After sending off Earl and Frederick and holding a farewell party with his family, Leo summoned Dick. He instructed him to not only manage the Bank of America but also oversee a newly established investment company with a total capital of just one million dollars.
The idea of a small "future investment company" came to Leo when Frederick mentioned Stanford's industrial park. Since Stanford had land, why couldn't Leo, as the largest landowner in nearby Menlo Park, allocate some land for an industrial zone as well?
Even more importantly, Leo had a unique advantage: he could include Menlo Park under California's National Housing Act planning, which would dramatically improve the town's infrastructure and road network.
If Stanford could be the birthplace of Silicon Valley, then so could he. Leo could try being the "Father of Silicon Valley" himself.
The core industries of the future Silicon Valley might very well settle in Menlo Park. And the Valentino family, as the leading landholder there, could maintain their influence for the long run.
As Leo was boarding his plane, Mike called to tell him that Johnny had successfully dealt with Chris. Apparently, Johnny had promised to shoot a free movie for him.
"I'll give him a surprise when the movie is released! Of course, only if it doesn't interfere with Miss Monroe's rise to stardom."
"How's your handover with Clemenza going?" Leo asked the eager-to-go-legit Mike.
"Very smoothly. I even built him another villa by Lake Tahoe. Leo, I heard you've been involved in charity work. Do you think I could join in?"
Leo immediately understood what Mike was thinking. The kid wanted to "wash clean" his name through charity.
But that was far too naïve. If Mike really went down that road, he would become nothing more than a lamb for politicians to slaughter.
The politicians knew exactly where his money came from and would gladly see it spent in their districts on the poor. But the moment Mike tried to use charity to enter politics and threaten their positions, they wouldn't hesitate to expose his mafia identity and reveal that all his donations came from dirty money.
At that point, people's goodwill toward him would vanish in an instant. Even those who had benefited from him would feel his money was tainted. To them, his charity would just look like a way to atone for his sins. They wouldn't owe him any gratitude.
Leo patiently explained to Mike the flawed logic behind his idea.
Mike then asked desperately, "Then what should I do?"
"It's simple. Get more people working for you. When their livelihood depends entirely on you, they'll naturally stand on your side," Leo replied.
"I see."
Mike was clever. He understood that Leo's way was the viable path.
Sitting beside Leo, Noodles asked, "Do you really think Mike will listen to you? Do you think he can ever go legit?"
Leo didn't answer directly. Instead, he asked, "What do you think?"
Noodles shook his head. "If I had taken that one million at the train station back then, I'd have been dead in Lynchburg long ago. I was just a small-time bootlegger, a nobody. Someone like me could walk away without a cent and disappear.
But Mike? He's already knee-deep in the underworld. Even with your protection, he'll never wash clean."
"You're right, Noodles. But that's only part of it. The key is whether his ability to earn legitimate money can surpass his ability to make dirty money. If not, his path to redemption will never come."
"Anyway, enough about him. Let's talk about you. I want you to go to Lake Tahoe. Clemenza is efficient, but I'm not sure about his loyalty. I need someone I can trust to watch him."
"So my quiet days are over," Noodles said with a complicated look.
"The moment you agreed to be my driver, your peace was over. And besides, now that you've got a stable family, maybe it's time you thought about having kids."
Leo patted Noodles' shoulder and boarded the plane.
Behind him, Noodles shouted, "Then who's going to drive you?"
Leo laughed and called back, "I've got to give the newcomers a chance!"
Mackinac Island, Michigan – a place that refused modernity.
Leo rode in a horse-drawn carriage and slowly arrived at a lakeside resort hotel. Despite its modern name, the resort had no central building, only 17th- and 18th-century colonial-style houses.
The annual American Committee on Scientific and Technological Progress meeting was held in the largest castle-like mansion of the resort. Leo's accommodations were arranged in a delicately designed house closest to the castle.
Inside, there was no trace of colonial-era décor. To Leo, it looked perfectly modern.
Accompanying him were Al Stockman, chairman of the committee, and Marlan Billings, the vice-chairman. Both were elderly—Stockman already sixty-four—and both wielded significant influence in the international scientific community. Stockman, for instance, had once solved the wheat rust problem that plagued American farmers, earning him prestige as an agricultural scientist.
Years of dealing with major grain corporations had also given him exceptional social skills. Becoming chairman among so many brilliant minds was proof of that.
Stockman dropped subtle hints that the committee needed funding, but Leo ignored him. He would only spend money where it produced returns. Stockman clearly knew that too and didn't press further.
As they were leaving, Stockman mysteriously handed Leo a pure black invitation.
"Mr. Valentino, the central church on Mackinac Island has hosted a masked ball tradition since the mid-20th century. Very unique. You're invited to join us tonight."
Leo smiled and agreed politely, but once they left, he glanced at the invitation and lost all interest. Another one of those secret societies.
He'd attended one such Freemason gathering before—bonfires, drinking blood in a cave—childish theatrics.
Outside, Billings asked Stockman, "Do you think he'll come?"
"I don't know. But even people like us can hardly resist the charm of that ball. A young man like him? Likely not. He has a lot of money, and we need money. The best plan is to bring him in. Get Filin ready. If Leo doesn't plan to attend, Filin will take care of it."
At the mention of Filin, Billings shivered. Filin, a psychology prodigy, could manipulate minds with terrifying ease. Billings had once witnessed him seduce a twelve-year-old girl into becoming his "wife" in under thirty minutes. That same girl was now a permanent feature of the masked ball.
"Should we send invitations to the others too?" Billings asked, glancing at the other houses filled with prominent scientists.
"No. Forget the bookworms. We only need the key talents."
After a short walk by the lake, Leo took a good nap. By evening, he joined the scientists at the dining hall, where they had formed lively circles based on their research specialties.
Leo didn't know many people and didn't fit in, so he found a window seat with a lake view. Just then, a middle-aged man approached him.
"I see a lonely man here. Would you honor another lonely man by letting me sit?"
Leo smiled politely, though the veins in his temples bulged. It was the sharp, primal sense of being preyed upon—a danger he hadn't felt in years.
This man was dangerous.
Yet, no matter how much Leo scrutinized him, he found no flaw in the man's microexpressions. That only piqued his curiosity further.
"Sit down. I think you know who I am, so let's skip the pleasantries. What do you want?" Leo asked bluntly.
"Haha, Mr. Valentino, must approaching you always come with an agenda? Allow me to introduce myself—Filin Bask, an obscure psychologist."
Leo leaned forward, his eyes sharp as blades. "I've never met anyone who approached me without wanting something."
Most would've crumbled under Leo's aura. But Filin remained calm, his voice steady. "Well then, perhaps I'm the exception. If I'm unwelcome, I'll leave."
He stood, bowed slightly, and walked away. In his mind, he counted silently: One, two, three.
In his experience, Leo should've called him back by now.
But Leo didn't. He didn't even glance at him, instead walking straight out of the dining hall.
"You failed, Filin?" Stockman frowned as Filin returned empty-handed.
"Patience. The ball hasn't even started yet," Filin replied calmly. His confidence lay in the fact that regardless of Leo's reaction, he had already learned something: Leo feared him.
Fear was a powerful lever. Harness it, and one could control even the strongest men.
Later that night, Stockman spotted Filin entering Leo's quarters after exchanging a few words with his bodyguard. Relieved, he told Billings, "Let's go prepare the ball. Filin has never failed us. Tonight, several grain company directors will attend."
But Stockman didn't know—Filin had been knocked unconscious the moment he stepped inside. Joseph, who had been leading the way, turned and floored him with a single punch.
"Boss, this trash isn't worth your time," Joseph said, pointing to the unconscious man.
Leo's temples finally eased. He told Joseph, "Call our men. Finish him. Give him enough anesthesia, then cut out his tongue and break his legs."
"Uh… is that really necessary?" Joseph asked.
Leo remembered the horrors he'd once seen on the dark web—psychologists controlling people with terrifying ease.
He patted Joseph's shoulder. "Trust me. It's necessary. He may not kill like you, but with just words or gestures, he could make you let him go. Believe me, he's far more dangerous than you think."
Originally, Leo had intended to test Filin's strength. But when he saw him walk calmly to another table earlier, Leo changed his mind. Why risk it? He wasn't barefoot—he was wearing the finest shoes. Why play dangerous games with someone who had nothing to lose?
Better to destroy the threat outright.
He picked up the phone and called Hoover, waking him from sleep.
"Damn it, why do you always call at this hour? Don't you know old men need rest?" Hoover grumbled.
"I want to report a crime," Leo said.
"A crime? Why not call the local police? Besides, you're the mob's biggest financier—calling the cops? You kidding me?" Hoover snapped, though he forced himself awake. He knew Leo never called for trivial reasons.
"The local police won't handle this. I want to see if the FBI will," Leo said.
"What's gotten you so worked up? You're at the Scientific Progress Committee's conference in Michigan. Those brainiacs wouldn't cross you—unless…" Hoover's voice suddenly sharpened.
"Unless what, Director?" Leo asked. "Could it be you've heard something about Mackinac Island's masked ball?"
"You…" Hoover paused, then sighed. "Leo, you're bluffing me. If I count the time, you only just arrived today. If they were hosting a ball for you, it would be tonight. But since you're calling me, you clearly haven't gone."
"So you do know something. Sounds like it's not exactly a happy gathering. As America's guardian, Director Hoover, don't you think you should do something?" Leo asked.
"Guardian? I'm nothing but the watchdog of the rich. Don't meddle in that ball, Leo. Stay away. You've already got enough enemies. And the organizers? Grain merchants—the blackest hearts of all.
Listen to me: don't meddle."