After Thomas Watson's press conference, a storm swept through the entire tech world. People had long foreseen the miniaturization of computers, but none expected that day to arrive so quickly. A new wave of orders surged in once again.
The moment WLI's small computer hit the market, companies following IBM's lead howled in despair. Clients who had placed orders with them rushed to cancel—even at the cost of paying penalties. After all, when one could buy the latest, more powerful model, who would want an obsolete machine?
The American Retail Group seized the chance to announce they had already installed three of the new Wise computers. With their greater processing power, they would further cut inventory retention rates.
The two companies released their good news almost simultaneously, sending their stock prices soaring. Within a week, both broke past the ten-dollar mark.
Leo's net worth skyrocketed, surpassing both second and first place, making him the world's first billionaire to publicly declare a fortune exceeding one billion dollars.
From that moment, Leo became the undisputed idol of young people across the globe. His title had leveled up—from super-rich to the world's richest man.
And what had propelled him there was not real estate, the kind of asset that devoured a lifetime's savings, but technology—an industry that would change humanity's destiny.
If this was not the American Dream, then what was?
Leo's International News Group unleashed its full firepower. He was no longer just the darling of America, but the icon of the entire free world.
In this era of ideological conflict, Leo himself became a tool to be used. Yet sometimes, being a useful tool was also the best shield one could have.
As the moment of war drew closer, Leo's schedule grew ever tighter. Most of the news, however, was good. Like now—he was rushing back from the East to the West.
Dick had called: the two founding families of Wells Fargo—the Wells and the Fargos—were finally tempted. They wanted a seat on Leo's train.
Two months later, Leo returned to Monroe Park. The once quiet, idyllic town had vanished, replaced by a colossal construction site.
Everywhere he looked, foundations were being dug deep, destined to become towering skyscrapers. The valley was transforming into something Leo knew all too well—the Silicon Valley of the future.
It was time to move. The place had grown far too noisy, no longer fit for the family's residence. He had heard the outskirts of Seattle, Washington, were peaceful. Perhaps that could become the Valentino family's new home.
His car soon pulled smoothly into a vast construction site.
As Leo stepped out, his eyes fell on a massive billboard hanging on the construction wall. It was the future headquarters of WWL Electronics, built after merging five factories, co-founded by Leo, the Wells family, and the Fargo family.
All the construction funds came not from fresh investments, but from the enormous profits those factories had made the previous year—profits they had earned thanks to Leo's advice.
"Hahaha, Mr. Valentino, you're here!"
Langer Wells strode up the moment Leo exited, embracing him warmly. A step slower but unwilling to be outdone, Greco Fargo also wrapped him in a hug.
Behind them stood many faces Leo didn't recognize.
Seeing his puzzled look, Langer Wells explained:
"These are great landowners and mine owners of the West. Their families had been rooted here since before California even became part of the United States.
But over the years, lacking sound investment guidance, they kept putting their money into land—slow, low-yield ventures. We Wells and Fargos were the same.
Until we met you, Mr. Valentino. You gave us opportunity. You showed us where true wealth lay in this age.
In just half a year, we've earned enough to build a thirty-story tower. Our friends were stunned. Many doubted us, so we brought them here to see with their own eyes."
As his words faded, Greco Fargo quickly added:
"These men used to mock us behind our backs, saying we were sheep stepping into a tiger's den by partnering with you. But now that they see the money we've made, they're all swarming in.
Especially when they heard you were coming—they shamelessly waited at the gates, hoping for a chance to cooperate with you.
Look at their eager eyes, Mr. Valentino."
Though phrased as mockery, Greco had cleverly voiced his old friends' wish to join Leo's ventures.
Leo smiled.
"Mr. Fargo, I don't mean to boast, but right now there are plenty in the West begging to partner with me. Just look at the bustle in the valley. Everyone hoping to strike it rich in technology is gathering here. They line up outside my door daily, pleading for a meeting.
Why should I work with them? What benefits could they possibly bring me?"
His words left Greco speechless. Yes, in their own towns his friends were lords. But compared to a man of Valentino's stature, what did they truly have to offer?
Sensing the awkward air, Langer Wells quickly shifted the subject.
"Mr. Valentino, since you're here, shall we take a tour of our future headquarters?"
Thus, the group marched through the dust and smoke of the site before Leo led them to a secluded hot spring villa near the mountains on the Valentino estate.
In the private pool, Leo finally asked Langer Wells and Greco Fargo:
"Dick tells me you want to discuss a deal. What is it?"
The two exchanged glances. At last, Langer Wells spoke first:
"Mr. Valentino, we'd like to expand the electronics business—open new factories nearby. Both Mr. Fargo and I believe demand for transistors will only keep growing."
"That's good news," Leo replied. "Then go ahead and expand."
"Uh, but Mr. Valentino… we've poured all our funds into building this tower. Right now, our company has no cash on hand," Greco Fargo admitted.
"Then take out loans. No bank would refuse you. Your profits speak for themselves. And you're shareholders in Wells Fargo Bank—getting financing should be no issue."
At this, both men flushed red. Thankfully, the steam masked their faces.
Awkwardly, Langer Wells explained:
"That's the problem. Wells Fargo has been far too domineering these past years. Our faction's ties with other California banks are poor.
Now that we've partnered with you, Wells Fargo refuses us loans."
"Why?"
Leo's eyes, sharp as arrows, pierced the haze straight at them.
The two fell silent. How could they admit the truth? That Wells Fargo's true controller, Theus W. Hellman III, despised Leo, treated him as an enemy, and punished the Wells and Fargos for their dealings with him by cutting off credit.
They feared offending Hellman, but they feared Leo as well. Thus they could not speak plainly.
With most small banks out of reach, and Bank of America also unwilling to lend, they had no choice but to come to Leo. Even then, Andy had refused—until they offered to trade some of their shares. Only then had Andy relented and arranged this meeting.
Both families knew Leo was playing dumb. He was waiting for them to propose the share swap.
Finally, Greco Fargo drew a deep breath.
"Mr. Valentino, our families have been in the West for generations. Over time, we've accumulated shares in many fine companies."
He went on at length.
But Leo, face masked, gave no reaction.
Seeing this, Langer Wells shook his head at Greco. Clearly, Leo wasn't interested in those so-called "quality shares."
The truth was, they could simply choose not to expand. That way, they wouldn't have to bow to Leo's demands. But they were addicted.
Compared to their old schemes of grabbing land or sending cowboys to fight bloody battles over mines, this new money—factory money—came fast, clean, and respectable.
They couldn't go back.
So Langer Wells clenched his teeth.
"Mr. Valentino, together, the Wells and Fargo families hold thirteen percent of Standard Oil of California."
Leo shot to his feet. He hadn't expected them to hold such depth. Even a regional Standard Oil share was immensely valuable. In the Middle East, Standard Oil was the most active force.
It was tempting. No less so than Wells Fargo's shares. These were truly old families—low-key, but rich in hidden treasures.
Yet Leo could not move rashly. War loomed. He couldn't risk tempting David Rockefeller to abandon the Middle East and return to America for a life-or-death struggle.
So he merely sighed, settling his mask back in place.
"You seem interested in these shares. We could sell, on one condition—you withdraw from the electronics business and cover the difference in value," Langer Wells said, baffled by Leo's lack of enthusiasm.
"They're fine assets. But if I swallowed them, I'd suffer indigestion. Mr. Wells, forgive me for being blunt, but how could I have overlooked your foolishness before?"
The insult stunned Langer Wells.
"Mr. Valentino, that was most ungentlemanly!" he snapped.
"Haha, forgive me. Yet still—you are foolish. To think of pushing me out. Tell me, who places the most frequent orders with you?"
Langer hesitated. "WLI Research, the valley labs, and the universities."
"Exactly. And why do you think these three order from you?"
Leo leaned forward, mask off, voice pressing.
"Because of our quality—" Langer began, then froze. He saw it. All three were tied to Valentino himself.
"You understand now. Those profits you boast of? They're gifts—from me," Leo said.
"You want Wells Fargo shares," Greco murmured. He had been watching closely, and suddenly saw the truth.
Their families had only two treasures: Standard Oil and Wells Fargo. If Leo didn't want the first, then he must want the second.
Leo did not deny it.
"Correct. I want Wells Fargo. But not as you think. I won't push you out, nor will I buy you out.
I want every Westerner to know: I came here for win-win cooperation.
So I propose a share exchange."
"With what?" Langer pressed, his tone edged with mockery. "Surely a man of your stature wouldn't fob us off with worthless scraps, like Mr. Fargo suggested."
"What about Bank of America shares?"
The two men jolted upright. Silence filled the steamy chamber, broken only by the drip of water from their bodies.
They had never imagined Leo would mention Bank of America.
Reading their shock, Leo explained:
"The West has immense potential. It deserves more banks to thrive here. Yet aside from regional banks, only Wells Fargo and Bank of America stand tall.
They should have joined hands, leading Western capital to America—and the world. But the East sowed discord, turning allies into rivals.
So much wealth was lost to petty squabbles. It pains me. That is why I propose a share exchange—to end the feud.
Petty infighting proves nothing. True heroes strike outward."
Leo's words were thunderous. Langer Wells swallowed hard.
"Mr. Valentino, this is no small matter. May we discuss it further?"
He thought Leo would agree.
But Leo rose, scars and muscle gleaming, his battle-hardened gaze cutting straight into them.
"My time is precious. You dragged me back from the East—you owe me an answer.
Today, I have hidden nothing. I've laid out my entire plan.
And whether you admit it or not, I know—Theus W. Hellman III of Wells Fargo despises me. He will never allow me to gain a share.
So tell me—do you think I'll let you walk out of this hot spring alive?
You cannot leave!"