With Hyman Roth's disappearance, the underworld war across America came to an abrupt halt.
So fast, in fact, that many didn't even have time to act before it was already over. It fell far short of John Stillman's expectations.
Back again at the farm on the outskirts of Richmond, John sat with a dark expression, glaring at the man across from him—Oswald.
"This is the 'grand counterattack' you spoke of? It's over in less than three days? Truly 'grand,' indeed. We haven't even moved, and your plan has already been brushed aside with ease.
Oswald, did Brazil make you dull-witted? You've disappointed me greatly!"
John's merciless tone came for two reasons. First, Oswald didn't deserve mercy. Second, John was genuinely furious this time.
When he first heard that Clemenza, the Mafia's new Godfather supported by Leo, had been eliminated by Oswald's men, he had been thrilled.
He immediately contacted his network, preparing to exploit Leo's counterattack from multiple angles—from local government pressure to manipulating public opinion—branding Leo as entangled with the Mafia in the eyes of the American public.
He even secretly approached the Democratic Party Whip, intending to push for a congressional hearing on whether the American Realty Group and the Mafia had financial ties, once the media narrative was set.
At that point, everyone opposed to Leo would have supplied evidence.
Even if it couldn't kill Leo, it would at least shake him, creating openings for deadlier strikes.
And the result? John had wasted a great many favors—for nothing.
Because Leo had already pacified the entire American underworld.
What enraged John most was a call from Miami's Jewish circles, accusing him of hurting their interests by attacking Leo.
They had even appealed to Mr. Samuel for justice.
John had to pay them compensation.
The money wasn't the problem—it was Samuel's words that humiliated him:
*"John, if your plan had succeeded, these Miami Jews wouldn't be asking you for compensation. They would be paying you instead, just for the privilege of getting on board with you.
But unfortunately, your chosen partner seems… unreliable. They don't trust your ability, and that's why they demand payment instead."*
John wasn't young. Of course, he understood the meaning behind Samuel's words. And Samuel knew he understood. Which meant the point wasn't the explanation itself, but the warning behind it.
The reason for the warning was obvious—John had failed.
Burning with shame, John rushed overnight from New York to Richmond. And with his humiliation and anger, he poured it all onto the true failure: Oswald.
Faced with John's rebuke, Oswald lowered his head in shame. The failure was indeed his.
But beneath the table, his fists were clenched tight. He had worked with John before, had failed before, but had never been humiliated like this.
Back then, John hadn't dared—because of the power of the Cotton family.
Now, stripped of his old strength, Oswald had to endure such humiliation. He hated Leo, who had caused his downfall, but he also hated John, who now disgraced him.
In Brazil, trying to survive, Oswald had tasted every kind of hardship.
He knew clearly: now that the Cotton family had returned to New York, their only support was the man before him—John Stillman.
So Oswald swallowed his fury and, with forced humility, said:
"My fault. I never thought Hyman Roth would crumble so quickly."
At the name, John frowned, thinking hard, then asked cautiously:
"He was some kind of Jewish gang leader, wasn't he?"
The Stillmans were a top Jewish family. Whenever the family encountered shady matters, it wasn't the family heads who acted. Middle-tier Jews would handle it—often through gangsters like Hyman Roth.
Thus John's contact with Roth had been minimal. The few times they'd met, it was merely surface politeness.
Now he finally understood why Miami's Jews had come after him.
Because by targeting Leo, he had indirectly killed their dog. Naturally, they wanted compensation.
John also felt the pressure. To him, Roth might have been "a dog," but he had heard whispers of Roth's formidable influence.
A man renowned throughout the American underworld—wiped out in just three days by Leo.
Not only wiped out, but without Leo even revealing his full strength. That made Leo far more dangerous.
Rubbing his temples, John asked:
"What other cards do you have?"
He kept his gaze on his hands, fiddling with his fingers—to hide the cold gleam in his eyes.
If Oswald had no plan left, then the assassins John had brought would dispose of him immediately.
A pawn without value was expendable.
"I have one," Oswald said quickly. "Originally meant to be used once the underworld fell into chaos. But now… we'll have to play it early. We must act first."
Coming from a great family himself, Oswald understood John's thoughts. He had played these games of intrigue many times.
"What card?" John's eyes lit up.
"You remember how I knew every detail of Leo's financial movements some time ago?" Oswald asked.
"I remember. You mean that insider you placed close to Leo? But you told me before—that man wasn't easy to control."
"I can't control him alone," Oswald admitted. "But with you, I can."
"So he's not your pawn, but a partner. And what price does he want? A fortune?" John asked.
"No, not just money. He also wants status. What he didn't get from Valentino, he wants from us. Specifically—he wants to become CEO of Citibank."
John laughed out loud.
"Ridiculous! A traitor like him? He thinks he deserves that?"
Before his laughter faded, a voice came from behind him.
"Mr. Stillman, I do."
John startled, spinning around to see a man step forward and sit beside him—Hubert.
Furious, John glared at Oswald.
"We were supposed to meet in secret, and you bring an outsider?"
Oswald shook his head.
"Hubert isn't an outsider. As you said, he's not my pawn. I can't order him around. When he asked to meet my other partner, I couldn't refuse."
John was displeased, but the situation forced him to continue.
He studied Hubert's blank expression and said coldly:
"Oswald became my partner for many reasons—his surname being one of them. Now tell me, Hubert, how do you deserve to be my partner? And to shamelessly demand the CEO position of Citibank?"
"Before that," Hubert replied evenly, "let me ask you: you're Valentino's enemy, aren't you?"
John gave a small nod.
"Then I am your best choice," Hubert continued. "Within Valentino's empire, I manage something called the James River Investment Management Company."
"James River Investment Management?" John frowned. "Never heard of it."
"It's a privately held, unlisted firm. Valentino keeps it hidden. In the first two quarters of 1950 alone, its transactions reached thirty billion."
The number stunned both men. Even Oswald jumped to his feet.
"Thirty billion—in just a few years?"
"Only transactions," Hubert clarified, "but still staggering. It proves what we've been searching for—Valentino's true hidden financial core. The James River company is it."
John's eyes gleamed with greed. At last, he had found what he had been chasing. No more wasting effort unraveling endless shell companies across Central America and beyond.
"You're right," John said. "You control Leo's true assets."
"Yes," Hubert confirmed.
"Then why betray him, if he trusts you so much?" John asked.
"He only seems to trust me. In reality, I'm just a human machine, carrying out orders, ensuring operations run smoothly.
The job looks important, but it's mechanical, with no room for skill. I don't invest, I don't grow the money, I don't handle clients. My talents are wasted.
Last year, I asked him to transfer me to the Bank of America he'd acquired. But instead of me, he used that useless drunkard Dick.
He's never respected my ability."
Hubert's stiff face betrayed little, but in his eyes burned resentment.
John had an eye for people. He nodded, satisfied.
"Good. I accept you as my partner against Leo. But you've yet to prove why you deserve Citibank's CEO chair."
"Sir, I'm a Morgan banker by training. I've rotated through every department, a consummate professional.
More importantly—though Leo never gave me authority to move funds, I know every detail of the money flowing through James River: where it came from, where it went.
No one knows Valentino's empire's financial system better than I.
You understand what that means."
John grinned.
"It means that when I decide to carve up Valentino's fortune, with you, I can devour it quickly—and digest it just as fast."
Laughing, he extended his hand.
"Citibank welcomes you, Hubert."
"It's my honor, sir." Hubert shook it firmly.
After the meeting, John left the farm, his face sinking into gloom.
He was far from satisfied. Oswald had dared bring in a man he hadn't fully vetted. That put John's life at risk. Worse, if Hubert were a double agent, he could expose everything—leaving John stripped of moral cover.
Politics was like that: everyone knew who the enemies were, yet all had to pretend otherwise. If one side was caught plotting murder, it would be condemned, isolated, trapped by opportunists.
From Hubert's behavior, double-agency seemed unlikely. But John still hated it. He had been forced to accept both Hubert and his demand for CEO. He couldn't kill him—not when Hubert's knowledge was too valuable.
John despised being forced to nod.
Once John left, the air in the dining room grew heavier.
"I've done what you asked. Now—will you fulfill your first promise?" Hubert asked darkly.
Oswald pointed to the telephone in the living room.
"Of course. The phone's right there."
Hubert picked it up. On the other end came the crying voice of his illegitimate son, calling "Daddy," mixed with the frightened sobbing of his mistress.
The call ended.
"You see? They're alive. I haven't lied," Oswald said.
"You promised to let one of them return," Hubert said.
"Indeed. But you haven't told me which one."
"My son!" Hubert snapped.
"Okay. I'll have your mistress sent back," Oswald shrugged.
Enraged, Hubert grabbed Oswald's collar.
"I said—I want my son!"
"I heard you. Your son matters most to you. But we've decided your mistress will return."
They locked eyes for a long second. Then Oswald calmly pried Hubert's fingers off his collar, one by one.
"Don't pretend anger. We've worked together long enough. Stillman may not see it, but I do. You're an utterly selfish man.
In Brazil, you have a child and a mistress. In California, your parents, wife, and children. All of them matter. Yet you never mention them.
The only person you truly love is yourself, Hubert. You're the kind who would do anything—anything—to rise above.
The funny part? Leo usually judged people well. But with you, he was blind. He thought you an honest man. Never realizing—you're a stone-faced, reckless gambler."