What made Truman feel truly desperate was that, at this moment of indecision, as President of the United States, he had no one to confide in.
Louis and the others who had risen through the ranks with him were nothing more than yes-men—utterly incapable of giving him sound advice. As for John Stillman, who used to provide him with valuable counsel, Truman didn't even need to ask—he knew the man now stood firmly behind MacArthur.
In the past, he could still turn to Leo. But after their bitter falling-out, it was impossible for Truman to seek Leo's guidance again.
He could only think things over by himself before telling Louis:
"Send word to MacArthur. Tell him to remain calm. Without my permission, he must not take action."
Louis nodded and left. Truman never saw the trace of mockery at the corner of his aide's lips.
For Louis, Truman's instructions carried no weight at all.
Would Douglas MacArthur listen? The answer was obvious: certainly not.
All of America knew that Truman was powerless to rein in MacArthur's unilateral moves in the Far East.
Especially with the military-industrial complex yearning for war, restraining MacArthur was nothing but wishful thinking.
And not long ago, the CIA had delivered another report: not only did MacArthur crave war in the Far East, but the Red Bear—the iron-fisted leader of the Soviets—also wanted one.
With two warmongers eager to clash, could Truman possibly stop it? Especially when one side had already struck the first blow?
Louis's contemptuous view was, beyond doubt, correct.
The contents of Truman's telegram to MacArthur soon leaked.
Major newspapers splashed it across their front pages. Under deliberate editorial guidance, the President's restraint was painted as weakness.
Commentators lashed out: Truman was unfit to be the leader of the free world.
Some went further: if the Far East was surrendered today, would the Middle East be yielded tomorrow? And after that, Europe itself?
Thus, aside from a handful of Monroe Doctrine traditionalists, the dominant "globalists" in Washington were bitterly disappointed with Truman.
Anyone with sense could see what the President feared. But compared to their own interests, few cared enough to empathize with him.
After all, everyone in Washington knew Truman had already broken with his greatest patron. A President without backers was a President without respect.
Republican congressmen began quietly rallying support for impeachment.
The storm blindsided Truman. Facing the possibility of being ousted, he was further shaken when Louis handed him the latest poll numbers. His approval rating had plunged—close to the low point from his last campaign.
For a man who still hoped to serve another term, panic set in.
He locked himself away all morning. When he finally emerged, his first words to Louis were:
"Where is Leo? Out West?"
Louis rolled his eyes inwardly and answered:
"No. Once the news of the war broke, he returned to New York—to Sleepy Hollow in Westchester County, to his Valentino estate."
"He went back East?" Truman was stunned.
In his memory, Leo had long foreseen the coming storm. He had been painstakingly rooting himself in the West—where his enemies were less entrenched.
In such a crisis, Truman had assumed Leo would be shoring up his Western base, not returning to the treacherous East.
Louis shook his head. He too didn't understand. From what he knew, Leo's enemies were mobilizing everywhere. Why would Leo willingly return to such a den of vipers?
Receiving no answer, Truman waved dismissively.
"No matter. I'm flying to New York. I must see him."
"He might not agree to meet you. After all, the two of you…" Louis hinted at the obvious: after their break, was Truman sure Leo would even grant him an audience?
"You never know until you try. Besides, our enemies are the same once more." Truman spoke with forced confidence.
That was the conclusion of his morning's torment. In his eyes, Leo had every reason to meet him. For if MacArthur truly seized America's destiny, then to claim spoils after the war, many would rush to ease MacArthur's burdens.
Suppressing antiwar opinion at home would be the least of it. To gain more profit, men would actively remove MacArthur's greatest irritants.
And Leo—Leo was undoubtedly the gravest thorn in MacArthur's side.
When Truman's plane landed in New York, he was whisked under Secret Service protection straight to Sleepy Hollow.
As he had hoped, Leo did not refuse him. After a brief message was relayed, Truman's presidential motorcade rolled smoothly into the Valentino estate.
Glancing at Louis beside him, Truman allowed himself a smile, as if to say: See? My judgment was right.
His spirits lifted. After all, Leo's willingness to receive him was a promising sign. Surely Leo too sensed the looming crisis, and surely he understood: only by joining hands could they weather it.
The Sleepy Hollow mansion still retained its late-18th-century charm. In the quiet, antiquated study, Truman finally faced Leo.
"Leo, crisis is upon us again. No matter what happened between us before, I believe this time we must stand shoulder to shoulder once more."
Truman wasted no time with pleasantries.
In his imagination, Leo would rise, grasp his hand, and agree. For Truman believed this was the best path for them both.
But Leo's reaction crushed that hope.
He neither rose nor even looked up—he kept his eyes on the financial report before him, and said flatly:
"Why should I fight alongside you again? I hardly seem like the sort to help an ungrateful man twice."
Truman's face flushed red, then turned pale.
But with impeachment looming, he swallowed his anger. He reminded himself: Leo was young. Young men were hot-blooded. For the sake of survival, he must endure.
After steadying himself, Truman pressed on:
"Leo, MacArthur is about to lash the entire United States to his war chariot. If he succeeds, I may remain President—but you may no longer remain the richest man alive."
He laid out the stakes, confident Leo would grasp the danger.
Leo's question caught him off guard:
"Why?"
Truman blinked. "Leo, what's wrong with you? You're too sharp not to see it. Do you not understand the immense profit in MacArthur's Far East war?"
"I see it. But war is a business. Business has winners and losers. Why would they stake their lives against me over an unknown?" Leo replied calmly.
"Hah. If America commits fully, we cannot lose. Not even to the Red Bear.
You're not President—you can't fathom the scale of America's power.
Besides, the Soviets may have the bomb, but they can't deliver it across the ocean.
And the newborn Eastern Reds? They're even less of a threat. Poorly armed, no match for us.
Once MacArthur marches, this will be a sure victory!
Everyone will want a slice. And you—you will be their excuse to enter the fray."
Truman's voice brimmed with confidence.
Leo studied him, then felt a quiet relief.
If even Truman—backed by the best intelligence—was so certain of victory, then all of America would share that delusion.
Leo knew otherwise: MacArthur's setbacks were inevitable. Which meant all he had to do was endure the tide of opportunists until reality soured, and then swoop in to profit while others fled.
Could he endure? With all his preparations, Leo believed he could.
He admitted Truman's plan had merit. Together, they might even redirect the war from the Far East to the Middle East. But such maneuvering would drain Leo's resources for little gain.
And Truman, though he might cling to the presidency, would never show gratitude. For Leo, intervention meant bleeding resources—while his enemies remained intact, and MacArthur still towering. They would tear him apart while he was weakest.
Bleeding losses could spiral into catastrophe. One misstep, and Leo might lose everything—or his life.
"Harry, your idea is clever. But I refuse."
"You're right to… wait, what did you say?" Truman gaped at him in disbelief.
"You've grown foolish, Leo! Don't you see? Together, we could overcome this crisis. By refusing, you choose a road to ruin.
Don't you realize? If you reject me, I'll be forced into your enemies' camp. You'll face total war—business, politics, everything!"
"I know." Leo finally lifted his gaze. "But Harry, I've long lacked a true opponent. I want to see if, by attacking me with everything they have, they can force me to strike with everything I have. I can hardly remember the last time I fought with all my strength."
"You're mad!" Truman snarled. "Then wait for it—you'll get what you want!"
Furious, he stormed out.
Leo's refusal forced Truman's hand.
Back in Washington, the President wasted no time. He sought out John Stillman and declared bluntly:
"I'll help you. I'll even support MacArthur as the next President of the United States. But I have two conditions."
Truman's decisiveness thrilled Stillman. He asked eagerly:
"What conditions? Name them. If we can meet them, we will."
"First, I want security in retirement."
"Done," Stillman replied without hesitation. "Citibank needs shareholders. Your eldest son would fit perfectly. And I'll arrange a generous trust for your family in London."
Satisfied, Truman nodded and added:
"Second, I want Leo dead."
Stillman blinked—then broke into a smile.
"That's no condition at all. Our goals align. If we succeed, Harry, I'll add another ten million to that London trust.
But let's not be naïve. Leo's power is immense. Honestly, I can't guarantee his death."
"With all of us together, how can we not kill him!" Truman spat, seething with hatred.
His rejection had cost him dearly. Now he wanted Leo destroyed at any price.
"Harry, adjust your mindset. That hatred—Leo will exploit it.
And forget about everyone attacking at once. I've studied this Valentino. He thrives under siege, turning his enemies' poor coordination into fatal flaws, and then exploiting them until the assault collapses.
The best way to strike him isn't a grand alliance. It's for each of us to attack with our own methods, at full force. No matter who succeeds, Leo will suffer devastating losses."
"Only devastating losses?" Truman pressed, unsatisfied.
"Yes. Only losses—for who can say how many cards Leo still holds?" Stillman's face was grave.
Truman exhaled deeply. Having witnessed Leo's rise, he knew Stillman spoke truth.
"Fine. I'll keep calm—for now. But since our aims align, how do I play my part?"
His urgency was real. He needed to reverse his collapsing image and salvage his dwindling support.
"It's simple," Stillman said. "First, we set our sights on the United Nations."