MIB Headquarters, Nanjing, Jiangsu, Republic of China, 25 May 1925
"Another one," Rachel announced, before tossing another folder on his desk. "JP Morgan this time."
"Again?" Marty couldn't believe it. In fact, neither could she. "Britain?"
"Seeing that our people have finished sorting through all the paperwork from Italy, Austria, and Germany? Yes."
"Christ. How many does this put us at?"
"The usual suspects, Marty." Rachel added another tally to the whiteboard in his office. "JP Morgan, Brown Brothers, Kuhn Loeb, and Kidder Peabody."
"So all four big ones?" Rachel nodded. "And they're all over the place."
The mess of string, photographs, and pins on his wall were all they needed to know the answer.
"The four biggest banks were bankrolling the war effort, Marty. The enemy war effort, anyways."
"American neutrality, my ass," he grumbled. "All I want to know is why they would do this when the odds were stacked against them?"
"Insider trading."
"You sure about that, Rachel? I mean, I wouldn't put it past them, but do banks even invest in stocks?"
She shrugged. "One way or another. That, and we have evidence of it."
"You're shitting me," he said, to which she handed him a second folder. "Okay, maybe not. Huh. Personal memos from the Foreign Secretary's office?"
"It's the best we could do, since Balfour lit his diary on fire before he surrendered."
"Of course he did. So, that's how JP Morgan and the others were making their money back. They give out a loan, then they buy stock in companies the Alliance would buy from. They get dividends, and the stock appreciates in value."
"More or less," Rachel figured. She wasn't much of an economist, but that was what the analysis had told her. "What is the phrase in America? Double-dipping?"
"Yeah. And from the looks of it, the other banks were doing something similar. It's not surprising, though. War is good for business."
"Certain businesses, anyways."
"Right. That's the problem, though. 'Invest in military-related industries so we can profit off of the war' isn't really evidence of insider trading. It's common sense."
"Which is why the memo from Balfour's office is useful. It shows intent from JP Morgan."
"That, and the fact that Teddy Roosevelt pushed through his own version of the Securities Act during his second term as part of his platform."
"Which means they were committing an actual crime, Marty. One that Brown Brothers, Kuhn Loeb, and Kidder Peabody likely committed as well."
"Do we have evidence of that?" Rachel shook her head. "Fuck."
"The implication is there, Marty. But even then, they were all war-profiteering. That much is common knowledge."
"I don't think that's a crime, Rachel. Fucked up? Sure. But not a crime."
"Neither is loaning out your depositors' money," Rachel figured, "Money that they might not be getting back."
"Oh. Fuck."
"Precisely."
"Do they know? The American people, I mean."
She needed a second to think of the best way to put it.
"Technically yes."
"So let me get this straight: The four largest banks in America committed insider trading by war profiteering off the knowledge of loans they gave to various European countries that don't exist anymore, so they probably aren't getting their money back?"
"More or less."
"Great. Welp, looks like I'm going to have to make a call."
Chen Residence, Ishigaki, Taiwan, Republic of China, 25 May 1925
Military glory were nice, but he would take time with his wife and children, any day.
Even if his children were still getting the hang of D&D.
Just when their party had finished committing insurance fraud against a corrupt noble (It was a long story that he didn't think would actually work), his phone rang.
"General Chen speaking."
Wow, that still feels weird to say.
"Hey Mike," his best friend greeted. "Can I ask you a favor?"
"Kinda in the middle of something. What's up?"
"Is that Uncle Marty?!" Morgan shouted from the living room. "TELL HIM I SAID HI!"
"Morgan…" her twin brother groaned.
"LIN SAYS HI, TOO!"
"The kids say hi, Marty."
"So I've heard. Hey, you're pen pals with Smedley Butler, right?"
"It's a correspondence, Marty."
"Yeah, sure, whatever. Anyways, could you give me his address?"
"Sure, I guess," Michael figured. "What for?"
"Intel stuff, and he's the only person with ties to the US government any of us know."
"There's Ambassador Lea."
"Okay, let me rephrase that: He's the only person with ties to the US government any of us know, who isn't pissed off about us invading Britain."
"Don't you run an entire branch of an intel agency that is focused around gathering information?"
"It's quicker to just ask you," Marty figured, "So do you have it?"
"I'll text it to you," Michael promised. "Wait? This isn't some weird MIB op, is it?"
"No, just good old-fashioned intel sharing."
Butler Residence, Chester County, Pennsylvania, United States of America, 20 June 1925
Smedley Butler had done many tasks, from soldiering, to commanding, to everything in between.
He could now add "whistleblowing" to this list, since he had the box of papers in the passenger's seat of his car.
"You might want to read this," said a cryptic note taped on the lid. "And bring it to the right people."
Which was what had brought him here, to his family's home.
As far as "the right people" went, he could do much worse than a US representative from Pennsylvania.
