Everyone stared in shock as Leo walked into the room.
Theus Hellman's mind went completely blank. One number kept flashing in his head—the number Langer had just uttered: 35%.
Only when Leo stopped in front of him, patted his shoulder, and pointed to the chair beneath him did he regain his senses.
And then came Leo's voice, lofty and commanding:
"Mr. Hellman, I believe this seat now belongs to me."
Staring at that young, infuriating face, Theus was shaken to his core. He could not fathom how his opponent had quietly acquired 35% of Wells Fargo's shares—without his knowledge.
But the weight pressing again on his shoulder told him the truth: however reluctant he was, the reality was clear. He had no choice but to step aside.
Unwillingly, Theus Hellman ran his hand across the leather chair—the very symbol of Wells Fargo's chairmanship.
From 1920 onward, three generations of Hellmans had ruled Wells Fargo. That history ended today.
His heart was filled with grief and unwillingness, but in the end, Theus yielded.
A man who never fought an unprepared battle, he knew that to stay here after being ambushed like this would only mean humiliation.
He walked out of the boardroom—the seat of his power—and left Wells Fargo's headquarters.
Sinking into his car, regret gnawed at him.
Back when the Wells and Fargo families first began dealings with Valentino, his subordinates had urged him to seek allies from the East to counter Leo.
But he had been too arrogant. He believed that, though the Hellmans did not hold a controlling stake, three generations had made Wells Fargo an impregnable fortress—too strong for any outsider to infiltrate.
After all, Leo wasn't the first Easterner to try.
But now he understood: for those Eastern predators, a hundred failed attempts meant nothing. One success was enough—and for Theus Hellman, that single success was fatal.
Now it was too late for regret. And as for regaining control of Wells Fargo—Theus knew better than to hope for it in the short term.
The truth about Wells Fargo's change of hands was revealed by Leo himself. With both the New York Times and the World reporting it, the news was undeniable.
Leo even used his newly restructured television network to broadcast it.
The uproar swept across America.
Especially among Leo's enemies.
In a New York synagogue, the atmosphere was heavy.
"Leo now controls the West's purse strings. He's getting harder and harder to deal with," said John Stillman.
"Yes. No word from the Far East yet? If this continues, we won't be able to remain his enemies. We'll be forced to make him our friend," Samuel replied.
Stillman shook his head.
"The situation is escalating, but timing isn't ours to decide. It depends on both sides, not on outside forces like us.
But I hear today the military-industrial complex held a small meeting of their own. How goes your plan to turn Leo into one of yours?"
Samuel sighed.
"This Leo works too hard. Even his own women can't get close, let alone anyone we might plant by his side. We can only wait for an opportunity.
Like I said, we'll try to eat him first. If we can't, then we'll think about making him a friend.
Push Douglas harder. If we delay much longer, not only will the new state in the Far East consume those interests, but here at home the West will become Leo's iron fortress."
At the DuPont estate in Wilmington, Delaware, the very same subject was under discussion.
"Douglas is moving too slowly. We need war," said Jack Northrop of Northrop Grumman.
"Exactly. Leo already controls the two largest banks in the West. Many of our investments there are now restricted. Any new defense plants we fund will face loan obstacles," said Robert of Lockheed.
For once, John Jay Hopkins of General Dynamics wasn't stirring trouble—because his patrons, Jack Morgan and Roland Morgan, had ordered him to cooperate with the military-industrial bloc and support Douglas MacArthur's moves in the Far East.
So Hopkins became the radical voice, turning to Maxim MacArthur:
"Is Douglas even capable? At this rate, the window will close before he acts!"
Maxim's temper was usually even, but his devotion to his elder brother was absolute. He would tolerate no slander against Douglas.
He glared at Hopkins.
"John, watch your mouth. If I hear you disrespect my brother again, I'll make sure you don't see the sunrise tomorrow.
The only reason you're sitting here is the Morgans behind you. Without them, you'd never have a seat at this table.
Did you really think you were our equal?"
The threat hit hard. Hopkins knew Maxim commanded an elite force prepared by Douglas for the MacArthur family—a force often deployed when troublesome individuals in the arms trade needed to be "dealt with."
Maxim could easily carry out his threat. Hopkins fell silent at once.
"Max, there's no need for that. Sit," Alfred I. du Pont interjected. "Hopkins means well. We're all under pressure.
Congress is split between Far East and Middle East factions. We launched this, we lead it, but once it begins, control slips away—too many interests, too many players.
We've wagered heavily. Isn't it fair to demand progress?"
Du Pont's words carried weight. Maxim had no choice but to temper his fire. Against Hopkins, threats worked. Against Alfred, they did not.
He straightened and replied:
"Mr. Du Pont, Douglas is working hard. He has a plan. It's proceeding step by step. Results are coming soon."
"That's exactly what he told me three months ago," Hopkins snapped, emboldened by Du Pont's presence.
"And that's what he told me twenty days ago," added Northrop. "Maxim, we're not pressuring you, but we need a timeline. Politicians don't support us for free—it costs us dearly every day. Our shareholders demand answers. How long until returns?"
"Yes, Jack's right," said Robert of Lockheed. "I called Douglas a week ago and heard the same line. We need to know how much longer."
"I…"
Maxim faltered, glancing at Alfred du Pont. Usually Alfred would defuse such moments—but not today. Instead, Maxim met Alfred's searching gaze.
Not good.
Maxim realized Alfred had already guessed the truth: Douglas's own brother knew no more than they did.
Seeing this, Alfred rose, walked to the telephone, and began dialing.
"If Maxim doesn't know, then let's call Douglas directly. One way or another, he must give us an answer today."
As the rotary dial clicked, Maxim slumped in his chair.
He didn't doubt Douglas's plan—only Douglas's arrogance.
Even if Alfred pressed him, Douglas wouldn't care. In his eyes, none of these men mattered. They hadn't recruited Douglas; they had begged to join him—because war was profitable.
Maxim remembered Douglas's words:
"After that failed venture with James, I vowed never to rely on allies alone. To succeed, I must kidnap an entire nation—leave them no choice but to follow me."
And so Maxim dreaded the call. He knew Alfred wouldn't tolerate being slighted. One insult from Douglas could spark a lasting rift.
In the arms trade, if you weren't ruthless, you didn't survive.
"Hello, Douglas? This is Alfred," du Pont said.
The line connected. Maxim shut his eyes. He couldn't bear to hear what was coming.
But then Alfred's voice, tinged with shock, rang out:
"What did you say? The plan succeeded? The northern sun has struck?"
Every man in the room leapt to his feet.
The war they craved had finally begun.
Maxim opened his eyes and instinctively glanced at the calendar. The date was June 25, 1950.
At that very moment, America's president received the same news.
Taking the telegram from his chief of staff Louis, Truman's brow furrowed.
Stillman's lobbying had made him turn a blind eye to much of Douglas's overreach in Japan—sometimes even lending quiet support. All to keep Leo in check.
But he wanted only to restrain Leo—not to drag America into an abyss.
The Middle East, the Far East, Europe—all were fragile battlegrounds, the free world locked in struggle against the vast red tide. Every step demanded caution.
Yet now, in this telegram filled with talk of threats to freedom and America's duty to defend it, Truman saw Douglas's true intent.
Douglas meant to step onto the stage himself—plunging America back into war.
Yes, the U.S. had just demobilized. Yes, Douglas promised swift victory by Christmas. Yes, the war might even bring benefits.
But Truman saw through it: this was Douglas's bid to kidnap America. To turn the nation into the servant of his Far Eastern empire.
That, Truman would never allow.
It was bad enough that Leo had tried to play father to him. But Douglas? They were old enemies.
If Truman bowed, how could he still call himself President of the United States?
Most of all—if the war was lost, the blame would stain him forever. If it was won, Douglas would return in triumph and seize the presidency.
Either way, Truman lost.
So whether for his country or himself, one thing was certain: he would never consent to a war led by Douglas MacArthur.
Not even with a Christmas victory promised.