"Hey! Thomas, wake up."
The scientists had left, and most of Leo's own people were gone as well. Only the CEO of WLI was still sound asleep.
At the start of the discussions, he had tried to follow along with each scientist's words, but somehow he had dozed off.
"Ah, oh… is it over already? Damn it, how did I fall asleep?"
Thomas J. Watson shook his head and stood up.
"Why organize a meeting like this? I don't think these people are the kind we can bring into the company."
Leo shook his head.
"No, no, no. I run businesses to make money—I don't want to build a nation. There are many ways to control people, but turning them into your employees is the worst one."
"God is so unfair," Thomas sighed. "You're so young, yet your vision and ability far outstrip mine. But honestly, do those things they talked about really matter to us? That 'information entropy'—it sounded like sorcery!"
Leo chuckled.
"Hey, Thomas, if you really want to surpass your father's IBM, understanding their theories—and what they can be used for—is something you must do."
In high spirits, Leo returned to his room—only to discover an even greater gift awaiting him.
The deputy chief researcher of WLI Computer Research Company, who bore a striking resemblance to Hollywood actress Anne Hathaway, was lying on his bed in a lab uniform.
Her fitted lab coat clung to her waist, the hemline cut far shorter than usual, and—most strikingly—she wore the newly fashionable white Christmas stockings that had taken New York by storm.
Perhaps it was too long a drought that made Winona yearn to be nourished. Normally cold and research-obsessed, she now struck an uncharacteristically seductive pose.
Her eyes burned with naked desire. The moment Leo entered, Winona leapt up and clung to him like a koala.
Her breath, filled with unmistakable invitation, brushed against his ear.
"Love me," she whispered.
That night's pleasure left Leo the only one to appear at breakfast the next morning. Winona was still asleep, likely to skip straight to lunch.
Leo's presence drew plenty of attention from the scientists in the dining hall. Many debated whether to approach him—until one brave soul sat directly across from him.
William Shockley.
"Mr. Valentino," Shockley said at once, "last night I visited WLI's chief researcher John William Mauchly, and the head of WLI's tech R&D department, Reuben Frederick.
From them, I learned that WLI's current main business is the sale of commercial computers, with research focused on computer software and miniaturization.
I know little about software, but I believe much of my research could greatly aid in miniaturizing computers."
After rattling it out in one breath, Shockley exhaled and looked nervously at Leo, eager for a reaction.
He had tossed and turned all night after the meeting. Leo's words—the future is in your hands—had struck him deeply. Not because he naively believed Leo's declaration would magically make it true, but because those words meant something else: a billionaire had confidence in this field. More precisely, a billionaire was ready to invest money. And that billionaire already owned a technology company.
Thinking this through, Shockley had gone straight to Mauchly's room. The scientific world was neither too big nor too small—he and John knew each other well. John was honest to a fault, and with a little nudging (especially once Reuben joined in), Shockley quickly learned WLI's research focus was computer miniaturization.
His long-held dream of founding his own lab flared uncontrollably. After all, he already had significant results that could help make computers smaller.
Leo, sensing Shockley's probing gaze, calmly dabbed at a nonexistent crumb on his lips and replied slowly:
"William, even if you have results, they mean little. WLI has no interest in a core product tied down by Bell Labs' patent fees."
Bell Labs had been semi-independent of AT&T since 1925, and its main business was selling patents. Rarely did it sell them outright, usually only for limited terms.
Leo's meaning was plain: he would not accept WLI's core products being shackled by Bell Labs' patents.
"I understand that perfectly," Shockley said quickly. He dragged his chair around to sit beside Leo.
"Mr. Valentino, what if I told you my miniaturization research has never been registered under Bell Labs' patents?"
Like many scientists longing for their own lab, William Shockley was part of Bell Labs' great "slacker army." By day he rehashed old findings in the lab, sneaking in personal experiments; by night he pursued his own passions.
Especially during WWII, when Bell Labs suspended free research and forced scientists to focus on radar and weaponry, many quietly pursued their own projects on the side. Shockley was one of them. Claude Shannon was, too.
Just as Shannon discovered information entropy and bits during that period, Shockley not only submitted the junction transistor after the war but also developed many unpublished results crucial for computer miniaturization and information transmission.
But he never reported them—why settle for a meager bonus when his work was worth so much more? To Shockley, only selling patents at high value, through his own lab, would do justice to his research.
Leo narrowed his eyes.
"So, William, do you want to become my employee?"
"No, Mr. Valentino," Shockley said earnestly. "I don't want to be just an employee like John. I want to ask you to sponsor me in founding a semiconductor laboratory."
"A laboratory? That's not something one man's work can sustain," Leo said flatly.
"Mr. Valentino, I've been at Bell Labs' physics group for years. I have partners—John Bardeen, deputy head of the group, and his collaborator Walter Brattain. They're geniuses who invented the first semiconductor transistor. Like me, they also have much unsubmitted research."
Leo was stunned. Bell Labs had bred a nest of turncoats. Still, his curiosity got the better of him.
"You didn't sign any non-compete agreements at Bell Labs?"
"Non-compete? What's that?" Shockley asked, bewildered.
Leo didn't answer. He merely thought to himself: No non-competes, huh? If I'm going to invest in your lab, I'd better be careful with you backstabbers.
"Come," Leo said at last. "This isn't the place to talk."
The two moved to a private meeting room.
"Tell me," Leo said. "How do you propose we work together?"
"Mr. Valentino, I have two options. If neither suits you, I'll follow your lead.
Option one: You invest capital, we contribute technology. We sell patents openly, and profits are split according to shares.
Option two: We become an independent division under WLI, modeled after Bell Labs. We core researchers would enjoy equity shares. Our projects would align with WLI's needs, and WLI would have priority to purchase our results at low cost. Only if WLI doesn't need them would we sell to others.
Option one requires only a one-time investment; the lab would fund itself afterward through patent sales. Option two requires ongoing directed funding—sustained investment."
Clearly, these were words Shockley had rehearsed countless times. They flowed out smoothly.
Leo pondered, then looked up.
"I'll take the second option. How much equity would I get?"
"AT&T owns 46% of Bell Labs," Shockley explained.
"And how much do they invest?" Leo asked.
"Five percent of annual revenue."
Leo hissed in disbelief. No wonder Bell Labs dominated every patent in U.S. communications, computing, and the internet—their annual research budget of $150 million outstripped even the government's.
"Your lab is no Bell Labs," Leo said.
"That's why, Mr. Valentino," Shockley replied earnestly, "if you provide $20 million annually for the first three years, you'll own 60% of the lab."
Shockley wasn't a politician; Leo, a master of microexpressions, could tell he was being sincere.
"Fine, I agree. But your results must meet my demands. For the first year, your task is clear—help WLI achieve computer miniaturization."
Shockley opened his mouth, but Leo raised a hand.
"William, that's the condition of our partnership."
"…All right. I agree, Mr. Valentino."
And so began the annual conference of the American Association for the Advancement of Science. As a key guest, Leo attended every session. Many scientists were astonished—never before had a businessman stayed through the entirety of their gatherings. His status in their eyes soared even higher.
And yet, the most envied were the scientists in semiconductors and communications.
At first, only a few attended the special discussions. Many assumed it was just another corporate project. But more and more joined in, and those who emerged wore faces glowing with excitement and inspiration.
Curiosity gnawed at the others. Scientists, after all, are nothing if not curious. Yet no matter how hard they probed, those in semiconductors and communications remained utterly silent.
On the final day, tradition called for a closing banquet. But as the other scientists, dressed in suits, entered the dining hall, they realized—those in semiconductors and communications were nowhere to be seen.
When asked, the chairman of the association replied sourly:
"They're attending a private banquet hosted by Mr. Valentino."
In that instant, what had once been the most anticipated event of the year suddenly felt tasteless. The hall emptied early.
In the back mountains of the Blue Ridge's Lynchburg section lay a valley encircled by peaks. There, the third phase of the Lynchburg Hotel—Future Valley Hotel—welcomed its first guests.
Ferried in on custom-made Ford summer coaches, the semiconductor and communications scientists gazed in awe at the stunning hotel rising from the gorge.
Those who had seen the mountaintop Glass Hotel thought it was already the pinnacle. Yet here was another wonder waiting.
Stepping inside, they felt as though the banquet was being held beneath the stars and among the trees. It was an experience unlike any in their lives.
But they knew why they were here. Finding their place cards, they sat, eyes fixed on the podium at the front, anticipation written on every face.
And soon, the man they were waiting for appeared—Valentino himself, the one who had urged them on, assuring them the future was in their hands.
"For days I've been listening to your discussions," Leo began. "I'm deeply moved.
As I've said, I believe semiconductors and communications are the future. And you hold the keys to unlock it.
Some don't believe me. But think back—at the dawn of the 20th century, electricity defined the future. It brought countless people to the stage of history. Some became immortal scientists, revered by you today. Some became tycoons, reshaping our daily lives.
I call this combination a force of the times.
You all know the military–industrial complex that rose during the war. They will dominate for decades. But just as electricity was eventually replaced by the military–industrial age, I believe semiconductors and information will one day replace the military.
We may not live to see it, but we will see this much: semiconductors and communications will become America's third great force of the era."
As his words fell, every scientist rose to their feet, applause thunderous and unending.
"Mr. Valentino, you're right!" one young researcher shouted, his chest heaving with passion. "But the wealthy parts of America are already taken. Where should we go?"
"All taken? Not quite." Leo smiled.
"We go where they are weakest."
"And where is that, sir?" another asked.
"The West!"