Charles H. Russell departed. As for Leo's question, all he could do was wait—wait for the right moment to become Mr. Valentino's ally, to change his fate.
Time passed quickly. Another Christmas arrived, and Leo hosted a grand party at his Menlo Park estate with his friends.
From then until New Year's, the celebrations continued without pause.
On the first morning of 1950, the sun's rays pierced through the curtains of Leo's room. He gazed at the clear sky, yet felt a heaviness within. He sensed this year would not be an easy one.
Right from the beginning, the political winds in Washington turned unsettling. Truman's foreign policy, previously hesitant and ambiguous, swung sharply to the far right.
And the storm of McCarthyism, coupled with the military-industrial complex's year-long buildup of the "Soviet threat," unleashed a sweeping anti-Communist frenzy across America.
Suddenly, aligning for profit alone no longer mattered. Alignment on policy lines now took precedence.
Or rather, cloaking one's interests under the banner of ideology was the only way to claim the moral high ground in Washington's political arena. This directly undermined Valentino's political bloc, which had thrived on networks of interests.
"Leo, our friends are dwindling. This is serious."
Speaker Thomas did not trust the telephone for such matters. He came in person to Menlo Park.
"Thomas, choose your words carefully," Leo replied. "Are they really disappearing, or merely drifting away?"
"There's little difference," Thomas said gravely. "Today they drift away. But when our shared interests are at stake, drifting becomes disappearance. Worse—it becomes betrayal."
"The old methods no longer work?" Leo asked.
"They still work. They always will. But only in times of peace. Now they've invented this word—'Cold War.' Just buying people with money won't cut it anymore."
Leo understood perfectly. Real estate only required greasing politicians' palms to carve up the spoils. But the arms industry? To make money, they needed war—even imagined wars.
Unlike Leo's straightforward method of buying policies, the arms magnates played a subtler game. They crafted an enemy. Whoever accepted that enemy and acted against it became "one of them." Even if you didn't serve their every interest, as long as you helped spread fear and made America buy more weapons, they would back you and elevate you.
It gave politicians a sense of dignity. Naturally, they would choose this path.
What's more, in earlier times the "enemy" might have been a fiction. But now, with the Red tide spreading across half the globe, free-market capitalists truly trembled.
Thomas saw Leo lost in thought and asked tentatively,
"Do you really sympathize with the Reds? Why don't we join them?"
Leo shook his head.
"I'm a capitalist, Thomas. One of America's top capitalists. I don't join them because my scale is too vast. Joining would mean integration, and integration means fighting for dominance. They won't allow it.
So I choose slow integration. Whatever they think, I'll keep steadily laying out my military-industrial investments."
What he didn't say aloud was this: with his vast empire, joining the old guard would not only challenge their leadership but also disrupt the mood of those about to profit.
After all, his sworn enemy, MacArthur, was at that very moment in tacit coordination with a northern strongman on the Korean Peninsula.
"So we just sit back and let our rivals dismantle us?" Thomas pressed.
"Of course not. Slogans work both ways. If they can shout them, so can we. I'll hold a press conference. You do the same in Washington. Let our people flood the field.
I already own arms factories, and I'm a shareholder in several mature ones. If there's money to be made, I'm happy. But we'll take a different direction. They focus on the Far East—so we'll pick another place."
Thomas raised an eyebrow.
"Where?"
Leo's eyes drifted to the world map on the wall. He murmured,
"A place where war has never ceased for five thousand years."
Thomas followed his gaze, then realized.
"The Middle East?"
Leo nodded.
"The Far East is a battleground with too many eager players and even more losers. The Middle East, however—many want in, and more can participate.
Even if they're not my friends, at least in opposing the Far East focus, we'll share common ground.
Especially now, with the Arab-Israeli war freshly ended, fortunes have already been made. If once, then surely again."
Thomas nodded, heartened by this stroke of brilliance. It was, indeed, a way to break the deadlock.
After Thomas left, Leo began shaping his hawkish persona in California, repeatedly publishing op-eds on the Middle East.
Phrases like "The core of the free world lies in the Middle East,""The free world cannot afford to lose the Middle East," and "The Cold War's heart beats in the Middle East" echoed across the press.
He even personally donated $5 million to establish a Middle East Research Institute, attaching it to the Pentagon to provide generals with data and theory.
As a celebrity capitalist with his own media empire, Leo's words soon reached every American household.
The public now believed their young millionaire had risen above money to care about the fate of the free world.
Meanwhile in Washington, Thomas tirelessly hosted gatherings at the Valentino Hot Springs Hotel, steering discussions toward foreign policy priorities.
Leo's sudden focus on the Middle East surprised many, but those with vested interests there were electrified.
In Saudi Arabia, fresh from an oilfield inspection, David Rockefeller read a telegram from his secretary and chuckled.
"Leo… as sharp as ever. His rivals haven't even set the trap, and he's already dismantling it."
"Boss, this is a golden opportunity," the secretary urged. "Exploration teams are striking oil everywhere. It's too much for us alone. And those nations will require state-level persuasion. American policy must pivot to the Middle East.
It's a land of gold."
"You're right. Send word to my father. Tell him that while Leo will never be our friend, in this matter, our interests align."
In Britain, on Downing Street, the Prime Minister also dictated a telegram.
"Tell our American friends to support Mr. Valentino's Middle East initiative. Europe is rebuilding, the Soviets watch hungrily—we cannot afford for our allies to be distracted in the East. If Moscow strikes, Europe is finished."
On Wall Street, in a discreet synagogue, Samuel adjusted his white cap and instructed a man in black,
"Use every media outlet we can. The Middle East—we must support our brethren."
Just as Leo foresaw, many forces in the shadows lent a hand. The sudden eastern wind in America collapsed overnight, replaced by a Middle Eastern current sweeping both chambers of Congress.
In Tokyo, General MacArthur exploded with rage when he received the news. He shoved a Japanese actress off his lap, smashing sake cups across the tatami.
"Useless! All of them useless! To be overturned by public opinion like this!"
He glared at the map of the Korean Peninsula on the wall, muttering,
"Kim, don't you dare disappoint me…"
Back in New York, Leo left the comforts of Menlo Park for a more practical reason—another of his companies was about to go public.
At the familiar floor of the New York Stock Exchange, Leo pressed the ceremonial button, ringing in the IPO of WLI Research Company. His sixth listed firm.
But perhaps because of his frequent appearances, few media outlets bothered to show up, aside from his own. The mood was lackluster.
"Is it because our opening price is too low?" asked Ruben, Leo's old schoolmate, his voice tinged with disappointment. For him, this was a first—standing in the spotlight.
Indeed, WLI opened at just $4 a share. Growth was sluggish. Both institutions and the public knew its prospects were only average.
"Humph. Our miniaturization breakthrough is coming. Once they see a supercomputer the size of IBM's machine, our stock will soar," CEO Thomas Watson declared.
"Yes—a piano-sized super-brain, infinitely more powerful than IBM's. 1950 will be WLI's year to dominate business computing," said chief researcher John William Mauchly.
Since relocating to Menlo Park, backed by several labs, many once-impossible hurdles had been overcome. Progress on the WLI-S, their latest small-scale commercial computer, advanced at lightning speed.
Philadelphia's mayor, Beckett, surprised to still be a shareholder, asked,
"You really cracked miniaturization?"
Leo, who frequently visited the labs, knew every detail.
"Not yet," he replied, "but we're close."
Though WLI's IPO made little splash in markets or headlines, Leo's fortune nonetheless jumped from $700 million to $900 million. He remained firmly among America's top three richest men.
After bidding farewell to his friends, Leo slid into his car. As Tony Lip started the engine, he asked,
"Where to, Mr. Valentino?"
"Richmond," Leo said.
Richmond—where he had married. But with his family now in the West, he rarely returned. His once-grand mansion stood cold and empty.
Tony, however, explored it with wide-eyed wonder, like a peasant touring a palace—marveling at how America's old elites had lived.
That night, Leo slipped through a hidden passage to a secret underground garage. Joseph awaited, and together they departed Richmond discreetly in a darkened Lincoln.
On the outskirts, at a derelict factory, Leo entered alone. Moonlight spilled through broken rafters, illuminating a shadowy figure.
"Jesse?"
The man turned. It was Jesse, the Governor of Virginia—long thought a puppet, but in truth Leo's man.
"Leo, long time no see," Jesse greeted.
"Indeed. And seeing you never means good news. Which of my enemies has approached you this time?"
Leo had placed Jesse in power precisely as an early warning system—and, ideally, as a mole.
"A small figure by your standards. Oswald Cotton."
"Who?"
Leo was taken aback. Hadn't the Cotton family fled to Brazil to dabble in shipping?
"Exactly. The same family you drove out. They're still unwilling to let go and now want back into America. But I suspect Oswald is just a pawn. The true power remains hidden."
Leo smirked.
"Fine. They should have stayed gone. Back then I couldn't wipe them out without hurting myself. Now? If they're eager for death, they can go keep their friend Harry company.
But you're right. Someone bigger is behind this. Jesse, keep watching. Find me the real fish.
So—what did Oswald want?"
"He warned me to prepare. He said you're about to be besieged. Out-of-state wealth they cannot touch, but your Virginia assets—they want me to help secure them.
Split fifty-fifty. But he insisted their ancestral mansion must be returned to them. He's furious you live there."
Leo merely nodded. That was understandable. But one detail unsettled him.
"A broken family, and he dares claim a share of my Virginia fortune? No… they must have a trump card. Jesse—I need to know what it is."