With Jesse's support, Lynchburg was forced to withdraw the prepared arrest warrant, allowing Clark to enter James River Asset Management Company smoothly and rescue Hubert, who had been under the company's control.
With Hubert and Weiss's assistance, Clark and the IRS audit team that had just arrived from New York began examining all the files of James River Asset Management Company.
At the same time, John Stillman used the media to expose the company's ties to Leo, subtly hinting in reports that the world's richest man, Mr. Valentino, might be guilty of tax evasion.
Reporters from all over the United States flocked to Lynchburg, camping outside the James River offices, eager to obtain firsthand information from the IRS investigators.
Meanwhile, Valentino's luxury resort in Washington D.C., once crowded with guests, suddenly became deserted. Politicians were keenly observant, waiting to see whether Leo was truly guilty of tax fraud.
They were prepared for both outcomes: if Leo was proven innocent, they would continue praising him; if he was convicted, they would waste no time turning against him.
Soon, all of Washington knew that the first to strike at Leo had been John Stillman of Citibank, representing the Jewish forces on Wall Street.
At the same time, the southern states within Leo's sphere of influence began publishing negative reports against him. The South was not only the stronghold of the tobacco companies but also of military-industrial giants like DuPont, who too had started moving against Leo.
The situation looked promising for John and his allies, who had been celebrating with champagne almost every night.
However, inside Hubert's office at James River, IRS investigator Clark slammed the latest compiled files onto the desk in fury:
"Look at this! This is your so-called tax evasion? This is your so-called tens of billions in assets? Forget billions—you don't even have a million! This company is nothing but a hollow shell!"
Hubert froze, taking the documents in disbelief.
"Didn't Weiss take you to the underground records room?"
"We did go," Clark replied. "But it was full of obvious forgeries. If there were real files there, they must have already been destroyed."
"Impossible! I was only locked up for a day. Several tons of documents couldn't just vanish overnight!" Hubert insisted as he flipped through the papers.
Soon, sweat beaded on his forehead. Clark was right—there wasn't even a million left on paper.
This was impossible. Just weeks earlier, even without touching the confidential files, the company's open assets had totaled at least half a billion.
"Where's Weiss?" Hubert suddenly realized the truth. Other than himself, the only one who could quietly transfer or alter all company files was Weiss, who knew every process inside and out.
Like a madman, Hubert rushed out of the office, shouting Weiss's name through the corridors.
No one answered. Everyone merely watched him coldly—the traitor who had betrayed Mr. Valentino.
Despair consumed Hubert as he scoured the building. Weiss was nowhere to be found.
At that moment, Hubert knew he was finished. If Weiss really had turned traitor, then everything he had done lately must already be known to Valentino.
Hubert, who had served Leo for so long, knew well how ruthless Leo could be.
Behind him, Clark felt the same despair. Though just a tax investigator, he too had heard whispers of Valentino's merciless reputation.
The first to realize that Leo had won again were the reporters outside.
Confused, they called their editors: should they report the truth? Their original orders had been to expose Leo's downfall.
But the responses were unanimous: publish. After all, Leo controlled media as well. If they didn't report it, his own journalists surely would.
John Stillman learned of his failure from the newspapers. Unlike the three days Leo needed to crush Oswald's previous plot, this time it had taken him only five.
All John could think was how impossibly difficult Leo was to defeat. More troubling was that he didn't even understand how he had lost. He called Hubert—no answer. He tried Oswald—still nothing.
Panic set in. He tried Jesse. Surely the governor would answer.
But again, silence. Finally, he called the Virginia governor's office, only to hear the secretary's cold reply:
"The governor's villa caught fire last night due to faulty wiring. This morning, his car was struck by a drunk truck driver. Governor Jesse is now in a coma at the hospital."
Leo's counterattack had arrived—swift and merciless.
Just moments ago, John had been dreaming of dividing Leo's empire. Now, cold sweat drenched him. He sensed that Hubert and Oswald had already fallen into Leo's hands.
Then he remembered Oswald had left him a sealed letter days earlier, to be opened only if their plan failed. At the time, John had scoffed—how could such a meticulous plan fail?
Now, trembling, he tore it open. Inside were just a few lines:
"Protect Jesse. Only by keeping him alive can Leo's power in Virginia be shaken.
Don't be fooled by Leo's western ambitions—Virginia is his true political base. Topple it, and you truly shake his foundations."
John hurried to the synagogue. For the first time in his life, he had clashed directly with Leo—and lost utterly. He needed Mr. Samuel's advice.
Samuel, however, was calm. His network had already informed him long before John even realized it. His old friend Will had apologized—after all, even he hadn't foreseen that the unremarkable Weiss would decide the battle's outcome.
"Sir, we must wait for war to break out. To win MacArthur's favor, everyone will eventually unite against Leo," Will had said.
Samuel sneered at John:
"You look more like a timid white man than a bold Jew. Where is the daring spirit of an investor? No wonder Citibank has been in decline since losing the Far East.
So we lost this round. Next time, we win it back. But when MacArthur launches his war, do you think you'll get as much as the Anglo-Saxon military corporations?
Count your losses—this time you didn't just lose money, you lost face. The Stillman family can afford that. But my Samuel family cannot afford to have our reputation mocked.
Besides, you started this war. Whether it continues is no longer up to us. That vindictive Valentino will never let it go."
"But hasn't he already won?" John asked. "Shouldn't he stop now? He still needs to guard against MacArthur."
Samuel shook his head.
"You attacked and were defeated. Now the power to end this war is in Leo's hands, not yours. Do you really think he'll settle for just winning, without striking back? If that were the case, anyone could move against him with impunity.
Since retaliation is inevitable, the best defense is offense. Our strikes must not stop."
John asked, "Then what do we do?"
Samuel waved Oswald's letter.
"Oswald already gave us the answer—protect Jesse."
"But Leo won't give up easily. He's already killed Virginia's last three governors."
"In the middle of the Soviet-German war, when both sides were slaughtering each other, they still exchanged prisoners. Our conflict isn't nearly so fierce. All we need is a mediator strong enough to restrain Leo, and it can be done."
"Who?" John asked.
"McKay," Samuel replied.
Meanwhile, atop the Citibank building at 55 Wall Street, Oswald and Hubert stood on the edge, exchanging bitter smiles.
"I won't make it," Oswald sighed. "I knew returning might mean death, but I never thought it would be so meaningless. I'm sorry, Hubert, for dragging you down."
Hubert stared blankly, remembering the scene hours earlier in an abandoned arms factory outside New York. There, facing Leo, they had spat venom, but Leo had remained calm and offered them a choice of deaths.
Dragged from his farm, Oswald had already resigned himself. Better to die quickly by leaping off a building than be encased in cement or shredded by a Gatling gun.
Hubert, stubborn and unwilling, had asked Leo countless questions about why they lost. Patiently, Leo answered each one.
Hubert didn't want to die. Selfish to the core, he had always considered even his parents and children expendable.
But then Leo had leaned down and handed him a photograph—his mistress and illegitimate child. Hubert didn't care about them, but he understood the message: Leo was showing him that no matter where he fled, Leo could reach him.
Hubert knew it was true. As the man most familiar with Leo's empire, he knew Leo had that power.
So, unwilling to go alone, Hubert made the same choice as Oswald.
Now, with Leo's men blocking the only exit, the rooftop was their last stop.
"He had men planted at my side before I even entered James River," Hubert murmured. "This was fate, decided the moment I wavered. You had nothing to do with it."
"Do you regret it?" Oswald asked softly. Back in Brazil, he hadn't been a king, but at least he'd lived in comfort.
"No regrets. Are you jumping or not?" Hubert replied coldly.
Oswald shook his head instinctively.
Then Hubert smiled, stepped forward—and plunged.
Stunned, Oswald gazed one last time at his beloved New York before following him into the abyss.
In the synagogue, just as Samuel and John finalized their next steps, John's secretary burst in:
"Sir, someone jumped from the Citibank building!"
They exchanged a look and rushed to the scene. Police had cordoned it off, but such barriers meant nothing to men of their rank.
When they reached the bodies, their faces darkened—it was Hubert and Oswald.
They walked grimly into the Citibank president's office. They knew exactly what this meant: Leo was showing his power. Worse, everyone else would know too. They hadn't just lost—they had lost completely, unable even to protect their own men.
"Jesse must be saved," Samuel said. "This isn't just about the next move anymore—it's about whether anyone will still dare to follow us."
John nodded, but his secretary entered again. His expression alone told them it was bad news.
"What now?" John snapped.
"Sir, the two offshore hubs for our Caribbean and South Asia tax evasion channels caught fire. Our staff are missing. And the $300 million waiting to be transferred… is gone."
"What!" John shot to his feet. This wasn't just his money—it belonged to numerous Jewish tycoons. Worse still, part of it was earmarked by American Jews for the Zionist cause.
If those zealots didn't get their funds, John shuddered to think what they might do.
The phone rang. John handed it to Samuel after a moment. When Samuel hung up, his face was ashen. His own family's three tax-avoidance networks had been struck as well.
Luckily, most of his fortune had been moved recently, leaving only $20 million in the transit pool. The money wasn't the issue—the insult was. Someone had dared strike at the Samuel family's prestige, generations in the making.
Both men knew it—this was Leo's counterstrike.
Then John's other assistant rushed in, switching on the television. Two major European headlines flashed on-screen.
First: Leo's International Media Group had become the largest controlling shareholder of the European Broadcasting Union—granting him dominance over all European media.
Second: The Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg had formally established a customs union. In the photo of the leaders and administrators, two men stood at the edge—Edward, Leo's chief financial officer, and Daniel, recently dispatched as ambassador to France.
This was fatal. The customs union would reduce reliance on American capital. And if American capital had a face, it was Wall Street—dominated by Samuel's Eastern European Jewish group.