Chapter 215: Counter-Feit Strategy
The ink on the standardized department registers was barely dry before a new kind of friction began to test the Founders Syndicate.
?A few weeks had passed since the departmental assignments at the Westchester estate. The initial chaos of naming directors, drafting charters, and setting up reporting lines had begun to settle into a predictable daily rhythm. In the Central Directorate office, Evelyn and the McClain brothers managed an ever-growing stream of requisitions, correspondence, and operational logs, freeing Ricky from the exhausting necessity of approving every minor detail himself.
?Beneath the estate, the Department of Communications and Signals had expanded into a bustling nerve center. Gary Schuffman now supervised a dedicated team of forty staff members working full-time in the central bunker, handling encrypted correspondence, message verification, and telegraph logs. Beyond the estate, decentralized branch offices were fully functional in White Plains, Greenwich Village, Pound Ridge, and a newly established communications outpost in the Bronx—where John De George’s intelligence network fed a steady stream of reports regarding Tammany Hall’s political maneuvers.
?Yet, as Ricky discovered one crisp morning in early February of 1912, their enemies had learned a vital lesson. Tammany could no longer easily defeat the Fusion Party through open street thuggery or brute intimidation. Instead, Charles Murphy ordered Larry Mulligan’s faction to shift its strategy toward economic sabotage.
?In Ricky’s second-floor office in the West Wing, morning sunlight cut sharply across the walnut desk. Ricky stood beside the window, turning a collection of detailed intelligence summaries over in his hands. Evelyn sat nearby, reviewing a departmental ledger, while Phil and James McClain coordinated administrative routing with the expanding Central Directorate staff.
?"Tammany is pouring almost its entire focus into the upcoming presidential primary maneuvering," Ricky said, his voice quiet as he laid the papers down on the blotter. "But Larry Mulligan isn’t sitting idle while the politicians bicker in Midtown. Intelligence reports show he’s trying to claw back influence in the Lower Manhattan tenements and tighten his grip across Brooklyn and Queens."
?Phil McClain looked up from a stack of supply requests. "They can’t compete with the welfare programs Marcus and Frank are running, and they definitely can’t match Marek’s prices at the association stores. The tenement families are seeing right through the old ward machine."
?"That’s precisely why Mulligan’s approach has changed," Ricky replied, tapping a finger against a report from John De George. "He isn’t launching open street attacks on our relief depots anymore. Instead, the merchants in Marek’s association are running into an entirely different kind of wall."
?Evelyn set her pen down, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Counterfeit currency."
?"Exactly," Ricky said.
?According to the intelligence summaries, a growing volume of fraudulent banknotes was quietly circulating through Lower Manhattan transactions. The scheme was deviously structured: Tammany-aligned intermediaries distributed fake bills through ordinary neighborhood spending, public assistance, and petty patronage. Those notes inevitably found their way into the cash drawers of small grocers, butchers, and dry goods shops belonging to the Lower Manhattan Merchants’ Protective Association.
?The merchants accepted the money in good faith, selling legitimate goods to everyday customers who had no idea the paper in their hands was worthless. The trouble only surfaced when the shopkeepers deposited their daily receipts at their commercial banks and received harsh warnings—or formal rejections—from nervous bank managers.
?"They’re using our own success against us," Phil muttered, shaking his head. "The association makes goods affordable and accessible, so the underworld treats it as a natural filter to wash bad money. Then the banks turn around and blame our merchants for accepting it."
?Evelyn traced a finger down the margin of a financial damage report. "The immediate loss of the merchandise is bad enough. But the secondary damage is far more dangerous. If the banks lose confidence in the association’s cash deposits, our merchants lose their credit lines. And if customers start finding out they’ve been handed bad bills at association storefronts, public trust collapses."
?It was an insidious form of warfare. The merchants were simultaneously the victims of the crime and the targets of the resulting financial ruin.
?Ricky walked back to his desk, picking up a separate intelligence dispatch compiled by James McClain. "What do we know about where the paper is being printed?"
?James stood up, walking over to lay a regional map of Westchester County across the table.
?"The U.S. Secret Service has been kicking in doors and raiding small printing workshops inside the city limits for weeks," James explained, pointing to a series of marked locations. "But John De George’s informants and our own field observers indicate that the primary bulk supply entering the underworld network isn’t coming from Manhattan at all. It’s coming from up here—in Westchester County."
?Ricky raised an eyebrow, looking down at the map. "Westchester? Not the city?"
?"That’s what the transit logs suggest," James confirmed. "Members of the Bowery Boys have been moving heavy crates south along the Hudson River aboard commercial steam tugboats. Those boats provide a direct logistical bridge between a suspected northern supply network and the city’s docks."
?James tapped two distinct zones circled in red ink on the map.
?"Our intelligence team has isolated two broad areas of interest," James continued. "The first is around Crotonville, where locals have reported suspicious, late-night cart deliveries and unusual activity near abandoned properties. The second is tucked inland between Chappaqua and Mount Kisco, where field agents spotted irregular railway movements associated with known underworld couriers."
?Ricky leaned closer, studying the terrain. "Are these confirmed workshops, or just places where people are acting suspiciously?"
?"Provisional leads, boss." James cautioned. "The intelligence department has identified patterns, transport links, and suspicious properties, but they haven’t verified a printing press or a storage vault at either location yet. Westchester is massive—filled with isolated farms, scattered settlements, and hidden railway sidings. It’s easy for someone to hide an operation out here if they know how to blend in."
?Ricky crossed his arms, staring thoughtfully at the map. "Pretty clever use of the river and the freight lines. Too many miles of track and water for anyone to watch at once."
?He looked up, his dark eyes sharp. "I don’t want guesses, James. I want facts. Those two areas are leads, not answers. I need to know if they’re linked, if they’re actually producing the notes, and exactly where the reserve supply is being held before it hits the city."
?Ricky turned away from the map and looked across the room at Evelyn.
?"Send an operational directive to John Caldwell and the Intelligence Department," Ricky ordered, his tone low and resolute. "Give them a priority mandate: map the exact locations tied to this counterfeit pipeline, locate where the incoming notes are being stored, and identify the men running the operation."
?"And once the facilities are confirmed?" Evelyn asked, pen poised over her logbook.
?"Destroy them," Ricky said flatly. "Find the source, confirm the sites, and shut the production down so they can’t pump another worthless dollar into our neighborhoods."
?He held up a hand, adding a strict condition. "Make sure John understands he has to separate the actual operation from the surrounding community. A suspicious farm, an isolated railway stop, or a river tug carrying commercial cargo isn’t proof of guilt. I want our people to verify their findings and account for the consequences before they move. Our purpose is to crush a criminal network, not create a public scandal by trampling innocent people."
?Evelyn nodded, her pen moving rapidly across the paper as she recorded the formal order for the communications room.
?James McClain closed the intelligence folder, tucking it securely beneath his arm. "I’ll have the field summaries forwarded to John’s headquarters in Greenwich Village immediately."
?As James and Phil turned to leave the room, Ricky looked back down at the reports detailing the financial damage already inflicted on Marek’s merchant association.
?"Have John find the source," Ricky repeated quietly. "I want the locations confirmed, the people behind them identified, and the operation stopped."
?Evelyn finished writing, looking up from her desk. "And what about the bad money already floating around the city?"
?Ricky sighed, leaning back against the edge of his desk. "Warn our people to take the threat seriously. They need to coordinate closely with sympathetic bank managers, document every suspicious note they encounter, and stop treating every cash payment as guaranteed simply because a customer handed it across the counter."
?He picked up the folder, closing it with a soft thud.
?"We can smash a printing press in the woods," Ricky said, his voice carrying the quiet weight of institutional responsibility. "Rebuilding commercial trust with the banks... that’s going to take a lot more work."