"That man is exceptionally shrewd. Tell me—how many people in America truly know what cards Valentino holds?"
Alfred Irenee du Pont said.
Everyone around the table shook their heads.
Maxim MacArthur sighed.
"A small-town boy, a war veteran—yet in just five years he's built such a vast empire, breaking through barrier after barrier. And still, he hides cards we cannot see. Perhaps we should consider bringing him in.
After all, isn't his reputation for expanding business? He's said to be good at making the pie bigger."
"Hmph. Making the pie is easy. But the right to divide the pie belongs to the leader. Do you think Valentino, after enlarging the pie, would hand over that right to Mr. du Pont?"
John Jay Hopkins of General Dynamics sneered.
Though his words made sense, the others shot him strange looks.
For if anyone in the military–industrial complex was suspected of betrayal, it would be General Dynamics.
Everyone knew the truth—behind General Dynamics stood the Morgan consortium. He might call Du Pont "boss" out loud, but in his heart he bowed only to Morgan.
Thus, of all people, he was the least qualified to speak such words.
"The Du Pont family has been around for more than a century. We care little for being the sole leader of the military–industrial complex.
But when it comes to making the pie—Valentino does have a method. I had once considered bringing Raytheon into our system. Instead, Mr. Valentino acted first.
This is not about Raytheon's importance in itself. The key is that Valentino's development strategy expands his own business while simultaneously eroding our market share."
Alfred Irenee du Pont said gravely.
The others looked startled.
"How so, Mr. du Pont?"
"We founders of these companies were either inventors or pioneers who brought advanced European technologies to America. But whether invention or transfer, our ultimate purpose was wealth.
Strictly speaking, we are fundamentally different from the researchers in our company laboratories today.
By giving them generous pay, good conditions, and social status, we successfully aligned their interests with ours, to maximize profits from their talents.
But look at what Mr. Valentino is doing. He's not only building a technology zone around Stanford University, promoting integration of academia, industry, and research, he's also created the American Science Foundation—solving the last obstacle for underfunded scientists.
Think about it. If you were a researcher, and you saw wealth within reach while also being free to pursue your passions—would you still devote yourself to projects your boss finds useful but you don't?
Valentino's actions are, in fact, elevating those researchers we had already defined to our advantage.
Remember what he said in Lynchburg? 'The third force of the times.'"
Alfred du Pont declared.
"Are you serious, Mr. du Pont?"
Maxim MacArthur asked.
The MacArthur family held shares in many defense companies, but they never engaged in direct management. For him, the complexities du Pont described were unfamiliar.
The others, however, eyed du Pont with veiled disdain.
Old foxes, all of them. They knew the real worry—Leo's entry threatened the Du Pont family's standing.
If Leo couldn't join Raytheon, could he not join another company? As for his "third force," wasn't that just rhetoric to lure scientists?
High pay and good labs—that's how they themselves attracted researchers. What was so different?
"Integration of research and industry? Breaking barriers between science and markets? Please. Running a corporation isn't something ivory-tower scholars can master."
None of them truly believed scientists could outdo them.
And from du Pont's faintly mocking tone, even he didn't fully believe his own warning.
Only Maxim seemed naïve enough to ask questions, not knowing the game.
Besides, the others knew well what their companies were building. Weapons priced in the millions—could scientists alone manage that?
Even if they succeeded, would the Pentagon adopt their products? That would make decades of cultivation by these companies meaningless.
Some scoffed inwardly, others aloud. Once again, the troublemaker, John Jay Hopkins of General Dynamics, stirred the pot:
"Mr. du Pont, if you recognize such danger, why didn't you openly block Valentino's American Science Foundation Act?
With our military–industrial influence, stopping it would not have been hard."
His words left du Pont awkward.
Block it? Impossible. Scientific progress meant stronger weapons, higher prices—profitable for all arms dealers. Of course du Pont wouldn't oppose it.
Yet the question was difficult to answer. Fortunately, his allies still outnumbered his critics.
Casting a glance at Jack Northrop of Northrop Grumman, du Pont found relief.
Northrop quickly interjected:
"John, if Mr. du Pont chose not to stop it, he surely had his reasons. Best not to press the matter."
The troublemaker shot back with sharp words. He knew his role well—to prevent the complex from becoming too united.
Meanwhile, in Menlo Park, California, at Valentino Manor.
Leo had returned west, for Marlene, the Sicilian beauty, had given him a second son.
He named him Joel Valentino.
As if that weren't enough, Yelena, ever at his side, was also pregnant.
This time Leo had no plans to hurry back east. Instead, he accelerated his western expansion.
"Congratulations, Mr. Valentino—another son."
Correa, the new chairwoman of Bank of America, said with a tinge of jealousy.
"We'll have one too."
Leo, ever the seasoned charmer, shamelessly wrapped an arm around her neck despite her reluctance, before cutting straight to business:
"Enough pleasantries. I brought you here, and Dick as well, for an important matter."
Correa was, at heart, a career woman. She knew she and Leo would never be true husband and wife. What mattered was the business.
Since rising to chairwoman, she had yet to score a major achievement.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"I've set my eyes on Wells Fargo."
Leo said evenly.
Wells Fargo—the largest bank in the San Francisco region. Unlike Bank of America's nationwide reach, Wells Fargo had focused on the West since the Gold Rush, running conservative savings and insurance businesses.
In the 20th century, the Hellman family had taken over, expanding into trust and insurance. With a reputation for reliability, its business grew swiftly.
As Bank of America drew East Coast attention, western tycoons, unable to compete there, invested in Wells Fargo instead.
Leo's goal was to dominate the West. Having seized Bank of America, if he could also take Wells Fargo, he would hold the region's financial lifeline.
Harmony and concessions were too slow. Leo chose decisive moves. Even if they ruffled feathers at first, future profits would heal all wounds—especially with Franklin's persuasion.
"An acquisition?" Correa's eyes sparkled. As a rival to Wells Fargo in California, she relished the idea.
"No, no acquisitions. I don't want another antitrust hearing in the Senate. This time we'll buy shares."
Leo said.
"A pity—just shares?" Correa asked, a little disappointed.
"Yes. Even if we have the power, my enemies won't allow outright acquisition. Not only enemies—friends too would bristle if my empire grew too fast."
Leo explained.
"How do you plan to do it, then?" she asked.
"Start by telling me about Wells Fargo's situation."
Leo replied.
Correa nodded.
"Because Wells Fargo isn't publicly listed, I only know some of its shareholders—and their stakes are small, likely smokescreens planted by Isaias W. Hellman III himself.
He's chairman, and a tough man to deal with. For three generations the Hellmans have held Wells Fargo with deep influence.
They've watched how the East slowly penetrated Bank of America, so they're all the more cautious now."
"That's fine, Correa. As I said, our short-term goal isn't to take Wells Fargo. That's unrealistic.
My goal is simple: become a shareholder, even a small one."
Leo said with a smile.
Correa trembled at that smile. As his bedfellow, she knew it well. Whenever Leo smiled like that, it meant he had found new prey.
She wasn't wrong. Leo's approach to Wells Fargo was like a scoundrel's sweet talk—just a little, I promise nothing will happen.
Near San Francisco, in a small-town bar, Dre Heidi nursed a drink, listening to fellow farmers.
He rarely drank, rarely came here. But a week ago, lawyers had arrived, saying their client wanted to buy local farmland.
Since the Depression, few big land deals had come, and scams were common. Yet someone pried out the truth—the buyer was none other than the famed tycoon Valentino.
Still, townsfolk had been duped before. Only after the mayor sought confirmation from Governor Earl, who personally asked Leo, and received a "yes," did they believe.
The town buzzed. After all, Menlo Park farmers had grown rich when Leo overpaid for their land. Now every farmer dreamed of a windfall.
Tonight the bar was packed because Valentino's lawyers would announce which farms were to be bought.
"Hahaha, looks like I'll strike it rich again! Drinks on me tonight!"
It was Lef, once a Menlo Park farmer.
"Damn that braggart. Just because Leo paid him 30% over market in Menlo Park, he thinks this time it'll be his land too."
Dre muttered to his friend.
He disliked Lef, who had taken his fortune and bought cheap land here, becoming the town's second-richest man overnight—and never stopped boasting.
"You're just jealous, Dre. Still dreaming of going back East?"
The words stung. Yes, Dre envied him. He had once lived in New York, privileged, private schools, society balls. Then his family lost everything, and his father bought this farm in the West.
A gentleman turned farmer, left with dirt and cattle. He hid it well, but his friend knew—he longed to return to civilization.
"If you get chosen, don't hesitate. Sell, Dre. I've told you before—you don't belong here."
Before Dre could answer, the bar door opened. Valentino's lawyer walked in, papers in hand.
Silence fell. All eyes fixed on the documents. Dre's too—his yearning plain to see.
What he didn't know was that the lawyer was watching him as well.
In the folder lay a file:
Dre Heidi, a San Francisco farmer. Years ago, a failed cash-crop gamble left him in debt. He once pledged Wells Fargo stock to secure a loan from Bank of America. Currently owns 0.5% of Wells Fargo. Must acquire.