The final days of 1836 faded into history, and a new year began.
If one had to summarize the outlook of the British people entering 1837 in a single word, it would have been hope.
The British economy, despite minor disturbances, was enjoying sustained growth.
The textile and iron industries expanded day by day, and capitalists cried out in delighted disbelief as their wealth seemed to grow overnight.
Stock prices surged relentlessly.
Money flooded the markets.
Even the working class benefited.
With the Corn Laws abolished, food prices dropped.
Life was still harsh—most workers still lived from one day's wages to the next—but at least a single day's pay could now feed a family for more than one day.
For many, that alone felt like a miracle.
Britain's prosperity, however, was not driven solely by domestic growth.
A new opportunity had appeared across the Atlantic.
"America! Invest in America and money multiplies!"
"Who the hell isn't investing in America right now?"
"Real estate is god. I am invincible. If you've got spare money, pour it into American land!"
As the American economy began expanding rapidly, British investors discovered a new gold mine.
Industrialization had only just begun there.
Infrastructure projects—canals, railways, ports—were multiplying.
Territorial expansion opened endless new land.
All of it required capital.
And Britain had plenty.
British investors and companies poured money into the United States as though feeding a goose that laid golden eggs.
Banks encouraged the frenzy.
Credit expanded recklessly.
Loans were issued without restraint.
"Land always rises in price."
"And American land rises the fastest!"
Once the fever began, it could not be stopped by moderate policies.
Eventually the American government sensed that something was dangerously wrong.
They introduced an extraordinary measure.
From now on—
public land purchases would no longer be allowed with paper money.
Only gold or silver could be used.
The policy aimed to restrain the explosive growth of speculative credit.
But ironically—
it proved that even the American administration did not fully grasp how severe the situation had become.
Their attempt to cool the overheated economy became the spark that ignited something far worse.
Yet in Europe, few people felt concerned.
The continent had never experienced a global economic crisis before.
Financial crashes were familiar, but they were usually confined to one country.
To most Europeans, the situation in America seemed like a distant fire burning across the ocean.
Very few imagined that the flames might cross the Atlantic and reach Britain.
At least—
not yet.
* * *
January 1837
After finishing the New Year's celebrations, Killian returned to his usual routine.
He listened patiently to the complaints of the Duchess of Kent.
Then he completed Victoria's lessons.
By the time he finished, evening had already fallen.
Unlike the chaotic blur of the previous year, Killian had a strong feeling that 1837 would be long and turbulent.
After all, several historic events were approaching.
Victoria would soon come of age.
And before the year was halfway over—
she would likely become Queen of Britain.
Killian himself would soon graduate from Eton and enter university.
His recent economic paper had earned him enthusiastic invitations from both Oxford and Cambridge.
In truth, once he became an adult next year, Killian intended to focus more on political and economic activity than academic study.
Still—
the prestige of an elite university mattered.
Many advisers insisted on it.
Killian agreed.
After all, a prestigious education had its uses.
No one would be able to dismiss him as an uneducated Irish provincial.
"The most typical elite path in Britain," Wellesley said, "is graduating from Eton and entering Christ Church, Oxford."
"With your abilities, admission won't be a problem. It's the safest course."
"That sounds fine," Killian replied.
"Having the title of a student at Britain's finest university certainly won't hurt."
"Exactly."
"You're starting to attract attention now. Managing your public image will become important."
Wellesley leaned back slightly.
"You're aware that people in the party have been talking about you lately, right?"
"I expected as much," Killian said.
"I'll be an adult next year."
"Yes."
"And that's the issue."
"There's now a debate inside the party."
"One faction wants to grant you an English peerage so you can enter the House of Lords."
"The other thinks that would be too soon."
Killian raised an eyebrow.
"So—have they reached a conclusion?"
Wellesley shook his head.
"Not yet."
"But the cautious faction currently holds the advantage."
"They think granting you a seat immediately after you reach adulthood might be premature."
Killian smiled faintly.
"That's progress."
"At least they've accepted the idea that I'll eventually enter the Lords."
Wellesley chuckled.
"Daniel O'Connell is still dominating the House of Commons."
"Even though several newspapers have been attacking him, he's holding his ground."
"That makes the aristocrats in our party place their hopes on you."
"That means the situation is favorable," Killian said.
"If the debate is about when, not whether, then it's only a matter of time."
"Once this year passes, the opinion will likely swing in my favor."
"So there's no need for you to argue aggressively on my behalf. Just observe."
Neither of them mentioned the obvious fact.
If William IV died this year, a general election would follow.
And if Ireland once again proved decisive—
the party's elders would have little room left to hesitate.
Killian changed the subject.
"More importantly, we have another issue."
"If we want to keep the government we've just secured, we need to prepare now."
"You shared the information I mentioned earlier with Disraeli and Gladstone, correct?"
"Of course," Wellesley replied.
"Neither of them took it very seriously at first."
"But recently they seem to sense that something might be wrong."
"They should," Killian said.
"You've noticed it too, haven't you?"
"The Bank of England's policies have become unusual."
Even James, who had been silently reviewing documents, looked up.
"They've announced consecutive interest rate increases," Wellesley said.
"Apparently raising rates this quickly is extremely unusual."
"That's not all," James added.
"As you predicted, the banks are almost refusing to issue new loans."
"They either lack the capacity—or they believe borrowers won't be able to repay."
Wellesley frowned.
"Still… could this simply be temporary?"
"Perhaps things will stabilize in a few months."
Killian looked at him incredulously.
"If that were the case, would I have liquidated all my Chicago land holdings last year?"
Wellesley grimaced.
"That timing was unbelievable."
"How did you even predict that?"
"Land prices generally rise in the long run," Killian said.
"That part is true."
"But the real estate market is dangerously overheated."
"There's too much liquidity."
"And the credit structure is unstable."
"This applies not only to America—but to Britain as well."
"The Americans realized the danger themselves."
"That's why they introduced the absurd policy requiring gold or silver for land purchases."
"Once British banks saw that, they realized the crisis was approaching."
Wellesley still seemed uncertain.
"But even so, this began in America."
"Will it really affect Britain so severely?"
Killian sighed inwardly.
People of this era had never experienced a global financial crisis.
They understood national bubbles:
The Dutch Tulip Mania
The Mississippi Bubble in France
The South Sea Bubble in Britain
But those crises had largely remained domestic.
Capital had not yet been interconnected.
Now things were different.
Industrial capitalism was maturing.
European economies were becoming increasingly interconnected.
And Britain and America, in particular, were deeply entangled through finance and investment.
That was why the crisis beginning in 1837 would become the first global economic depression.
"Charles," Killian said quietly.
"You know how much British capital is invested in America."
"Of course," Charles Wellesley replied.
"Even now I know members of Parliament who are still buying land in Illinois."
"And it's not just investors," Killian continued.
"Steel producers and coal companies rely heavily on exports to the American market."
"They're expanding under the assumption that demand will keep growing."
"But if the American market suddenly collapses—"
"And export revenues disappear—"
"What happens then?"
Killian paused.
"The human body cannot survive if blood stops circulating."
"And in an economy…"
"The blood is money."
Charles' face hardened.
James rapidly flipped through the latest reports from America.
"The situation there already seems unstable," he said.
"Chicago land prices are falling rapidly."
"Borrowers are beginning to default."
"If this continues…"
"There could be bank failures."
Killian knew the truth.
Not merely could be.
There would be.
The Panic of 1837 would become the worst economic crisis in American history until the Great Depression of 1929.
Charles spoke slowly.
"If this spreads here…"
"Banks and companies in Britain could collapse as well."
"Even if they survive, they'll operate under extreme contraction."
"Exactly," Killian said.
"But for me—"
"This is also an opportunity."
"An opportunity?" Charles asked.
"How?"
"Even the strongest companies cannot escape a severe recession."
"Stock prices will crash."
"Cash reserves will evaporate."
"Businesses will struggle to maintain operations."
"The steel industry, which is currently booming, will be hit especially hard."
Killian turned to James.
"How far do you think their stock prices could fall?"
James thought for a moment.
"If events unfold as you predict…"
"Then at least fifty percent."
"Perhaps even more."
Then realization dawned on him.
"…Ah."
Killian smiled.
"Exactly."
Why else would he have kept so much cash from his American investments—and from his casino profits?
"James," Killian said, "prepare a list of steel and coal companies in Britain and America."
"Focus on firms strong enough to survive the recession."
"And Charles—"
"You should begin discussing crisis responses with Benjamin Disraeli and William Gladstone immediately."
"A general election could occur soon."
"How we handle this crisis will determine how many seats we win."
"An election?" Charles said.
"Well… the king is elderly, but—"
He stopped himself.
"…No. You're right."
"I'll prepare contingency plans."
Killian nodded.
"That's better."
"If you'd said 'that's impossible' again, I might have lost my patience."
He leaned back slightly.
"The coming storm will look like an unprecedented disaster."
"But every crisis eventually passes."
"And those who prepare can turn disaster into opportunity."
"When this year ends…"
"Many things will have changed."
Charles and James exchanged faint smiles.
They returned to their respective tasks, fully aware of what needed to be done.
* * *
Economic expansion always invites correction.
Everyone knows this in theory.
But when money is pouring in—
people fall under the illusion that prosperity will never end.
The illusion grows larger and larger—
until suddenly it vanishes like a mirage.
Only then do people awaken to reality.
"Fuck! No—no way!"
"This can't be happening!"
"There must be some mistake!"
"You won't give me a loan?"
"If I can't borrow money, I can't repay my debts!"
As defaults spread across America, its economy collapsed rapidly.
And the shock struck the British stock market with brutal force.
Prices plunged like a baseball pitcher's perfect forkball.
Investors stared at the collapsing charts in horror.
"Ahhh!"
"A body! There's a body in the Thames!"
"Wait—someone's about to jump!"
Desperate men threw themselves from bridges.
The polluted black waters of the Thames swallowed them silently.
Even so—
many people still believed the crash was temporary.
Surely the crisis in backward America could not truly threaten the mighty British Empire.
They clung to hope.
But as spring arrived—
bringing warmth to the countryside—
a devastating announcement arrived from across the Atlantic.
New York banks suspend specie payments.
Paper money could no longer be exchanged for gold or silver.
It was the financial equivalent of a death sentence.
For Britain's investors—
a nightmare had begun.
And upon this terrible storm—
Killian intended to sleep very soundly.