"This will affect our control over the financial systems of the Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg,"
said John Stillman, feigning deep concern.
In truth, his expression and tone were the only things troubled about him—Citibank had never truly cared about Europe.
In Belgium, the Netherlands, and Luxembourg, they barely had any business at all.
Stillman's acting was superb, good enough to fool most of the world—
but not the shrewd, calculating Samuel.
Samuel lifted his gaze, eyes sharp.
"You short-sighted fool. Do you really think three small countries like the Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg could make this happen on their own?
Look at the photo—senior French officials are there, along with the newly appointed ambassador from the Federal Republic of Germany to the three nations.
And the U.S. ambassador to France was also present.
That Daniel is known to be one of Leo's closest allies.
This might well become the prototype for a European Customs Union,
and that could deal an immeasurable blow to Wall Street's control over Europe.
If Wall Street loses its money, do you think your Citibank will fare any better?"
Caught in his lie, John Stillman showed no embarrassment—on the contrary, he looked almost delighted.
"So Leo is declaring war on all of Wall Street? Then we should call an emergency meeting immediately—
rally all of Wall Street's power and eliminate that American traitor, Leo, once and for all."
"You're blinded by hatred," Samuel replied coldly.
"Of course, we'll have a meeting. But I fear that clever Valentino has already divided Wall Street."
"He has that kind of power?"
Stillman frowned, doubtful.
"And that," said Samuel, "is exactly why you keep losing to him.
None of you have ever understood how formidable Leo truly is.
Whether or not he can split Wall Street, you'll see soon enough.
I'm going to contact McKay to save Jesse.
You, John, gather the heavyweights of Wall Street.
We're convening a closed-door conference."
Samuel turned to leave, but Stillman grabbed his sleeve.
"Wait, sir. What about the massive losses in our offshore tax network?
Especially that hundred million we were supposed to send to the Zionist Organization—if it doesn't arrive on time,
I can't imagine what those lunatics might do."
Samuel gave a cold, humorless smile.
"For a banker, you disappoint me. When a depositor loses money in your bank, who compensates him? You do.
That hundred million came from us—Eastern European Jews pooling our funds for the Zionist cause.
If the money vanished under your management, you'll make restitution to them. After all, we've already paid our share."
"That's not fair, Mr. Samuel!" Stillman protested. "We all know Leo's behind the tax network collapse—it's retaliation!
We're all in this fight together. Why should I shoulder the loss alone?"
Samuel had kept his composure until now. But this time, he snapped.
He seized his cane and struck Stillman across the shoulder with a furious crack.
"You idiot! If Leo were rotting in prison right now for tax evasion,
do you think our offshore system would have collapsed?
Your blunder caused this mess, so you'll bear the consequences.
Be grateful I haven't asked you to reimburse my own twenty million loss!
And now you dare ask for more money?
Get out there and organize that meeting immediately.
I suspect our world's richest man hasn't even begun to show his full hand!"
Samuel stormed off, cane tapping furiously against the marble floor.
While Samuel and Stillman were scrambling to counter Leo,
Leo himself had just awakened in his private suite at the Valentino Hot Springs Hotel in Washington.
Beside him lay Grace Kelly, who was in New York filming a new movie.
Since Leo's acquisition of RKO Pictures, the studio had been revitalized under his immense capital and sharp insight.
Once struggling under Howard Hughes's control, RKO now boasted a string of both critical and commercial hits.
Two leading ladies shone brightest at RKO: Grace Kelly and Marilyn Monroe.
Everyone in Hollywood knew these two women—
one alluring and sensual, the other elegant and graceful—
were the untouchable favorites of the world's richest man.
No one dared cross them,
and their careers flourished as if blessed by heaven.
At this very moment, the angelic Grace Kelly—so poised and dignified in public—
was beneath the velvet sheets, devotedly serving Mr. Valentino.
Leo, half-reclined, was on the phone with McKay while enjoying her company.
"Someone asked me to save that Jesse," McKay said bluntly.
"You've always treated me well, sir, in every possible way.
I respect you deeply—but this time, it's life and death for me."
Leo didn't respond directly.
He couldn't admit over the phone that Jesse's downfall had been his doing.
Who knew if the line was tapped—or being recorded?
Besides, if he agreed too easily, McKay would come asking favors forever.
Then McKay added, "A director of the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco is looking to sell his shares."
Leo's adrenaline surged instantly.
That was monumental news.
Everyone knew the Federal Reserve was a private institution.
The U.S. government had only advisory power and could legislate constraints—nothing more.
The real power lay in the twelve regional reserve banks across major American cities.
In other words, to sit at the Fed's ultimate table,
one must first earn a seat at one of those twelve regional tables.
Now McKay was offering Leo exactly that:
a place at the San Francisco Fed.
The excitement coursing through him wasn't just financial—it was primal.
Phone in one hand, he reached under the velvet sheets with the other,
guiding Grace Kelly's head gently downward.
A muffled sound came from beneath the covers—
Hollywood's golden goddess was indeed blessed by God.
McKay, unaware, asked again,
"Well? Have you made up your mind?"
Leo glanced at Grace, who emerged from under the sheets,
wiping her lips and giving him a mock glare.
Smiling, Leo replied into the phone, "I agree."
He didn't need to ask how many shares were being sold.
He already knew this was Samuel's doing.
For Leo, just getting a seat at that table was worth any price—
even Jesse's life.
When he hung up, Grace returned from the bathroom,
a trace of disappointment in her voice.
"You're getting busier and busier.
It's been so long since we watched a play together."
"I'll be very busy these days," Leo said,
"but I'll be going to Europe soon. Come with me."
"Really? I've always wanted to see Europe!"
Her blue eyes sparkled—then dimmed again.
"But the shoot in New York just started.
I can't abandon the production as the lead actress."
Leo smiled, touched by her earnestness.
He brushed her nose gently.
"It's fine. I'm the one funding your film.
No one dares complain if you're gone a few days."
Sweet moments never last.
As night fell, the Valentino Hot Springs Hotel glowed with light.
Two men had just leapt from the National Bank Building,
news that spread swiftly through Washington's political circles.
Everyone knew—Mr. Valentino had won again.
Politicians and financiers soon gathered at his hotel once more,
ready to bask in his glow.
The hotel sat atop a small hill:
the front bustling with revelry, the back serene and stately.
The front was for pleasure;
the back—for business.
Leo hosted a grand BBQ banquet under a massive white tent.
This cowboy-style celebration from the western farms
wasn't exactly to the taste of eastern gentlemen—
but a few exceptions loved it.
"Mr. Valentino," said Fanson Colt, a major Midwest rancher,
"thank you for this remarkable experience!
I'll build one of these at my own ranch so we can feast like this!"
Of course, Colt had another title—
Chairman of Colt Firearms, America's premier weapons supplier.
Eating heartily beside him were the heads of Chrysler and Remington—
one made tanks and armored vehicles, the other guns and ammunition.
Below them in rank sat the newly favored executives of
Sikorsky Aircraft and Seiler Aviation,
both now partly owned by Leo.
Under Leo and Marshall's coordination,
the Pentagon had placed orders for 3,000 helicopters with each company earlier that year.
In exchange, James River Asset Management's Marshall and Leo each took 25% stakes.
The banquet drew not only the arms industry's elite,
but also generals from the Pentagon and senators from both parties.
At the head table sat Leo, Marshall, and President Eisenhower.
The crowd was diverse—but united.
All of them ultimately served these three men.
All loyal. All useful.
After several rounds of drinks, Marshall steered the evening toward its true agenda—
a topic not about America,
but about France.
France had launched a war in Vietnam,
trying to maintain its colonial grip as it had in North Africa.
But postwar Asia was no longer the same.
Vietnam's resistance had bled France dry.
The guests didn't yet see where this conversation was going—
but mocking the French was always good for morale.
"Are the French buying arms from you?"
Eisenhower asked casually, glancing at the weapons manufacturers.
The generals and senators exchanged looks—
they understood now.
Tonight's banquet was for them.
And they were more than happy—Miami villas don't come cheap.
The industrialists erupted indignantly,
denouncing the French as ungrateful miserly fools.
They ranted about how America had saved France,
only for France to refuse to buy their weapons—
serves them right, they said, to drown in the jungles of Vietnam.
Leo chuckled quietly. He knew the truth.
France hadn't suffered much damage during WWII;
its factories were still intact,
so naturally they didn't need to import American arms.
He glanced at Lombardon, chairman of General Motors,
a key player in Leo's plan.
"Mr. Secretary," Lombardon said,
"we're all men of peace. But though the French are stingy,
it pains us to see them dying in Vietnam's jungles.
As the leader of the free world, shouldn't America lend a hand to her allies?"
All eyes turned to Marshall.
From the standpoint of national interest,
both America and the Soviet Union benefited from supporting independence movements abroad.
Breaking old colonial ties favored both superpowers.
Vietnam was no different.
If the South Vietnamese government had sided with the U.S. from the start,
America would have intervened long ago.
But since France had propped it up, the U.S. stayed away.
Now, however, North Vietnam's strength had exceeded expectations,
and France was faltering.
If both Korea and Indochina turned red,
it would threaten American dominance.
Yet stubborn President Vincent Auriol refused to beg Washington for help,
leaving Marshall frustrated.
Until a month ago,
Leo—through Ambassador Daniel—had convinced Auriol.
That was why they were all here tonight:
to carve up the spoils before the war even began.
"It's not that we don't want to help," Marshall said,
"but the French are too proud to ask."
The room sighed in disappointment—no French orders, no profit.
Then Leo smiled.
"My friend, Ambassador Daniel, told me President Auriol has long wanted America's help.
His problem isn't pride—it's money.
But money isn't a problem. France can borrow.
It wouldn't be their first time.
With the strength of our American banks,
we can easily finance their war.
Daniel also told me the President is worried about collateral."
Leo's smile widened as he looked at the arms executives.
"I believe France's military industries would make excellent collateral, don't you?"