As Leo was pouring all his energy into building his technology park in the West and cultivating new technological forces,
on October 1, 1949, the news that the giant of the East had risen shocked the entire Western world.
As the spokesman for the Free World, President Truman—under careful manipulation by those with an agenda—was battered by relentless criticism from the press. His approval ratings plummeted like a cliffside collapse.
Since the passage of the National Housing Act three months earlier, President Truman had devoted nearly all of his energy to salvaging the deteriorating situation in the East.
But whether one said "the results were less than ideal" or "there were no results at all," it amounted to the same thing—failure.
Truman swept his eyes across the group of silent men in his office, a surge of anger welling in his chest.
Every time he needed to make a decision, they brimmed with confidence, urging him on. But once it failed, they brushed it off as a "temporary setback" that would not affect the larger situation in the East. And in the end, he was left to shoulder all the consequences alone!
Yet Truman found himself too exhausted to even be angry anymore, because word had already spread that some congressmen were preparing articles of impeachment.
At this point, his most urgent task was simple: how to save his presidency.
Truman's gaze fell on the ever-resourceful George Marshall. But Marshall, having just returned from the East, had nothing to offer but a weary face and no useful advice.
Chief of Staff Louis bowed his head and murmured:
"Shall we seek Mr. Valentino's opinion?"
Truman frowned deeply. Every fiber of his being resisted the thought. But the reality was, he had no better options left.
In fact, Truman himself had an idea—govern fairly, win the people's hearts. But the implementation of any policy wasn't his alone to command. Without the support of powerful donors who dominated both houses of Congress, he was powerless as President.
Once again he looked around the room. Each man here had a patron of his own. If they had all stood behind him, Leo would not even be necessary.
But reality offered no "ifs." Their silence spoke volumes: it reflected their own stance—and more importantly, the stance of their backers.
Truman turned to his Chief of Staff.
"Where is Leo now?"
"He's at the Valentino Resort Hotel here in Washington, arrived this morning."
Truman let out a bleak sigh.
So much for "fair governance." Whatever shine it carried for him, the real benefits were destined for Leo.
Why else would Leo suddenly return from New York at such a critical moment, if not to catch him off guard and tighten his grip?
Still, Truman felt slightly relieved. After years of dealings, he had grown to understand the delicate rhythm of their relationship.
If Leo had no solution, he would never bother helping. But if he had returned now, it meant he had a plan. And that meant Truman's presidency was likely safe—for now.
The Valentino Hot Spring Resort Hotel in Washington stood out sharply against the city's solemn political atmosphere.
Every night it throbbed with masquerade balls, endless revelry, and banquets that lasted until dawn.
Truman, riding in a custom Ford tour car provided by Leo, passed through one raucous party after another. Amidst the masked and swaying figures, he recognized more than a few familiar faces.
They drove past the front mountain and into the back hills, where the deafening music ceased abruptly, replaced by the soft, somber notes of symphonic melodies.
Scattered across the slopes stood a series of semi-private pavilions, designed as discreet meeting spaces.
At last, Truman's car stopped in front of a Greco-classical building. Passing through a long colonnade of lavish Corinthian pillars, he entered the bathhouse.
Attended by veiled maidens, Truman soon disrobed, wrapped himself in a towel, and stepped into the Roman-style hot spring.
There he found Leo, reclining with a towel draped over his forehead, enjoying the steam.
Truman copied his posture. A maiden approached, gently pressing a hot towel onto his face.
Instantly, every pore seemed to open, releasing tension in waves of comfort.
"Ahhh…" Truman sighed involuntarily.
"Harry, what brings you here?"
Leo's voice cut through his reverie.
"I need Thomas to help me hold Congress steady.
I need your support to push through new fair governance policies."
Truman said bluntly.
"You always come asking, Harry. But you rarely give back. I've already done enough to repay the shelter you gave me at the start of my career."
Leo replied coolly.
But Truman was no longer the green politician of five years ago. Now, he was a seasoned player, capable of voicing requests that others would never dare utter aloud.
He ignored Leo's barb and said flatly:
"You don't have to help me. But when I lose the presidency, think carefully—whose business suffers the most?"
Leo stared at him, startled. Truman had grown. He could now utter such shameless words without flinching.
More importantly—he wasn't wrong.
Leo exhaled inwardly. Truman was becoming sly, slipping out of his control.
"Thomas is pushing the American Science Foundation Act. It would establish the American Science Foundation—a government body to boost federal investment in science, and an agency to distribute those funds fairly.
It's not just about supporting research. More importantly, it would expand university enrollment and establish new colleges across the states, increasing access to higher education for ordinary people.
This is exactly the kind of policy that fits the spirit of fair governance."
Since everything was laid bare, Leo didn't hesitate to lay down his condition.
"And how much would the government need to fund this foundation annually?"
Truman asked.
Leo raised one finger.
"One billion?"
"No, Harry. Not one billion. Ten billion."
Leo smiled.
"Impossible!"
Truman shot to his feet, glaring down from above.
But his attempt at dominance failed. Leo didn't even glance up. Calmly, he spread the towel back across his face and left Truman to stew.
If Truman could play shameless, so could he. Truman needed him too much to storm off.
Sure enough, after standing awkwardly for a while, Truman swallowed his anger and lowered himself back into the bath.
Only then did Leo speak again:
"Harry, what price do you put on your presidency?"
Truman paused, then asked:
"And the credit—does it stay mine?"
"Not only yours. My media networks around the world will sing your praises to the heavens."
Leo assured him.
"Good. But quickly!"
Truman agreed.
Once the two men aligned, everything fell smoothly into place.
With both chambers under Democratic control, passing the bill was effortless. Especially under Leo's financial offensive, even congressmen hostile to him voted "yes."
Even Leo's rivals held their fire—a rare truce. Perhaps because scientific progress expanded the pie for all, giving everyone, friends and enemies alike, their chance to feast.
And so, within just fifteen days, the American Science Foundation Act and the Foundation itself received presidential authorization. Leo kept his word—Vannevar Bush was installed as its first chairman.
Through his media empire, Leo elevated Bush as the new face of American science to the public.
But Bush's coverage paled in comparison to the mountains of praise heaped on Truman.
Leo had his bill. Truman had his poll numbers. The scientific community had their funding. On the surface, no one lost.
But in reality, the cost was steep: the trust between Leo and Truman collapsed completely.
From now on, they would only cooperate again if one faced an existential crisis.
Still, Leo had what he wanted.
At this moment, Leo's unlisted companies included Valentino Retail, the Central American Development Company, and the soon-to-list WLI Research.
His true net worth now totaled $6.5 billion—an increase of half a billion, thanks to the National Housing Act funds that fueled a surge in his real estate stocks.
Meanwhile, his International News Group climbed in global stature, boosting its stock as well.
Leo felt as though his money had begun breeding on its own. It was the dream of his past life come true—money he could never spend fast enough.
Yet much of it remained hidden. To the public, his wealth was the $700 million shown in financial reports. The rest was quietly funneled through Central America into Blackstone Asset Management, and ultimately into the James River Foundation.
That very day in Lynchburg, Leo renamed it the James River Capital Management Company, expanding into trusts and asset investment.
At the same time, he ramped up investment in the West. Using the Bank of America's influence and Earl's reciprocated favors, Leo successfully acquired the region's largest insurer: Golden State Mutual Life Insurance.
Founded by Black entrepreneurs, the company had grown rapidly after World War II, issuing policies worth $3.8 billion. But the scale now exceeded what its founders could manage, attracting predatory interest from Western tycoons.
Leo's approach was far gentler. For $100 million he bought out the founders' shares, established $50 million family trusts for each, provided bodyguards for their heirs, and even promised Norman Oliver Houston that his son Harry Houston would be supported in California politics.
Within a week of Leo's takeover, the firm's total policies surpassed $4 billion.
The public's refrain was simple: "Mr. Valentino is so rich—he'd never care about my small payout."
The Western magnates fumed, but none dared challenge Leo.
During this period, with Earl's help, Leo also began meeting California politicians and business elites, cementing his Western base.
Meanwhile, Joseph quietly moved south, founding over a dozen mercenary schools in Central America under the company's cover. Though no news had reached him yet, Leo had a premonition: his enemies were already in motion.
In Washington, Truman and his wife exited the Jefferson Music Hall. His spirits were high—polling had rebounded, and his aides assured him the presidency was safe.
"Harry!"
A familiar voice called from behind. Truman turned instinctively to see John Stillman striding toward him.
Truman's heart sank. He wanted to avoid this encounter. John's son had once been his dear friend—until that fateful link to Leo, which ended in bitter enmity and the young man's ruin at Leo's hands.
For a moment, Truman reflected. If he had never brought Leo into his staff, never allowed him to control his campaign committee, perhaps he wouldn't be so beholden now.
He did not consider whether he would have even become president without Leo.
John, sharp as ever, caught the flicker of guilt in Truman's eyes. And guilt meant opportunity.
He warmly embraced Mrs. Truman, then turned to Harry.
"Harry, it's been a while. Let's talk."
Truman nodded. He had learned much through this ordeal:
First, never again let himself be trapped in the Far East.
Second, a president must never rely on a single patron.
The two men entered a nearby café. Normally closed at this hour, tonight the owner served them coffee and a light meal. Truman instantly understood—this was no chance meeting.
"John, what is it you want?"
Truman asked, eager to get to the point.
"To bring down Leo."
John said plainly.
Truman raised an eyebrow.
"My ties with Leo are no secret. Aren't you afraid I'll inform him?"
"Would you? Harry, haven't you had enough of being a puppet president?"
John shot back.
Exposed so bluntly, Truman's face darkened.
"You talk of fighting him? Didn't you already try? You even brought in Fed Chairman Marriner Eccles. And still, you failed—humiliated, a laughingstock in high society.
I've known Leo longer than anyone. Truth is—I've never seen him lose.
And you, already one of his defeated foes—what makes you think you can win?"