It was just like a grand building on the verge of collapse—soon, the Republican Party would be buried under a vast, bleak, snowy plain. Truly, all would be clean and gone.
Wendell Willkie was deeply conflicted. After enduring two years of economic crisis, he had come to realize that the Republican Party was bound to lose this time.
Pouring money into the Republican campaign now felt like feeding it into a broken engine. At best, he might hear a splash when it hit the water. More often, there wasn't even a ripple—giving money to the party seemed completely futile.
But people are strange creatures—their allegiance lies where their interests sit. For elites like him, burdened with immense wealth and social status, their minds were naturally aligned with the Republican Party.
"Perhaps I shouldn't say this," Niles said, seeing Willkie's hesitation. "But I think you should consider preserving yourself first, before aiding the party."
"Preserve myself?" Willkie asked.
"For the sake of coming back in four or eight years," Niles explained. "You elites ought to stick together, weather the storm, and avoid being crushed in this round of political transition."
Though Niles already knew Roosevelt would go on to become the only four-term president in American history, Willkie didn't know that yet.
The Republican Party was clearly on its last legs, likely to lose its hold on power for eight years. Its influence and arrangements across government departments and major social institutions would gradually be purged by the incoming Democratic administration.
Faced with such a future, Willkie needed to think not just of himself, but also of the Republican Party's long-term survival—preserve their vital forces to prepare for a counterattack.
As for Hoover, now standing on stage, he was already riding the tiger and couldn't dismount. Even if he knew defeat was inevitable, how could he willingly concede, surrender power, and step aside? Honestly, only when death is imminent do most people begin to see things clearly.
But Hoover was too far gone. Nothing could be done about him. Willkie, on the other hand, wasn't even forty yet, well-liked within the Republican Party, with extensive experience in economics and trade. In this chaotic America, wasn't this a perfect opportunity for him to make his mark?
Urging him to advance!
Willkie, do you want to be president or not?
Now that the party was in disarray and people were panicking, Willkie—popular, widely accepted across party factions, and with an excellent public image—could step up to maintain the party's core strength. If he could hold that ground, in eight years, it might become the very foundation for his rise and the party's comeback.
"You mean..." Willkie was no fool. As a seasoned lawyer, he understood Niles's words instantly.
"Exactly. In these chaotic times, the party needs a visionary who can unite and coordinate the factions to gradually restore order." Inside the car, there was no worry of being overheard.
Niles made himself clear: the Republican Party was doomed. Rather than throwing cash into the void and hanging alongside Hoover on the same old tree, why not plan for the future?
Gulp... It wasn't that Willkie was inexperienced or couldn't control his emotions—it was just that this idea had never occurred to him before.
To be fair, with his "heartthrob" looks, he had always been a hit with female voters. Maybe not to the point of being adored by millions, but certainly enough to score major points. If he had run for Congress, he likely would've been elected already. He had just never seriously considered entering politics—until now. Suddenly someone was telling him he was the perfect fit to lead the party and run for the presidency. How could that not shake him?
Willkie began to reevaluate himself, and shockingly, he found himself rather impressive. His charming personality, his background in finance and taxation—those were all major assets in a political campaign.
Forget trying to save Hoover—he was clearly finished. Why go down with him? Better to take the reins now and lay the groundwork for his own future.
"A Democratic administration might not even do a good job. Preparing now is better than scrambling later."
"That makes sense..." For the first time, Willkie was being seriously nudged toward a presidential run, and he was starting to buy in.
"Better to plan early, plan early..."
Niles's words seemed to cast a spell, echoing in Willkie's mind. His expression shifted—from delight to seriousness to contemplation—clearly caught in an inner struggle.
Frederick, who had been watching the whole conversation, finally leaned toward Niles and asked in a low voice, "So you want him to run for president someday?"
"Not necessarily president," Niles said, keeping things open-ended. "He could also help campaign. Maybe become Secretary of State or some other cabinet post in the future."
The seed had already been planted in Willkie's mind. Even without further coaxing, it would begin to sprout, take root, and one day grow into a towering tree.
Gulp... Frederick swallowed hard too.
He had never imagined that a future presidential campaign could begin inside a little car, decided over just a few minutes of conversation.
"The presidency isn't hereditary," Niles laughed. "Everyone has a chance. If Hoover, a mining engineer, can do it, why can't Willkie—a top-tier lawyer? Ha ha ha ha ha..."
Indeed! Hoover had become president with a background in mining. Why shouldn't he, Willkie, aspire to the same? He had great connections in the Republican Party. Sure, Hoover's wife came from an elite family, and he lacked a powerful father-in-law. But he had something else—good looks. Middle-aged women loved him!
With thoughts racing, they finally arrived near Columbia University. Niles, seeing that Willkie was in no mood for sightseeing, asked his assistant to find a coffee shop near Central Park, drop him off, and get him a cold brew—he needed time to think.
The rest would explore the campus. They weren't there for anything serious anyway—just to take a quick look. Even just observing the students' demeanor would give them a sense of the place.
They parked at a café with a sunshade. Willkie got out automatically, still caught up in thought. Niles wasn't in a hurry either. It was a good time to grab a coffee and a croissant for breakfast. They'd started early, after all—and their stomachs were still empty.