Sleepy Hollow, Westchester County, New York.
"Pretty comfortable, isn't it, living in my house?"
Augustus chuckled.
"Indeed. When it comes to enjoying life, no one beats you long-established dynasties."
Leo gave him high praise.
"This time, even if you hadn't called me, I would have sought you out. Several hotels in Monaco are already finished, and as the major shareholder I must report on the company's next steps.
But first, let's talk about why you asked me here."
After nearly a year of renovations and infrastructure upgrades, Leo's gambling ventures in Europe were about to open.
"Well done, Augustus. The reason I asked you here is simple: how much do you know about the American Telephone and Telegraph Company?"
Leo asked with a smile.
Augustus sized him up and said:
"You and my father are the same—anywhere there's wealth, neither of you ever let it go. If you can't seize it outright, you'll still bite off a piece and circle it until another chance arises.
Leo, haven't you thought? Every new domain you enter spawns new enemies. You already have enough foes—I'm tired of repeating this to you."
Leo lifted his glass of wine and clinked it gently against Augustus's with a look of gratitude.
Augustus's words weren't pleasant, but they were honest. At Leo's current level of power and influence, there were very few left who dared, or cared enough, to speak so frankly.
Leo wasn't ungrateful. He could hear the concern behind Augustus's bluntness.
The two had known each other for three years now, their relationship both mentor and friend. In moments of temptation or critical decisions, without even needing to confer, they always made choices that benefited each other.
Such friendship and tacit understanding were rare and precious at their level.
Still, though Augustus was right, Leo could not halt his expansion.
At that moment, he resembled that Chancellor of 1942.
With shallow roots came endless internal problems—yet these remained hidden, masked by the rapid expansion of the interest group. But expansion also meant ever more external enemies. Friends could easily become foes, driven by greed.
Leo could not stop. He dared not. Especially with upheaval looming in the Far East, he had perhaps a year of breathing space. That was a terrible disadvantage—he had to amass more strength before the storm hit.
"Augustus, you understand my predicament."
To others, Leo might have avoided such talk, but not with Augustus. At times, he too needed Augustus's counsel.
Augustus fell silent, recalling the wolves that had circled the Morgan family after his father's death.
The Morgans had endured five generations, their foundations far deeper than Leo's, and still they had not escaped peril.
Leo, in just four years, had nearly caught up to those old families. The dangers he faced were self-evident.
Augustus sighed, raised his own glass, and clinked it with Leo's.
"When we were on Broadway, I never imagined you'd rise so quickly.
Then tread carefully. As for AT&T, I know plenty. I once managed our business with them. Later, Jack decided I was too reckless and handed it to Roland instead.
But Leo, I'm still a Morgan. All I can say is what you'd learn in your own investigation.
The chairman of AT&T is Walter Gifford—a tyrant, but a genius. Bell Labs was his creation. The company's expansion was also driven by him."
Augustus smiled, and Leo could tell he hadn't been treated kindly during those dealings.
"But it won't last much longer. To fully control this lucrative company, Jack even invited John D. Rockefeller Jr. to join. Though his shares are small, no chairman can withstand the combined weight of the Morgan and Rockefeller families—especially when he himself doesn't hold a majority stake."
"So AT&T is headed for chaos?"
Leo's eyes lit up. He recalled a TV villain from a show in his past life: Chaos isn't a pit. Chaos is a ladder.
"Not necessarily. Roland is shrewder and steadier than I am. Whether you'll find an opening, I can't say."
Augustus replied.
"That's enough. If an opportunity arises, I'll seize it. If not, I'll find cracks to slip through."
Leo nodded.
"And the Rockefellers' shares? Who controls them now—John Jr.?"
"They used to be his. Now they're in Lawrence and David's hands."
"Who holds more?"
"Lawrence."
Leo nodded. David was unlikely, but Lawrence—endless possibilities. Their last quarrel still lingered, perhaps it was time for an apology.
"Enough on that. Thank you, Augustus. Now, Monaco—surely you didn't just come to report. What do you need?"
"Money. Monaco itself wasn't hit hard by the war, but the infrastructure in southern France is ancient, discouraging tourists from traveling to Monaco. We need fresh investment."
"Doesn't the French government contribute at all?"
Leo frowned.
"De Gaulle is too stubborn. A stingy iron rooster—won't part with a feather."
Augustus complained.
"You're no saint yourself, and you've got America behind you. Can't even handle de Gaulle?"
"Ha! The real men of France died at Verdun. The rest surrendered to Hitler in 14 days, offering their women in exchange for sparing their factories. France emerged with industry intact and recovered faster than anyone else in Europe.
Our Marshall Plan aid—most went to us, but France took a big bite too. Now de Gaulle is arrogant. He accepts only what benefits him, ignores what doesn't.
I have tricks, but against him? I'm helpless. Worse, we still need him to root out the Reds inside France."
"Have you tried offering shares?"
"Doesn't work."
Leo sighed. Once he had admired men who rebuilt their nations. Now, from his new position, such principled men only obstructed profit.
De Gaulle's stance meant one thing: their business was under threat. Monaco's access routes—air, sea, land—all required France's consent. Without paying tribute, de Gaulle wouldn't nod.
So Leo asked bluntly:
"What does de Gaulle want?"
"Investment in southern France's infrastructure."
"For free?"
"In exchange, we'd get the right to operate the highways—thirty years. We could even appoint ourselves as operators."
"A clever scheme. Heads he wins, tails we lose.
If we charge high tolls, tourism suffers. If we charge low, we can't recover costs. He'll pressure us to cut tolls—or eliminate them—while southern France enjoys cheap travel. Compared to that, we'll naturally prioritize our casinos.
Devious!"
They exchanged bitter smiles. De Gaulle was a tough one.
"How much investment?"
"Two hundred million. With labor costs this low, that's enough for all the main routes we need."
"Then tell de Gaulle: I never lose money. I want all land within twenty kilometers on either side of those roads."
"I'll try." Augustus nodded.
Long Island's villa district. Seven mansions, seven great families. One belonged to Lawrence Rockefeller, purchased from a Prohibition-era bootlegger whose fortune had quickly faded.
Lawrence had just returned from Europe, a "holiday" to ease his fury after Leo had threatened him. Leo had later apologized and compensated him, but Lawrence had never been so humiliated in his life.
The sun and beauties of southern Europe had soothed him—until word came: Mr. Valentino was here to visit. His face darkened instantly.
Yet as the Rockefeller most entangled with Leo, Lawrence couldn't afford to refuse. A snub that disrupted investments would cost him dearly.
So when Leo entered the parlor, he found Lawrence scowling on the sofa, no drink in sight.
Leo, thick-skinned as ever, was prepared. He signaled Tony Lip.
Tony, once Lucas's driver in Britain, had married earlier this year. When he returned, Leo poached him as his own chauffeur.
From the streets, Tony was bold, sharp-eyed, and shameless. Years with Lucas had honed his gift for reading people to perfection.
At Leo's gesture, Tony swiftly uncorked a bottle of red wine, produced two glasses, and set them on the table.
Leo sat, raised his glass, and toasted Lawrence.
Lawrence stared at the brazen man before him. Was it possible for anyone to have such thick skin?
But upbringing bound him—he couldn't ignore a toast. He grudgingly raised his glass.
"You never come without an agenda. Out with it—what do you want?"
"I've been making some big moves lately. Surely you've heard."
Leo said.
Lawrence glared at him. His tone was sharp:
"What, did you come to brag?"
"No, no, Lawrence. You know me better than that. I only wanted to ask—are you interested in my new ventures?"
Leo tempted.
"I dare not. You might lock me up again."
Lawrence straightened, but his body betrayed him—he was deeply curious about Leo's latest ventures.
After acquiring AT&T shares, Lawrence had toured Bell Labs. The visit had stunned him. The sheer brilliance of the science on display had left him awestruck.
Back home, his real estate business suddenly looked shabby. He dreamed of moving into tech, investing through his two-year-old venture capital firm. And then Leo had confined him to that damned yacht.
When he returned from Europe, he was shocked. America had shifted overnight. The "landlord" Leo Valentino had become a pioneer of technology.
And worse—he had stepped into the very fields Lawrence coveted: semiconductors and information science. Even Stanford University, which Lawrence had earmarked for his own expansion westward, Leo had claimed first.
Lawrence had his ambitions. He envisioned himself as the founder of a second Rockefeller empire in the West, leaving the family estate for his brother David to guard.
But now, the territory he dreamed of was fenced in by Leo.
That explained his fury. And also why, despite himself, he was tempted by Leo's invitation.
He had already mapped out his vision for the next decades, long before his European retreat. No matter if Leo threw him on another yacht—this chance, Lawrence would seize.