Free Web Novel[The Wall Street Journal Ultimately Falls into Murdoch’s Hands
Media emperor Rupert Murdoch has finally taken control of The Wall Street Journal.
······Meanwhile, voices of concern have emerged that Murdoch has trampled editorial independence.
According to The New York Times, senior members of the Bancroft family, who led The Wall Street Journal for over a century, opposed the sale, saying that “the Journal’s reputation could be tarnished.” However, strong pressure from younger family members pushed the sale through. One insider criticized the decision, saying, “The Wall Street Journal bowed to money.”]
[Rupert Murdoch — Dreams Come True.
Rupert Murdoch has finally acquired the business newspaper he long coveted, The Wall Street Journal.
After months of negotiations, the Bancroft family — the largest shareholders of Dow Jones — agreed to sell the company.
There is speculation that Murdoch’s stature will fundamentally change through the acquisition of Dow Jones.
Though Murdoch owns more than a hundred newspapers worldwide, he has long been criticized for lacking a prestigious publication, limiting his political, economic, and social influence.
By acquiring The Wall Street Journal, Murdoch and his family now stand alongside the Sulzberger family of The New York Times and the Graham family of The Washington Post as one of the leading dynasties in American media.]
Every major outlet in America covered Murdoch’s acquisition of The Wall Street Journal.
Most took a critical tone.
But regardless of what the American press said, we celebrated our victory with a party.
“Hahahahaha.”
Murdoch laughed loudly, like a man drunk on triumph.
“Me — me! To finally have The Wall Street Journal in my grasp! My dream has come true.”
“Congratulations.”
Han Kyungyeong and I congratulated him repeatedly.
“A dream I’ve chased for over twenty years. Finally achieved. It’s all thanks to the two of you.”
His face flushed red, he kept refilling his glass and talking without pause.
“No one will dare underestimate Murdoch now.”
Watching a man well past seventy speak of dreams, I was reminded again that age is merely a number.
“I wanted to become someone like ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) Henry Luce — a man whose influence lasts even after death. Charlie, you know him, don’t you?”
I nodded and raised my glass.
“Of course. He founded Time magazine.”
I knew who Henry Luce was.
“Yes. Time was only the beginning. He went on to found Fortune and Life. At first, everyone mocked him. But he did it. Not one, but three of the most influential magazines in the world.”
Murdoch clinked his glass against mine and drained it.
“I wanted to become someone like him.”
“One day, Chairman Murdoch, you’ll be recognized even more than he was.”
“Ha! Even if it’s flattery, I like hearing it.”
He refilled his glass.
“They call News Corporation, Time Warner, and Walt Disney the three great media groups.”
I nodded.
“But I’m aiming higher than them. Even after I’m gone, I want a media empire no one can challenge.”
He had entered the twilight of his life.
“If only I’d met Charlie sooner...”
He regretted meeting me so late.
“It’s not too late.”
“I’m past seventy now. An age where death wouldn’t be strange.”
His eyes sharpened.
“I intend to see it through to the end.”
“I’ll be cheering for your dream.”
“I will too, Chairman Murdoch.”
Our glasses met in the air.
“I should retire for the night.”
Before long, Murdoch finished his final drink and stood.
“I have interviews tomorrow. Much to do. Look forward to it — I’ll use everything I have to shake China.”
“I look forward to it.”
With a bold laugh, Murdoch left.
Han Kyungyeong and I remained, continuing to drink.
He stared at the door Murdoch had disappeared through and muttered,
“Will I still be able to dream at Murdoch’s age? Sometimes I wonder. He has more money than he could ever need, yet he still spends his life chasing a dream. Am I settling?”
“You wouldn’t be allowed to retire even if you wanted to. I wouldn’t permit it.”
“What? What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t even think about retiring before me. I’ll work you until the day you die.”
“Ha... I shouldn’t have met you.”
“I’m the one who found you.”
We reminisced about our first meeting.
“I still laugh thinking about how I ran away because I thought you were a debt collector.”
Han Kyungyeong grinned and shook his head. He looked ready to drop his glass.
“Who would’ve thought I’d end up like this, hiding in a motel room back then?”
“I did.”
He straightened up.
“Since we’re talking about it — how did you even find me? I was nothing back then. What did you know about me?”
“Honestly... it didn’t have to be you.”
“What?”
He stared at me in disbelief.
Suppressing a smile, I spoke seriously.
“How would I have known you had that kind of ability? There were many people like you back then. But people I could trust were rare.”
“We’d just met! How could you trust me?”
He was getting emotional.
“I could tell by looking at you. You know my instincts.”
“Hah. What, did you come back from the future or something? Where does that confidence even come from?”
He shook his head again, swaying heavily.
“Do you know how many heart attacks you’ve given me? My lifespan’s shrinking.”
“You should be used to it by now. You’ve grown bold compared to before.”
“You really...”
His words trailed off as he collapsed onto the table.
I raised my hand and called Manager Ma.
“Send him up to his hotel room. I’ll drink a little more.”
“Yes, Boss.”
A subordinate carried Han Kyungyeong away. Manager Ma stood silently behind me.
“Have a drink.”
“No, I’m fine.”
I smiled at his unchanging discipline and took another sip.
“I wish I could dream too.”
I had run forward for revenge.
And after revenge, to gain the power to protect my people.
Maybe it was time to dream for myself.
Watching Murdoch chase his dream without stopping stirred many thoughts that night.
* * *
The New York Times, a direct competitor of The Wall Street Journal, ran critical editorials day after day.
They pretended to criticize Murdoch while subtly questioning the Journal’s fairness.
Across the ocean, the Financial Times in Britain also published editorials claiming Murdoch would interfere in editorial independence and damage the Journal’s integrity.
On the surface, they framed it as a defense of press freedom.
But most journalists didn’t see it that way.
“We can’t just sit here.”
A wave of Wall Street Journal reporters stormed the editor-in-chief’s office.
“We opposed the acquisition too. But we won’t allow the Journal’s name to be smeared.”
The editor-in-chief frowned and sighed.
“I agree. So what do you propose?”
“We fight back.”
“What, by criticizing Murdoch ourselves? Our own owner?”
He clutched his head.
“What about publishing a cartoon reflecting reporters’ views?”
“I’m already preparing a publisher’s letter. If reporters step in directly, that crosses a line.”
“Editor-in-chief, this is the paper we built. We have the right to express our thoughts.”
“Ha...”
They didn’t back down.
“Just give us one slot.”
“Is that really necessary? He promised no restructuring.”
The editor didn’t like Murdoch either.
But while rival papers were laying people off, Murdoch had promised job security for the entire newsroom.
“Our livelihoods matter. But the Journal’s integrity matters more.”
Dozens of reporters bowed at once. fгeewebnovёl.com
“...Fine. You’ll get a space in the opinion section. But Murdoch’s name cannot appear.”
Their faces brightened.
“Don’t worry. We’re professionals. We can write it without naming him.”
“I’ll handle the publisher. Now get back to work!”
“Yes, sir!”
They saluted playfully and left.
“These fools...”
The editor chuckled bitterly and picked up the phone.
“Yes. I’m coming up. I need to relay the reporters’ demands.”
He adjusted his clothes and headed to the publisher’s office.
At the same time, seventy Dow Jones union members gathered outside the building, holding signs.
“Rupert is rich! He bought the paper with money! He’ll flush it down the drain! But who holds the pen? Kangaroo man better watch his back!”
Mocking songs aimed at Rupert Murdoch echoed all day.
The acquisition was demanding change from American media.
* * *
I headed to meet Joseph Wilson and Valerie Plame.
They had already arrived at the restaurant I had rented for the day.
After greetings, we began eating.
“Do you know who I am?”
It was abrupt, but Plame answered immediately.
“Kim Muhyuk. Korean national...”
She recited my profile without pause.
For a covert CIA operative, she knew a great deal.
“This makes things easier.”
“I know who you are,” she said calmly. “I don’t know why you wanted to meet.”
“I came to help you.”
She smiled faintly.
“Help us? Why? What’s in it for you?”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
Wilson spoke.
“Unlike her, I don’t know much about you. I’d like to hear more.”
“I plan to shake The New York Times. Undermine its credibility.”
“...You think that’s possible?”
“No.”
I didn’t believe that alone would topple them.
“But we can leave a scar. With your help, it’s possible.”
