"After today, that annoying brat will be bankrupt.
I need to think of how to really make him suffer!"
Every time Eddie remembered that embracing couple on the dance floor, rage burned in his chest.
Herbert felt the same. Just hearing Leo's name made his bad leg ache fiercely.
"Just shooting him is too good for him.
I heard there's some vicious torture technique they use in the army. Even the toughest break under it.
I'm looking for the man who can do it.
Make him beg for death and not get it—that's the best ending for him."
Herbert gave a cruel smile.
"Sounds good.
And I heard his fiancée is quite the beauty too…
Oh—my father's here."
Eddie wiped the smirk off his face immediately and went to greet his father.
Herbert knew Eddie too well; he could guess exactly what that scumbag had in mind. But when he imagined Leo forced to watch his fiancée…
Mmm. Herbert was already formulating a plan.
Behind Clint's car was a convoy: representatives of observation groups from other states.
Clint got out, beaming, chatting easily with them, personally guiding them to their reserved seats.
This was a powerful boost for pushing Bubble Houses to other states—and a source of future votes.
Just then, a truck stopped and workers unloaded several large televisions, quickly setting them up.
"Father, what's this for?" Eddie asked.
Clint ignored his son and turned instead to the attractive female reporter trailing him:
"Once the TVs are set up, you can start the interviews."
This woman was from Dumont Television Network—the East Coast's biggest station.
Clint planned to use its most popular show, Morning News, to make the Bubble House a household name.
Of course, Dumont had plenty of reporters, but he'd picked this one specifically because she bore an uncanny resemblance to his daughter-in-law.
Just thinking about last night's forbidden tryst with her sent a shiver of illicit pleasure through him.
Today, Clint had prepared everything, from official channels to public perception, for the Bubble House to take flight.
After declaring victory here, he planned to celebrate with his daughter-in-law again.
Meanwhile, at Valentino's project site in Monroe Park, the unveiling was painfully quiet.
Only a few remaining real-estate businessmen from the Association showed up.
Interestingly, these were the same men who had recently donated money to Leo.
As for those developers who took orders from their unseen masters?
They'd all jumped ship by now.
"Mr. Valentino, it seems we've lost," one said grimly.
"Yes. Even the Governor and the Senator have been impeached," added another.
As they lamented, Leo checked his watch, then said to Toussaint beside him, who was equally grim-faced:
"Turn on the TV. Maybe there'll be a miracle."
Toussaint just shrugged. He was already thinking about how to get out of the country.
At the state capitol, Harry and Thomas were in a heated meeting with the Vice President, Henry, who had come from Washington.
Voices were raised and faces were red.
Henry looked irritated.
"Thomas, you have contributed to the Democratic Party, but that doesn't excuse allying with Republicans just to crush your own people.
Harry, as the younger man here, you should have stopped Thomas's foolish moves. But you didn't. Frankly, I'm disappointed.
And since you're both still being so stubborn, I have no choice but to say—"
"Hold on, Henry," Thomas interrupted.
"Before we resign from the Democratic Party, at least let us watch one last thing as members."
"Watch TV?"
Henry had worked with Thomas for years. He knew the old fox never wasted words.
Clearly there was a hidden card. Things might not be as Clint claimed.
Just to be sure, Henry gave a nod.
The secretary switched on the TV. It was tuned to Dumont Television Network's Morning News.
On-screen, Governor Clint stood proudly in front of the first Bubble House community.
"The establishment of the Bubble House marks America's entry into universal homeownership!"
Henry shot a glance at Harry and Thomas. Was this supposed to be their final humiliation?
Then suddenly—the live feed ended.
The screen turned to static.
Henry thought the TV was broken and was about to tell the secretary to hit it when the picture cleared.
But Clint was gone.
Instead, it showed rows of rather shabby-looking Bubble Houses.
A sober voice-over began:
"Our station has just received urgent footage exposing the truth about the Bubble House.
As a responsible broadcaster, we have a duty to show you what's really going on.
Please watch this undercover report."
The footage was short—just ten minutes.
But in that time, viewers saw the Bubble Houses' ugly mold stains, their bizarre, privacy-free interior layouts, and their dreadful lighting.
The final segment was chilling: three Bubble House ruins, and residents of Icehouse Village describing in harrowing detail how their friends and neighbors had been crushed to death in their own homes.
"Turn it off! Turn it off!" Clint was screaming at the unveiling.
He had trucked in an entire load of TVs so that everyone—including potential buyers and the visiting state delegations—could watch his grand triumph.
But they had all seen this instead.
By the time Eddie and the others scrambled to respond, the damning video had finished.
"It's slander! All lies! Our houses are perfectly safe!"
"And about the mold—they're funded! We have a dedicated budget to fix it!"
But Eddie's shouting only made things worse.
The crowd's suspicion deepened.
"Get this idiot out of here," Clint snarled.
Then he beckoned Herbert over and spoke in a low, cold voice:
"Drop the prices again. If sales are good today, these little rumors won't matter.
Also, contact your father—tell him to use his media connections to block this story everywhere.
And find whoever recorded this video. Deal with them.
And bring me that bastard Wallace. He'd better have proof that rebuts this video—fast."
He fixed Herbert with a murderous glare.
"Go tell Sullivan this time he has to use everything.
Because if I go down, all those shady deals you've been doing in the grain trade?
They'll become very public."
"I understand, sir."
Herbert executed Clint's orders with brutal speed.
But Clint, from his lofty perch, had no understanding of what truly mattered to regular people.
They didn't just care about price.
When word of the price cuts spread, even more potential buyers walked away.
Those few who did come to look left even faster after seeing the houses in person.
A bewildered Herbert grabbed one of them:
"Is it still too expensive?!"
The man yanked his arm free and snapped:
"First it needs to actually be a house."
Beside him, a woman—seeing Herbert was at least good-looking—took pity and explained:
"Like that report said, these things aren't livable.
And even if you lowered the price, how could we afford all the custom furniture they'd need?"
Their child chimed in:
"No young person wants to live in a house where your parents hear everything if you roll over."
In that moment, Herbert finally understood.
He and people like him thought the "peasants" should be grateful just to own anything.
If it was cheaper, they should fall to their knees in thanks.
They had no idea what the working class really wanted.
Just then, one of Herbert's aides ran up in panic.
"Sir! It's bad—they're airing another new video on TV!"
"What?! What the hell is my father doing?!"
The aide went even paler:
"Mr. Sullivan asked me to tell you:
Our 'friends' in New York refuse to help block it."
"That's impossible!"
As the words left his lips, Herbert sank to the ground in shock.
He realized why his greedy "allies" were refusing to help.
First, they hadn't gotten a cut of this Bubble House scheme.
Second, they could see the Guryan family was about to lose.
Those two reasons alone were enough to destroy his entire clan.
He knew them too well.
They were probably already discussing how to divide up the Guryan fortune.