Chapter Seven: The Shameless United States

After the United States unilaterally withdrew from the Bretton Woods system, the world economy began to stagger and lose its vitality.

Shameless? Perhaps. From the perspective of later generations, this move was, indeed, a last resort. Even if you gathered all the gold in the world, you wouldn’t be able to meet the demands of currency. The real issue wasn’t whether they withdrew, but that their unilateral withdrawal was sheer, blatant hooliganism.

From that moment on, the label of “rogue nation” was firmly affixed to America’s brow. Well, it’s likely they didn’t care much. As long as profits were to be had, national credibility was worth next to nothing to them.

Since you’ve chosen to play the rogue and withdrawn from the Bretton Woods system unilaterally, then return my gold. Remember, the gold in central banks wasn’t America’s to keep—it belonged to the world’s central banks, merely stored there. Yet the Americans were adamant: the gold would not be returned, unless you dared to come and take it by force.

In a certain sense, though, perhaps they truly couldn’t return the gold. They didn’t want to quit the Bretton Woods system, but with so much gold flowing out, their central bank was already running a severe deficit. Had they not exited that damned system, their central bank vaults would have become empty halls echoing with the sound of horses’ hooves.

The devaluation of the dollar was now inevitable. The poor could do nothing—they hadn’t much money to begin with. Yet, the wealthy classes found no reprieve either. This wasn’t just a question of the dollar’s depreciation; the dollar was the backbone of the world’s currencies.

Consider how terrifying this is: any asset measured in currency terms was shrinking in value. There was almost nothing left that could preserve its worth.

Just a few years ago, $350 could buy ten ounces of gold. Now, even one ounce would be a stretch. A small purchase might still be possible, but to buy in bulk was almost unthinkable.

There must be a conspiracy behind all this. It’s plausible that gold has vanished from China—many there favor gold jewelry, and some even bury it with the dead. But Americans have no such custom. So where did all that gold go? Otherwise, there’s simply no explanation.

Some say it was because of the oil crisis, that desert magnates had taken the gold. True, they did take quite a bit, but the total wasn’t much. If you move a few hundred tons, perhaps America might grudgingly tolerate it. But try to take more, and they’d be ready to send in the troops.

This world has always been one of the strong preying on the weak. The lesson “to hold a treasure is to invite trouble” is painfully simple. No one wishes to become the target of the powerful.

The rich fret over their assets, while the poor must worry about their next meal. Jobs are scarce now, and prices are climbing ever higher. America is a credit-based society; everyone lives on borrowed money. Yet now, even the banks are running dry, so everyone must tighten their belts.

If Americans stopped spending, the global economy would collapse. Their spending habits were unmatched anywhere in the world.

“Master, dinner is ready.”

“All right, I’m starving too—let’s eat.”

Farm life was, for a young man, truly monotonous and dull. Everything here had one defining trait: punctuality.

Entertainment? After dinner, perhaps a beer and some idle chatter—and that was all. Maybe in Houston there were places to have some fun, but in the countryside, absolutely none.

Despite Texans’ tough reputation, this was America’s most traditional region. Chaotic private lives and same-sex affairs were utterly unacceptable here.

Regional prejudice existed in America too, but it was different from that in China. In China, as long as you were successful, few spoke ill of you. Not so in America.

There were two kinds of people in America: Texans, and Americans. They meant it sincerely. Texans didn’t think Texas was part of America—they thought America belonged to Texas.

At present, William White had no time for leisure. He had to weather the current crisis before thinking of anything else. Besides, if you wanted to indulge in debauchery and excess, Texas was not the place. The girls here were tough as nails—a black eye was considered gentle treatment. Worse outcomes were not impossible.

“Master, what would you like for a late-night snack?”

“Fry up a few slices of foie gras, and bring a fruit salad. Once the food’s ready, you can go to sleep—don’t worry about me.”

“Yes, Master, we’ll get it ready right away.”

In his previous life, William hadn’t much cared for this kind of life. Truly, only the spoiled could be so finicky.

A life of having everything handed to you was a dream for most, yet to claim to dislike it was the height of self-indulgence.

The young master’s book was nearly finished. At first, old Mr. Fu hadn’t cared much. Since the master enjoyed writing, then let him write. Finding a publisher would be easy enough.

But as he sorted through the manuscript this time, he realized the book was fascinating—he found himself dumbstruck, reading for a long while.

In a grand household, rules were strict. No outsiders were permitted in the young master’s study. In the end, the old man was moved to tears, unable to stop himself.

To see such talent in his young master—he was, of course, overjoyed. Clearly, any publisher wouldn’t do.

Professional writers wrote for money, apart from personal interest. But for the wealthy, reputation mattered most.

No one would refuse to publish it—such plotlines only existed in online fiction. As long as you had money, even if your book was rubbish, someone would publish it for you.

Books written by tycoons often commanded high royalties. In a capitalist society, everything was open to negotiation. Since you bore most of the risk, there was no reason to skimp on your royalties.

Besides, a book by a billionaire was a selling point in itself—no publisher in their right mind would antagonize a tycoon.

Of course, if your book was utter trash, there was nothing to be done. Still, the publisher wouldn’t lose much.

Stretching his aching neck, William White went to bed. It was already past midnight—if he didn’t sleep now, there’d be little chance later.

Morning on the farm was a symphony; sleeping in was almost impossible.

William White, in fact, didn’t need to sleep in. He found himself unusually energetic—four hours’ sleep was all he needed.

While he lay sleeping, the Hunt family’s plans were advancing rapidly. For now, they had no time to bother with White Oil. The real prize was making a killing with silver.

Their connection with the desert magnates was no coincidence. The oil barons had indeed become rich overnight, but the dollars piling up in their hands were a source of constant anxiety. Such are the woes of the wealthy.

Oil prices had risen, but the dollar had fallen. They wanted gold to preserve their wealth, but no one was willing to sell.

With the Hunt family's grand plan, and the oil magnates considering it reliable, their alliance was inevitable.

When the Hunts received confirmation, they were elated, and promptly forgot about White Oil altogether.

Their indifference was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for William White. At this point, he was almost powerless to resist—the best he could hope for was mutual destruction.

They might forget, but William White would not. Such rotten families were better off gone for good.