Chapter 1: The Gold Transaction
In February, Chicago was still cold.
Although it was 1943, with the flames of war raging fiercely across Europe and Asia, far from the battlefield, Chicago—America's most important industrial city—remained a picture of prosperity and revelry.
The streets bustled with traffic during the day, shops lined with goods of all kinds, while gentlemen and ladies passed by. The liveliness of the scene could easily rival that of the 21st century.
If it weren’t for the occasional wartime posters plastered on the streets, it would be hard to believe that on the other side of the world, the largest and deadliest war in history was taking place.
But none of this mattered to Josh Kane.
Wrapped in an overcoat that didn’t quite fit his frame, he weaved through the busy streets and stepped into a shop by the roadside.
“What do you need? Look around yourself!” came the crisp sound of a bell ringing as the elderly shopkeeper called out without even lifting his head.
It was a general store, selling everything from scissors and cutlery to radios and vinyl records, all neatly arranged in their places.
However, Josh wasn’t here to buy anything—he was here to sell.
“I heard you buy gold here,” Josh walked straight to the counter and asked the shopkeeper, who was fiddling with an old radio.
Hearing this, the old man raised his head slightly and gave Josh a glance. Seeing that it was a boy of fifteen or sixteen, he looked a bit surprised but nodded nonetheless.
Without hesitation, Josh pulled a small pouch from inside his coat, placing it on the counter and opening it to reveal the gold ornaments within.
“Huh? This looks like Native American craftsmanship, but not quite... Where did you get this?” The shopkeeper asked, sounding a little surprised as he inspected the gold items.
“What? Does Native American craftsmanship fetch a better price?” Josh didn’t answer directly but countered with a question.
“Not really. It doesn’t appeal to the mainstream aesthetic.” The shopkeeper shrugged. Here, the mainstream aesthetic was, without a doubt, that of white Americans. The rough and bold style of Native American craftsmanship didn’t attract the attention of wealthy ladies. The fate of such gold pieces was usually to be melted down.
“So, how much will you give me?” Josh asked. He didn’t care about the craftsmanship because he knew that these weren’t Native American pieces at all.
“Don’t be hasty, kid! Just wait a moment!” The shopkeeper reassured him before leisurely turning around to rummage through his things.
Seeing this, Josh didn’t rush either. Before coming, he had done his homework. This was a well-known old general store in the neighborhood, and it also doubled as a pawnshop.
What he was selling was just gold, not anything illegal.
Well... if you went by the law Roosevelt passed ten years ago, private gold trading was indeed illegal, and the law wouldn’t be completely repealed until Nixon’s time, more than twenty years later.
However, since the start of World War II, the enforcement of this law had become much more lax.
Plus, with the influx of refugees during the war, the U.S. government had largely turned a blind eye to private gold transactions, so small-scale gold trading was quite common.
Of course, the safest way to sell gold was to sell it to a bank at the official rate of thirty-five dollars per ounce, which was about twenty-eight grams per ounce.
But doing so would be a huge loss.
Because the market price of gold had already risen to fifty dollars per ounce.
A fifteen-dollar difference wasn’t a small number.
In this era, the purchasing power of the dollar was incredibly strong.
Take Chicago, for example. A meal at a regular restaurant, with coffee, meat, and vegetables, would only cost fifty to sixty cents. A large hamburger would set you back only twenty cents.
In other words, for the average person, even if you ate out every day, fifteen dollars would cover more than a week’s worth of meals.
Josh wasn’t carrying an overwhelming amount of gold, but it wasn’t a trivial amount either—ten ounces. That fifteen-dollar difference per ounce added up to one hundred fifty dollars. That was two to three months' salary for an average person.
Sure, the average income in America had reached over a thousand dollars by 1943.
But anyone who understands averages knows what that really means.
In reality, an annual income of seven or eight hundred dollars for a city dweller was considered high pay.
Why were young Americans so eager to join the military during World War II?
Because the military pay was good!
A private earned a base salary of fifty dollars per month, with a raise of ten to twenty dollars for each rank. By the time someone made it to sergeant, they could be earning one hundred dollars a month. And that didn’t include various allowances.
So one hundred fifty dollars was no small amount.
The gold in Josh’s possession wasn’t much, but he wasn’t willing to give up that large of a difference to the American banks, so he was willing to take a bit of a risk.
Fortunately, the old shopkeeper didn’t try any tricks. After a while, he returned with some tools, including measuring cups, water, and scales.
“These gold pieces aren’t very pure, only about eighty percent. I can only offer forty dollars an ounce,” the shopkeeper concluded after weighing and measuring the gold.
“Deal!” Josh wasn’t surprised by the shopkeeper’s assessment. He knew the purity of the gold wouldn’t be high, given that the metallurgy of that other world was quite primitive, especially since this gold came from a tribe that couldn’t even forge steel.
So Josh agreed to the price without hesitation.
“Very well, a total of 9.8 ounces. I won’t short you—let’s just round it up to ten ounces. Here’s four hundred dollars; take it, kid!” The shopkeeper, pleased with Josh’s quick decision, didn’t dawdle. He turned to the counter, pulled out a roll of dollars, removed two bills, and handed the rest to Josh.
Josh took the roll of cash, untied the leather strap, and found eight fifty-dollar bills—no more, no less, exactly what he expected.
After all, America hadn’t yet entered the credit card era, so large denominations of cash weren’t uncommon, unlike in the 21st century, where fifty-dollar bills were a rare sight.
“Change fifty of these into smaller bills for me, preferably fives, but tens are fine too,” Josh said after counting the money and verifying it was genuine. He pushed fifty dollars back toward the shopkeeper.
Though large bills weren’t rare, having a bit of small change on hand was still more convenient due to the high purchasing power of the dollar.
The shopkeeper said nothing, just nodded and handed over a roll of five-dollar bills.
Josh counted them, confirmed everything was in order, tied the money back up, and prepared to leave.
“If you’ve got more goods, feel free to come back. Old Hawk has a decent reputation around here,” the shopkeeper called out just as Josh was heading out the door.
“Of course,” Josh replied with a slight nod before stepping out into the street.
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