Frederick didn't seem to have convinced his father. After all, this kind of thing isn't easy to believe. The market had been booming for too long—people were confident.
Even though industrial capacity in the U.S. had dropped below 75% and new investments had been halved, how would the average person know? All they felt was that life was calm, with no major changes.
This morning's court session was easy for Niall. Both cases involved German-Americans, so Frederick had to do most of the work. He was diligent and responsible, though he looked somewhat preoccupied. Niall wasn't sure if he was still thinking about what they'd discussed that morning. Probably.
Since the cases didn't involve Irish-Americans, Niall was free to slip away for a bit. Aunt Gingie had successfully withdrawn her money—nearly $5,000 in total. Two lives and over twenty years of savings, and that was all.
At that moment, a two-bedroom apartment in Queens, Long Island, was selling for $3,999. For an ordinary person, it would take a lifetime to own an apartment in New York. By the way, the developer of that apartment was someone everyone would one day know—or rather, they would know his son.
Donald Trump (born June 14, 1946)!
His father, Fred Trump, was then busy developing properties in Pennsylvania, New York, Virginia, and elsewhere, eventually leaving Donald a vast fortune worth hundreds of millions. But money wasn't the most important thing—what mattered more was the gift of eloquence and expression he passed on.
Hahahahahahaha…
Alright, enough about that. After withdrawing her money and making a rare trip to town, Aunt Gingie wanted to bring something home. She bought a few odds and ends, then hurried back—there were livestock to care for. She was always like that, unable to sit still. Niall had no choice but to ask someone to take her home.
She probably wanted to hide the money somewhere secret before she could relax. Understandable. So Niall didn't ask her to stay for lunch. After watching her leave, he returned to the courthouse.
The case in session involved a German-American miner who, after a few drinks, got into an argument and then a fight. Both sides were injured and blamed each other, demanding medical expenses. The heated argument continued in heavily accented German, which Niall couldn't understand at all.
Germany, before the end of World War I, was the so-called Second Reich—a patchwork of kingdoms, duchies, electorates, and free states. There were four kings alone. Without Bismarck's forceful unification, the German states might never have come together.
Naturally, though they were all German-American, those from different regions weren't particularly united or friendly. Even within Germany, they fought all the time.
Niall didn't bother judging too much—he just watched Frederick diligently translate the fiery back-and-forth between the two old Germans.
Eventually, he gave both sides a symbolic punishment and wrapped up the case. The morning court session was over. An exhausted Frederick pulled himself together and approached Niall, just as expected.
"Why do you think we should withdraw all the money now?"
"Gut feeling," Niall shrugged, unable to explain further.
"Come on, let's talk over lunch."
Determined to get an answer, Frederick hastily stored the documents and led Niall to the temporary dining hall. Once seated, he jumped right in with questions.
———
"You're telling me that Gallagher's kid thinks an economic crisis is coming soon?"
Frederick's father, Barend, asked while balancing a pencil on his ear and scribbling figures. He clearly didn't believe in such talk—if anything, he scoffed at it.
After all, his hotel business was doing fine, and his bootlegging operation was thriving. Come payday, there were endless miners looking to drink and have fun. Where was the sign of a crisis? Far from it—it seemed like boom times to him.
"Niall's right—there are coal mines in Wheeling that have been seized by banks because falling coal sales meant they couldn't repay their loans," Frederick said, pulling out a court report.
"Huh?" Barend finally stopped working and took a look.
"It's just an isolated case," he said after reading it carefully, still skeptical.
Business has its ups and downs. For every success, there's someone who fails. Even during good times, a few unlucky or poorly managed businesses were bound to collapse.
"It's easy to check. Just go to the Great Lakes region and see if the factories are still running and whether they've cut workers." Frederick didn't bother arguing anymore.
Practice proves everything.
They had to travel to the Great Lakes region every month anyway to smuggle in bootleg liquor. Even without this situation, the father and son would still go. The railway system linking their county to the Great Lakes and East Coast states was well-developed, with daily coal trains—perfect for hiding a few barrels of liquor.
"Alright!" Barend agreed without hesitation.
After all, this concerned his own savings. He wasn't as calm as he looked. He folded the court report and tucked it into his vest pocket, then seemed to remember something.
"You go with him!"
"Got it!"
As mentioned, Frederick had always wanted to recruit Niall to help manage the hotel. With his Irish roots, familiarity, and shared background, he was a perfect candidate.
Now, with this trip, and with liquor to be bought from underground groups, bringing Niall along was almost like revealing family secrets. A show of brotherly trust.
If everything went smoothly and the profits looked better than the $40–50 a month Niall could make risking his life in the mines, surely he'd be moved to join the hotel.
Soon after, the second circuit court of West Virginia wrapped up its week-long session in Brooke County. Niall was paid ten dollars. Judge Edward also asked him to come back next year as court clerk. Of course, Niall readily agreed. Earning ten dollars a week this easily was rare for a farm boy.
What he didn't know was that good ol' Frederick had already bought two train tickets.
Two tickets to Pittsburgh.