After the introductions, President Roosevelt gestured for the men to take seats around the room's grand central table.
The lineup was formidable. On one side sat the industrial giants: J.P. Morgan, leaning back, his eyes permanently fixed on the young Michael Kingston; Elbert Henry Gary, the meticulous head of U.S. Steel; and Henry Clay Frick, the hard-bitten, tireless industrialist and Director of U.S. Steel. On the opposite side sat the representatives of the government: President Theodore Roosevelt, the center of gravity; Secretary of the Treasury George B. Cortelyou, whose face betrayed the exhaustion of trying to manage the panic using Treasury funds; and finally, the Kingstons.
The Kingstons' presence in this room, at this moment, was a testament to the sheer, terrifying speed of their ascent. In less than a decade, the family had materialized from relative unknowns to one of the ten most financially powerful families in the nation, their collective worth whispered to be north of $200 million in assets.
Wall Street was rife with legends about them. It was a common saying among rival brokers that the Kingstons almost never lost on a bet. They moved with a market foresight so accurate it bordered on premonition, always entering before the boom and liquidating positions just before the collapse. In a business defined by risk and probability, the Kingstons operated on the immutable law of certainty.
When Morgan had locked forty New York financiers in his library to save the market, the representative of Kingston Bank had been present. And the Kingston Bank had contributed an extraordinary four million dollars to the emergency pool—the highest single commitment in the room, eclipsing the contributions of all other banks present in the form.
"Four million dollars," Morgan said, his voice grating like stone. "That was a great contribution Mr. Kingston. It bought us time, and for that, I am grateful. But…"
Morgan stopped, leaning forward, resting his bulk on the table. He addressed John Kingston, but his gaze never left Michael, challenging him directly.
"There are whispers, John," Morgan continued, his tone dropping into a dangerous, confidential register. "Whispers that your family did not merely survive this panic, but that you made a substantial profit from it. How could you possess such absolute foresight?"
Morgan's accusation hung heavy in the air: the unmistakable suggestion of market manipulation. Michael met Morgan's stare without flinching.
"Mr. Morgan, an accusation without evidence is mere rumor, and we do not deal in rumors," Michael answered, his voice calm and level, turning the attack into an implied compliment. "What is fact, however, is that Kingston Bank was not involved in the United Copper disaster. I expected a man of your caliber to already possess that basic information."
Morgan didn't say anything but grunted in acceptance, acknowledging the truth of the statement.
Michael leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly but hardening. "And let's be precise Mr. Morgan: We made no attempt to obscure the market's fundamental instability. Our publications carried explicit warnings— urging all member institutions to secure sufficient liquidity. If others failed to heed that guidance, the responsibility for their negligence rests squarely on their ledgers. We have the proof of our diligence; they have the cost of their complacency."
Morgan nodded, conceding the point. He leaned back slightly, a skeptical look hardening his face.
"You did your part," Morgan stated, his voice dry. "And yet, you profited even from those warnings. Your papers, preaching caution, saw their circulation soar to four million copies during this panic, generating immense revenue."
Michael simply smiled, a thin, knowing acknowledgment of the accusation, but offered nothing further.
Roosevelt, sensing the confrontation interjected smoothly.
"Gentlemen, the hour is late, and we are wasting time we do not possess," Roosevelt's voice was crisp, carrying the authority of his office. "The details of who profited from what can wait for a more stable day. The immediate matter at hand is the solvency of the market, and specifically, the immediate danger posed by the brokerage firm, Moore & Schley.The firm must be protected from having to liquidate its holdings. The consensus is that if they are forced to sell their large block of Tennessee Coal, Iron, and Railroad Company—TC&I—shares at below-market prices to meet their obligations, the resulting panic sale will collapse the market entirely."
A tense silence filled the room. Roosevelt continued, locking eyes with J.P. Morgan. "The proposal put before me is straightforward: the acquisition of TC&I by U.S. Steel. This allows U.S. Steel, your corporation, Mr. Morgan, to buy that entire block of stock, saving Moore & Schley and stabilizing the market."
Morgan nodded, acknowledging the obvious solution.
"Except," Roosevelt interjected, his tone turning sharp, "that transaction would take U.S. Steel's already dominant position—controlling nearly sixty percent of the nation's steel market—and push it past seventy percent with the acquisition of TC&I. That, gentlemen, is a virtual monopoly, and a direct, flagrant violation of the Sherman Antitrust Act."
Morgan shifted in his seat, his massive frame radiating impatience. "Mr. President, with respect, there are moments when saving the whole economy requires a temporary, necessary exception to the rule. We are talking about absolute financial calamity."
"And I agree that calamity must be avoided," Roosevelt countered, leaning forward slightly. "But I disagree that we must violate the bedrock principles of this government to do it. The economy can be saved, Mr. Morgan, and the Act can be upheld."
Morgan's brows knitted together in genuine confusion. "Then how? Surely you are not proposing to use Treasury funds? Those reserves are running thin enough as it is."
"You are correct. The Treasury's capacity is constrained," Roosevelt conceded with a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "But I told you there was another solution."
Morgan leaned back, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Another solution? Where, in this entire country, is there another concentration of private capital large enough to absorb that liability and act decisively before the opening bell of the market?" He spoke the question more to himself than the President. His eyes, searching the room for an answer, suddenly found the Kingstons, who sat quietly at the corner of the table.
Morgan stopped, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. His eyes widened, fixing first on the Kingstons, then back to Roosevelt.
Roosevelt saw the flicker of understanding in the financier's gaze.
"Yes, Mr. Morgan," the President confirmed, the solution now hanging triumphantly in the air. "The Kingstons are prepared to provide the necessary capital—the full twenty-five million dollars—to purchase the TC&I shares held by Moore & Schley directly."
The room fell into an immediate, deafening silence. Every eye was on Morgan, whose face flushed a deep, angry red. He slowly pushed himself up from his chair, his presence dominating the space.
"If the deal is already decided, Mr. President," Morgan asked, his voice low and dangerous, "why in God's name did you bring me here?"
This time, it was Michael Kingston who answered."Because, Mr. Morgan, you are still one of the most powerful voices in America and the single most influential figure in finance. We are asking you to save the economy now. Your opposition—your mere disapproval—would be enough to turn the tide against this solution and make the entire transaction impossible. We need your nod of approval to proceed, and we need it now."
Morgan stared at Michael, the silence stretching into uncomfortable tension. "Why do you imagine I would help you?"
Michael met his gaze, unflinching. "Because more than money, you respect power, sir. If you withhold your support now—if you choose to make this difficult—you will be branded the man who put his trust's self-interest above the welfare of the entire nation. The man who rejected the chance to save the economy."
He paused, letting the implication sink in.
"But if you agree to this plan—if you step aside and allow another American steel company to acquire TC&I—you will be remembered as the man who selflessly put stability first. That achievement, Mr. Morgan, is one that cannot be purchased with twenty-five million dollars."
Morgan fell silent, his eyes fixed on the tabletop. The tension in the room was palpable, broken only by the nervous, whispered protests of his lieutenants, Frick and Gary, who voiced their immediate fears of losing TC&I.
Michael ignored them, his focus unwavering on J.P. Morgan.
After an unknown, agonizing amount of time, Morgan lifted his head. He looked directly at Michael, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face.
"Well, young man," Morgan's voice was a low growl of respect. "I will help you. But only on one condition."
Frick, horrified, attempted to interrupt, "Mr. Morgan—!"
Morgan shot him a look that froze the man instantly. "Cut it out." He turned back to Michael, waiting.
Michael's own smile was a small, knowing curve. "What is the condition?"
"The next time you have an intuition about the market like this time," Morgan said, his eyes glittering, "you share it with me first."
Michael's grin widened. He offered his hand across the table. "It's a deal, Mr. Morgan."
Morgan smiling grasped his hand and shook it, sealing the pact.