John did not refute Truman. Instead, he nodded in agreement.
"Indeed, Harry. Neither my son nor I ever gained the upper hand against him. For it, I even paid with my son's life.
But Harry, this isn't the first defeat in my life. And by the same token, I don't believe Leo can keep winning forever."
John Stillman said.
"You're not the first to tell me such things. Even James Roosevelt, with your Stillman family backing him, ended up in the grave all the same."
Though Truman's words were dismissive, he did not rise to leave. John knew that meant the President wanted to hear more.
"This time is different, Harry. From Wall Street to the military–industrial complex, we have many people on our side."
John's words made Truman raise his brows.
"What's different?" he asked.
"Not just more people. This time we have patience. We intend to shape the tide of events, to force the hesitant to choose between us and Leo."
John declared with confidence.
"The tide, you say? Seems it has something to do with me, otherwise you wouldn't have come. Speak, John."
Truman pressed.
"We want you to maintain your focus on Far Eastern affairs."
John Stillman said.
"The Far East…"
Truman narrowed his eyes.
"The East is already lost. I've already given up too many chips there."
Inwardly, Truman was reluctant. For him, a return to Far Eastern policy only meant constantly reminding people of his colossal recent failures.
John saw through Truman's thoughts and coaxed him:
"Harry, do you really think a patchwork measure like the American Science Foundation Act will make people forget your failures? Stop burying your head in the sand.
Haven't you noticed these past two days, in your speeches to Congress? Whether Republicans or Democrats, Senators or Representatives—everyone is dissatisfied with you.
After all, ten billion a year isn't enough to cover the losses from a century of investments in the Far East. And worse still, most of that money never even reached our pockets.
Harry, you must understand: if you want reelection, the best way is to take back what was lost under your watch."
In reading minds and playing schemes, Truman was no match for John. Yet as President, his status and his broader grasp of international affairs gave him vision John could not compare with.
Truman shook his head.
"John, give up your illusions. That Eastern dragon—we are destined never to reclaim it."
"You misunderstand me. The dragon is gone, yes. But we can still act—restrict the dragon, or use other measures, so our business can go on."
John said in a low voice.
Truman shook his head again.
"Impossible. Marshall told me himself—the master of the Eastern dragon is unyielding in these matters. Even Stalin gains little from them. Mere restrictions won't make them concede."
"Then we use more radical measures. War, for instance!"
John whispered.
"John, you're insane!"
Truman shot to his feet, flung his sleeve, and stormed off.
John Stillman did not try to stop him. Calmly, he finished his coffee, then stepped into his car. Another man was already waiting inside.
Will Taylor. Always seen with his Jewish white skullcap, a scholar of scripture—but also one of the founding families of Citibank, and a true power among the new Jewish capital of Wall Street.
John respectfully reported every detail of his conversation with Truman to this elder, then finally voiced his concern:
"Sir, won't this risk alerting the snake? Moreover, I don't believe Harry will redirect foreign policy back to the Far East. He's never raised it before—it would only reopen his wounds."
Will shook his head.
"As long as our President isn't a fool, he won't tell Leo about today's meeting.
And no, he won't shift foreign policy eastward. But he won't oppose it either. After all, if Leo truly falls, won't Harry have a chance to take back control over him?"
John nodded slowly, though a new doubt rose in his mind.
"If Truman doesn't support us, will that not hinder my plan?"
"It won't. When the tide turns, even a president must obey the majority. That has happened more than once in American history, and it won't be the last.
Even Roosevelt bent to it. How much more so Truman?
Compared to him, Leo—who has won victory after victory—his recent moves are suspicious. Don't you see? He's deliberately shifting assets westward."
Will's words made John frown. After some thought, he replied:
"It does seem so. Even the Pacific Real Estate Group, registered in New York, now has a stockholding trust set up in Seattle, Washington."
At this, Will frowned too.
"You still haven't unraveled Leo's tangled financial web? Where exactly has he moved his fortune?"
Will's dissatisfied tone made John break out in cold sweat. For the kindly-looking old man before him was in truth a ruthless figure. In his youth, he had fought in the streets alongside Jewish, Italian, and Irish gangs, personally assassinating several bosses.
It was hard to imagine why a son of such a wealthy family would confront men in the streets with his own hands.
The reason lay in tradition. Among wandering Jewish communities, there were always those who took on dark work—a practice stretching back thousands of years. In Eastern Europe, this role was held chiefly by the Taylor family.
When they came to America, rabbis in every community wanted their people to uphold tradition. Naturally, they relied on the Taylor family's aid.
Over time, the Taylors not only maintained intimidating force, but also, by helping rabbis across the country, gathered information on all Jewish communities. As their wealth grew, they imposed dual control—money and muscle—over the Jewish population.
With such power, they had once even forced the mighty J. P. Morgan family to retreat for a time. Today, they still led Wall Street's younger houses in gradually eroding the Morgans' influence over the Federal Reserve.
By family custom, every Taylor heir had to guard Jewish neighborhoods in person.
"Sir, Leo's equity-transfer system is extraordinarily complex. Worse, he has nested two additional networks within it—one from Britain's old global trade web, the other a cluster of Central American firms of unknown origin.
The chain passes through at least a thousand companies and banks. And if any single link senses a probe, the structure shifts instantly, like a high-level cipher, making investigation nearly impossible.
Worse still, Leo has fostered several local militias in Central America under the banner of 'opposition forces.' Many of our field investigators have already disappeared into those jungles."
John laid bare the difficulties he faced.
Will thought for a moment, then cursed:
"Damn it. It was we Jews who first invented this method in Switzerland—yet it's an Italian who perfected it!
If this road is blocked, then find another. No matter how many turns it takes, money always lands somewhere. Otherwise Leo's fortune would already have been stripped from him.
So—work through those closest to him. Work through the man himself. Unless we find the nest of his wealth, even if we defeat him, we cannot be first to carve it up.
He fancies women, doesn't he? Then give him women. If we can find one from among our own Jewish circles, all the better."
Will's words made John grimace and avert his face, hiding his discomfort. Jewish beauties—do such things truly exist?
He recalled the Jewish women he had met, most with prominent noses. To him they were unattractive. Would a connoisseur like Leo spare them a glance?
Will noticed John's reaction and said coolly:
"Samuel's son has an illegitimate daughter. Quite a beauty. I'll see to this myself."
"Samuel's son's illegitimate daughter? What do you mean? Valentino is already married!"
John asked in shock.
"If we can make him one of ours, all the better. And even if he's married, he can divorce. Worst case, if he sires a child with her, then his fortune will belong partly to us in the future."
Will said lightly.
At this moment, Leo was entirely unaware that plots were already forming, women being prepared to ensnare him.
He was in Waltham, Massachusetts, inspecting his newly acquired company from Vannevar Bush—Raytheon.
Of course, Leo did not hold all the shares. The majority stake belonged to an obscure Wall Street outfit called Vanguard Assets.
At first sight of the name, Leo was startled—amazed that the future financial giant Vanguard Group already existed in some form.
But deeper research showed this was merely a firm founded by mid-level Wall Street bankers. A shadow of the future giant, perhaps, but nowhere near its stature.
Raytheon, however, lived up to its name as a defense firm with innovation in its DNA. Touring the facilities, Leo could only sigh: This is high tech.
Even by his later-life standards, their projects seemed almost fantastical.
After the tour, Leo did not leave Waltham. Instead, he booked the town's largest hotel and hosted a grand feast for Raytheon's executives and researchers.
Three days later, when Lawrence K. Marshall finally could not contain his curiosity, he asked Leo directly what his intentions were.
Leo smiled and pointed to the rugged workers who had just entered.
"To be frank, I own some defense firms myself. Aside from a small stake in Boeing, I have little say there. But my shipyards are outdated.
I want you to broaden their horizons—help these rough men see the future. When they return, I'll begin transforming my factories."
The exchange was fiery. In truth, it was the managers of Leo's shipyards who spoke most passionately, nearly drowning the Raytheon scientists. Only Leo's occasional sharp glare kept the rowdy crowd in line.
In the end, Marshall and his team agreed to support Leo's six shipyards.
Two on the East Coast, once builders of naval patrol craft, would be converted into yacht yards.
The other four—on the West Coast in California and Washington—were tougher. Two had once built mighty battleships during World War I.
Yet Marshall and the Raytheon team delivered. They promised within a year to assemble a comprehensive military R&D unit for Leo, focusing on next-generation carrier escorts and destroyers.
Leo's sudden reach into the defense sector made many instantly uneasy.
In New York's Waldorf Astoria Hotel, an Anglo-dominated banquet convened.
"Technically, he was an army man once. Doesn't that make him one of ours?"
Robert of Lockheed asked.
"Don't fool yourself. He came from the army, yes—but not from our defense firms. Not a dime of his fortune was made through war.
He's dangerous. Mark my words: his sudden plunge into defense is no coincidence. Now the world calls him 'Greedy Leo.'
The war is over. Profits are scarce. We can't allow another man to share the pie."
Jack Northrop of Northrop Grumman said.
"Your talk is useless. Let's hear what Mr. DuPont thinks."
John Jay Hopkins of General Dynamics said.
At once, all eyes turned to the man at the head of the table—Alfred Irenee du Pont.
"I'm wondering whether Leo has sensed our plans, and is striking first. After all, whose interests are most affected by MacArthur's Far Eastern operations—it's plain to see."
Alfred Irenee du Pont said calmly.
"That's impossible. We've been utterly discreet. Only those in this room and a select few know. Even our discussions I delivered personally through hidden channels."
Maxim MacArthur said.