"Mr. Valentino, why the West?"
Someone asked curiously.
In everyone's impression, although the West had developed rapidly in the past two years, it was still only rapid development—the gap with the East was not small at all.
"Mr. Valentino, does the West really have the economic resources to support an era-defining super-industrial power?"
Finally, someone voiced the core question.
All eyes turned to Valentino. These were clever people—if Leo was just trying to pitch his western real estate projects, they certainly wouldn't buy in so easily.
Leo looked at them, smiled, and asked:
"Before answering, let me ask you: why did the East rise?"
"That was where the nation was founded. It has the densest population and the earliest development," someone replied.
"You're right," Leo nodded, "but the West and Texas in the South are now growing steadily in population. While I won't claim they will surpass the East in numbers, I believe their talent reserves are enough to sustain a force of the times.
And yes, talent matters, but I don't think that was the key reason for the East's rise. The real reason was its proximity to the money—the old world financial center, Europe, which for two hundred years was the world's main consumer market.
But now, we all know what Europe has become.
America is today's Europe. Now our eyes should be on the entire world—the whole world is our market.
Therefore, the difference between East and West is no longer the deciding factor for a force of the era to form. Especially since our semiconductor and information industries are only just beginning.
The old industrial clusters of the East hold little value for us. Worse, uneven distribution of interests there could become obstacles to our new industries.
What's more, we in the field of information understand best: once the information age truly arrives, the global communications order will change.
The speed of transmitting information will soar, and regional industrial clusters will inevitably fade, as business owners will choose to move factories to places with lower labor costs.
So, I believe the key to the future is not the geographic location of industry clusters, but the birthplace of innovation—the origin of new technologies and breakthroughs.
We only need to decide the beginning and the end. The process in between doesn't matter much to us."
When Leo finished, silence fell over the hall.
The fifty-odd top minds of America sat deep in thought, pondering the future Leo painted.
They were smart—and perhaps the most capable of grasping Leo's vision. But none had ever said it aloud. Immersed in their own research, they had never thought in this direction.
Yet now that Leo had said it, they could sense the future drawing near.
"Mr. Valentino," one scientist objected, "as you said, we don't need to gather in one place. Communications are enough to share our research. Why must we go West?"
Leo was no Franklin Roosevelt—among fifty scientists, there were those who liked him, and those who disliked him.
To this dissenter, Leo simply smiled:
"Of course, today's communications are sufficient for academic collaboration. But my investments will be focused in the West—more precisely, in Palo Alto, home to Stanford University."
The moment his words fell, someone sharp asked:
"Mr. Valentino, do you mean that if we achieve results, you'll help us turn them into products?"
"Of course! That's no problem at all—you know I have the means!"
Leo's reply sent a wave of excitement through the scientists.
But the dissenter still wasn't convinced.
"Mr. Valentino, do you also intend to build a lab like Bell's, exploiting our labor for profit?"
Leo held deep respect for scientists who could change the world. That respect meant he would forgive an offense once—but only once.
He glanced at Joseph standing below the podium. Joseph nodded—he understood. That scientist might soon meet with a "car accident package."
Leo then said calmly:
"Yes, I do plan to build a lab. But unlike Bell, our focus won't be profit. Instead, we'll fairly distribute the proceeds from our work according to contribution.
Of course, if you don't wish to join my lab but still want to improve your life through your results, you may always reach out. In America, there may be people more skilled in semiconductors or information than me, but not with my financial strength.
And those richer than me? They don't understand semiconductors and communications. Most importantly—I sincerely respect each of you.
So I warmly invite you: talk to me. Wherever you are, if you have a good idea, call me.
You all know I have properties in every major city in America. But as I've said, I will give preference to western researchers—especially those willing to move to Palo Alto.
I will meet you at my residence, and we'll have a pleasant discussion. If your project interests me, I'll give you two options:
Option one: Sell it to me outright. Take the money, and enjoy financial freedom.
Option two: I'll fund the development of your first prototype. You handle sales and operations, and I'll provide some support. That way, you can own your own company. If the market responds well, you might become a billionaire in no time.
But there's risk. If you're not skilled at business, my money might not yield results. Or even with results, the market may not care—your efforts could fail.
If that happens, and I'm still interested, I'll buy your work at a low market price. If not—sorry, you get nothing.
And this won't be handled by any of my existing companies. It will be the job of a brand-new firm: Valentino Venture Capital."
When Leo finished, the banquet officially began.
Of course, Leo was the undisputed star.
Straightforward scientists tried awkwardly to strike up conversation with him, stumbling over words and gestures. After all, they were human too, with basic needs. Who wouldn't prefer a better, more comfortable life to teaching undergraduates who could barely keep up?
Halfway through, a few overindulged in drink and collapsed—but most weren't interested in alcohol. Instead, they sipped champagne lightly, gathered in small groups, and chatted about science.
In that arena, Leo could hardly keep up.
So he carried his glass upstairs to the terrace.
The late-summer chorus of cicadas filled the mountains, the Milky Way shining overhead—a performance like a cosmic opera.
Leo didn't worry about mosquitoes—he'd already had a giant net custom-made in Chinatown.
As he enjoyed the view, Arson Becket came over, his face worried.
"Your speech was brilliant today," he said, "but what if the scientists spread your words? You want to build a third force to rival the military–industrial complex. Will they allow it?"
"Hahaha, Arson, you overthink. Even if I said it, do you think they'd believe me? Even you—do you really believe semiconductors and information will one day dominate the future?" Leo laughed.
"I…"
Arson wanted to say I believe. But his reason stopped him.
The most he could imagine was communications spawning a few giants like AT&T. But to replace the military–industrial complex, fattened by two world wars? That was impossible.
"You see? Even you don't believe. So why would the richest men?" Leo chuckled.
Arson sighed, glancing through the glass at the scientists inside.
"So—you're deceiving them."
"Guess," Leo grinned.
"You are deceiving them," Arson said firmly.
"Hahaha, Arson, you don't have that much time to waste. What do you really want?"
Leo dodged the question. Only he knew what the future truly held. Whether Becket or anyone else believed didn't matter—after all, this world often dismisses the truth.
"I do have a matter," Arson admitted. "Vannevar Bush wants to speak with you privately."
Leo looked inside. Not far away, Vannevar raised his champagne glass in greeting.
"What's your relationship with him?" Leo asked.
"Friends—or more precisely, allies. He's called the 'General of Science,' with vast ties in politics and the military.
I got into the Scientific Progress Committee thanks to his recommendation.
I've repaid many favors since, so whether you meet him is up to you. I'm only passing it on.
But my real request is about the lab you discussed with William Buckley. Could it be placed in Philadelphia?"
Leo looked at him.
"Arson, WLI's biggest assembly plant is already in Philadelphia. Don't be too greedy."
"I know," Arson said. "But I'm the mayor—if I don't ask, I'll be cursed when I go back. Another request: could the Becket family buy some shares in the lab?"
"And what will you trade for shares?" Leo asked.
"I, I…" Arson stammered. He realized, crestfallen, that he had nothing equal to exchange.
Then he remembered Leo's earlier demand—the one he had resisted. But now, for the family's future, he steeled himself.
"I'll agree to run for governor of Virginia."
That was Leo's condition. The campaign funds would come from Leo's various companies, and as governor, Becket would prioritize Leo's needs above all else. Pennsylvania's families would have to wait their turn. As for the common people of Pennsylvania? Becket had never considered them.
As the long-time mayor of Philadelphia's independent old district, his ability and his family's influence were undeniable.
In truth, he had long been qualified to challenge for the governorship. But he thought the governor's role, though more powerful, was too constrained by federal oversight and plagued by opposition from mayors. A troublesome job.
He only agreed to be Leo's "puppet governor" because his instincts told him: the Beckets' chance to transform from a political family into a political–business dynasty hinged on this.
After all, he still believed this industry could produce giants like AT&T.
"Agreed, Arson. But business is business, favors are favors. How many shares you get will depend on how much your family can afford. Enough on that—I'm going to meet this 'General of Science.'"
Leo returned to the hotel and sat in Vannevar's booth. Joseph stood nearby, back to them.
Anyone could see—they were about to talk business. A billionaire and the "General of Science"? No fool would dare interrupt.
"Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Valentino," Vannevar began. "I'd like to ask—after attending the Scientific Progress Committee these past two days, what are your thoughts? What's your opinion of it?"
Leo hadn't expected that question. Frankly, he was disappointed. There were famous names, yes, but also plenty of frauds and mediocrities.
And remembering the chairman he'd stripped of his manhood, Leo felt the committee was unfit to advance science at all.
But he didn't say this. Vannevar was the "General of Science," not the chairman. Even if Leo had thoughts, they weren't for him. So he stayed silent, staring calmly.
Getting no answer, Vannevar grew uneasy. He had no prepared response for silence.
If Leo praised the committee, he'd echo and redirect. If Leo criticized, he'd agree and steer the talk.
But with no answer, he could only gamble on honesty. Perhaps truth would interest Leo.
"Mr. Valentino, I believe the Scientific Progress Committee today is neither progressive nor scientific. It's a swamp of rot."
"Oh? How so?" Leo sipped his champagne.
Encouraged, Vannevar went on. He blasted the chairman and vice-chairmen, exposed the "grain faction" dominating leadership, and described how hordes of biologists and chemists had been dragged into studying viruses and explosives, serving as employees of pharmaceutical giants and military brass.
"No one is truly working for America's scientific progress anymore," he said bitterly.
"Then you should report this to President Truman, not me," Leo said, starting to rise. He had no patience for Vannevar's moral grandstanding—he could tell the man wasn't what he pretended.
Seeing Leo about to leave, Vannevar blurted out desperately:
"I have a way to take control of the Scientific Progress Committee."