those numbers are important, but they only affect bankers, industrialists, and members of Congress. Ordinary people can't read balance sheets, but they can read newspaper headlines."

"What do you mean?"

"A story," Baruk's eyes glittered in the candlelight, "People need a story. A simple, clear story that can stir anger and sympathy. What did Deguo do? Not occupy factories, not move troops—those are too abstract. They T‑killed civilians, forced X women, burned churches. They are outright barbarians, while Yingguo and Faguo are the front line defending civilization."

The firewood in the fireplace crackled. The room's temperature seemed to rise a few degrees.

"But," Asquith said cautiously, "These accusations need evidence. Deguo people indeed committed excesses in Bilishi, but large‑scale X killings…"

"Evidence can be found, or… presented," said Cecil Spring‑Rice, the Yingguo ambassador to the United States. The 57‑year‑old veteran diplomat had stood quietly in the corner all night, only now stepping forward. "We intercepted some Deguo military communications that contain… unsettling content. There are also testimonies from Bilishi refugees. Of course, some editing and organization is needed to make the story more compelling."

Morgan tapped the floor lightly with his cane.

【7】 "Sir Spring‑Rice, when can the 'materials' you mentioned be provided to the media?"

"Sir Sprin‑Lais, when can you provide these 'materials' you mentioned to the media?"

"Within a week," the ambassador replied, "I've already contacted the publisher of the New York Times, Adolf Ochs, who is very interested. Also the Chicago Forum, the Los Angeles Times… The key is to release them simultaneously, creating a nationwide wave of public opinion."

"Ochs is a cautious man," Shiff commented, "He won't publish unverified news."

"So we need to 'verify' it," Baruk continued, "We can arrange some 'independent journalists'—actually Yingguo intelligence officers—to conduct on‑the‑ground reporting in Bilishi and bring back 'first‑hand reports.' At the same time, enlist prestigious public figures, such as former President Roosevelt, to publicly condemn Deguo's 'atrocities.' Teddy has been eager to join the war; he'd gladly help."

Asquith listened to the conversation and felt a bit dazed. This was the other side of modern war—not pulling triggers in trenches, but in a luxurious club, glass in hand, calmly plotting how to manipulate millions of minds. This battle produced no smoke, yet was equally lethal.

"One more issue," Morgan's voice pulled Asquith back to reality, "Even if public opinion shifts, even if the people begin to sympathize with the Allies, to get Congress to pass a war declaration we still need a more direct reason. A reason that threatens Meilika's homeland security."

The room fell silent. Everyone knew what Morgan meant—a 'Pearl Harbor incident,' though that metaphor wouldn't be coined for another twenty‑plus years.

Spring‑Rice cleared his throat.

"In fact," he said, his voice even lower, "We recently intercepted a… very interesting diplomatic cable from the Deguo Foreign Ministry to their embassy in Mexico City. It concerns that if Meilika shows a clear pro‑Allied tilt, Deguo will propose a military alliance with Mexico. In return, Deguo will support Mexico's 'recovery' of territories lost in the US‑Mexico War—Texas, New Mexico, Arizona."

A deathly silence.

Baruk was the first to react: "Is this telegram… reliable?"

"We are confident it is genuine," Spring‑Rice said, "But it is still en route, encrypted and forwarded through Yingguo diplomatic channels. It is expected to arrive in Mexico City in a week."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. The old banker's mind raced at high speed, calculating the value of the intelligence and how to use it.

"If the contents of this telegram were made public…" Shiff said slowly.

"That would change everything," Baruk finished for him, "No Meilika person, whether from the East Coast or the West Coast, whether Republican or Democrat, could tolerate foreign powers plotting to split our land. This is the perfect justification for war."

"But timing is crucial," Morgan said, tapping Spring‑Rice with his cane, "Sir, can you control when this telegram is 'discovered'?"

The ambassador smiled, "We've already arranged it. The telegram will be 'caught' and decrypted by our intelligence officers at a… suitable moment, 'just' in time. Then, it will be leaked to the media through 'appropriate channels.'"

Asquith felt a chill. Not because of the plans themselves—as Prime Minister he was already accustomed to political intrigue and calculation—but because of the calm with which they discussed it, as if debating a business deal, an investment plan. Human lives, a nation's fate, became variables to be manipulated in their mouths.

"Prime Minister?" Morgan noted his silence, "Do you have any doubts?"