Could MacArthur return home? Of course not. The war in the East was still raging, and as Supreme Commander, he couldn't possibly abandon the Far East front—nor did he want to.
After all, it was the only place left where he could still stage a comeback.
"Mac the Emperor" tossed his pipe and sidearm onto the ground, his face dark with fury.
Even his beloved pipe had lost its charm.
Though his often-uncooperative ally, President Truman, had finally begun to act—pushing the United Nations to pass a resolution calling for a ceasefire before negotiations—that move merely bought MacArthur time to fortify his defenses along the 38th parallel.
But family matters were the least of his troubles.
What truly tormented him was that he could no longer gauge where the American military–industrial complex stood.
The greatest danger now was that those powerful defense interests might switch allegiance—to Leo Valentino.
If that happened, his logistics would collapse.
And without logistics… how could he possibly fight?
No supplies, no war.
"What day is it today?" MacArthur asked quietly.
His aide-de-camp replied,
"General, it's December 31st. Dinner's ready—we should head back soon."
"New Year's Eve… 1951 is upon us," MacArthur sighed.
"We'll win, General," the aide tried to reassure him.
But before the words had even faded, the radio in the car crackled to life—
"General! Urgent! The enemy has launched a full-scale offensive!"
MacArthur's face drained of color.
"Turn back! Now!" he barked, snapping into action.
While MacArthur scrambled to salvage the situation, events in America were unfolding just as he feared—and exactly as Leo Valentino had planned.
Ever since his return to the U.S., Leo's banquets at the Valentino Hotel in Washington had scarcely paused.
But tonight's gathering was particularly intriguing: the guests were led by Jack Northrop of Northrop Grumman, joined by a group of arms manufacturers who had once surrounded Alfred DuPont.
They showed not the slightest discomfort at Leo's cold reception.
As soon as the host finished his toast, they muscled their way to him, smiling deferentially.
"Mr. Valentino, please forgive our previous blindness," said Jack Northrop with an uncharacteristic sincerity. "We'd like to join your camp—if there's still room for us."
Leo smiled faintly. "Why not continue supporting Alfred DuPont?"
Northrop answered without hesitation,
"Mr. DuPont is ill—gravely, from what we hear. And besides, a leader who can only bring losses, never profits, is not one worth following.
Rest assured, Mr. Valentino—we, and the companies behind us, did nothing to harm your interests during your conflict with Alfred DuPont."
It was brazen—shameless even.
Yet coming from Jack Northrop, it somehow sounded… almost naive.
As if his candor stemmed from blunt honesty rather than cunning opportunism.
Leo chuckled.
Most people would have been fooled by this "honest fool" routine—an act so clumsy it seemed genuine.
But Leo wasn't "most people."
A truly stupid man couldn't have survived in America's cutthroat defense industry, let alone built a company like Northrop Grumman.
And a mere simpleton could never have emerged unscathed from the duel between two titans—Leo Valentino and Alfred DuPont—then walked away with his former master's assets to join the victor.
Leo didn't expose him.
Because, as Northrop said, they had never directly crossed him.
They had merely lent DuPont some noise and numbers—a gesture that made no real impact.
And that made Jack Northrop dangerous, but not worth killing.
Leo's attention was better spent on real enemies—the ones who still wanted him dead.
Petty vendettas were distractions.
And Leo never wasted effort.
Besides, this night held special significance.
The corner of his mouth lifted into a knowing grin—because Douglas MacArthur was about to make a fool of himself again.
It would be the third time.
And when the morning came, every American who still believed in MacArthur would be utterly disillusioned.
For the dawn of the Valentino Era was at hand.
January 3, 3:00 p.m.
Realizing the situation was hopeless, General Matthew Ridgway ordered the abandonment of Seoul.
On January 4, 4:00 p.m., the 348th and 346th Regiments of China's 116th Division, alongside the 1st Corps of the Korean People's Army, stormed the city and captured the South Korean presidential palace.
MacArthur's third humiliation was complete.
The fall of Seoul, the breaking of the 37th parallel, and the disastrous retreat of the so-called UN forces—all of it reached the United States like a gut punch.
On the morning of January 4, the entire nation awoke beneath a cloud of despair.
By January 7 and 8, massive demonstrations erupted across the country.
Parents demanded their sons be brought home.
Veterans' groups marched too—not against the war, but demanding that MacArthur be replaced for the sake of America's honor.
The year 1951 opened in chaos.
Calls for MacArthur's resignation grew louder by the day.
MacArthur and his allies were abandoned completely.
Meanwhile, the line outside the Valentino Hotel never stopped moving.
Ambassadors from across the "Free World" came bearing not just goodwill—but investments.
They believed Leo would soon hold decisive influence within America's deep state.
And they weren't wrong.
He was young—dangerously young—and already one of the most powerful men in the country's hidden hierarchy.
They could see his future as clearly as their own need to align with it.
Most importantly, they brought what Leo needed most—
huge arms contracts that would tie the global defense industry to him.
Despite his constant dealings with foreign envoys and defecting industrialists, Leo never lost sight of his true enemies.
That evening, after the banquet, he returned to his private villa at the Valentino Hot Springs Hotel.
The place had been trashed months earlier during an IRS raid—but now it was fully restored.
As for the agents who had wrecked it?
They were now in hell, having tea with Satan.
Leo didn't retire to the bedroom where three Hollywood starlets were waiting.
Tony had informed him that his "guest" had arrived.
When Leo entered the lounge, his old friend—Chief of Staff Louis—rose immediately from the sofa.
"Sit down, Louis," Leo said with an easy smile. "We're old friends."
"No, Mr. Valentino—you first," Louis replied, voice humble.
"When we helped Harry campaign, you weren't so polite, Louis," Leo chuckled as he approached. "We were friends then. What's changed? Did you do something… disloyal?"
Leo was smiling when he said it, but the moment he sat down, his expression turned icy.
Louis froze, then gave a strained smile.
"That phone call wasn't my idea, Leo. You know how Alfred DuPont operates. If I hadn't agreed—"
"Ha!" Leo interrupted with a laugh. "I understand, Louis. Just don't make it a habit."
The laugh came first; the chill followed.
Louis's heart clenched in his chest.
"Sit down, Louis. I'm glad you came—it shows you still value our friendship.
Now, since you feel you owe me… let's balance that debt."
Louis exhaled shakily.
When Leo started talking conditions instead of revenge, that meant his life was spared.
"Thank you, Mr. Valentino. You have my unconditional support from now on," he said quickly.
A wise choice.
He no longer called Leo "Leo." That familiarity had died long ago.
Now, he was simply Mr. Valentino—and Louis, his loyal subordinate.
Leo nodded, satisfied. "Then restore Truman to where he belongs."
Louis blinked. He sighed inwardly.
Harry, what have you done this time?
Truman had gone from partner to puppet.
But Louis valued his own life above all else.
So he asked, "What would you have me do, Mr. Valentino?"
"Convince Truman to dismiss his current cabinet.
Losers should accept their fate.
If they won't leave gracefully, the victors will be happy to… assist them."
Louis hesitated. "How many, Mr. Valentino?"
"All of them," Leo said flatly. "Except the Vice President—and you."
Louis's eyes widened.
"That's… impossible. Harry will never agree. I can't persuade him alone."
"Of course not," Leo said smoothly. "That's why I've made preparations.
You just need to give him a push from behind.
And you, Louis—you're the man I've chosen to push him."
Louis stumbled out of the villa in a daze.
The cold January wind of Washington sobered him instantly.
He looked up toward Leo's second-floor window, where laughter and music echoed faintly.
And he murmured to himself,
"It seems the future of America will be ruled by this Italian."
Even without Leo's media empire hyping it up, reports of the Far East disaster kept pouring in—
and with them, growing public fury toward both MacArthur and Truman.
Seizing the moment, Leo played his trump card:
he moved Congress to impeach Harry Truman.
The reason? Not military failure—that would hurt America's self-image as a global power.
No, Leo wasn't about to destroy a narrative he could use later.
Instead, he resurrected the old "spy case."
The same bogus charge that had once justified the lockdown of Washington and the illegal arrest of the world's richest man—him.
Now, Leo wanted the case closed quickly.
And sure enough—within a day, the case "collapsed."
Thomas's investigative team released all the evidence publicly.
When Americans saw that their president had used such ridiculous lies to restrict their freedoms, ban their travel, and persecute their national pride—they were furious.
Riding that wave of outrage, the impeachment process in both chambers moved forward smoothly.
Truman—reduced now to the title of "President" and little else—was terrified.
He could feel his power slipping away faster the harder he tried to hold on.
He remembered the days of triumph when he'd first taken office—
leading the Democrats to retake both houses, commanding respect even from Leo himself.
But that was long gone.
Now, all that remained was regret—and fear of humiliation.
As a farm boy who had clawed his way to the top, Truman valued dignity more than life itself.
He could not bear to be remembered as an impeached president.
When Louis entered to deliver more documents, Truman blurted out,
"Tell me, Louis—if I apologize to Leo now, is there still a chance?"
Louis replied evenly,
"If you accept your fate and obey, perhaps there is."
"Then I'll apologize right now!" Truman said, rising.
But Louis stopped him.
"Sir, Mr. Valentino no longer believes your words.
He'll only believe your actions."
Truman froze. "Then what do I do?"
"You should limit your own power," Louis said coldly.
Truman wasn't a fool—he understood instantly.
And worse, he sensed something in Louis had changed.
"You've changed too, Louis," Truman said bitterly.
Louis sighed. "I had no choice, Harry. He always wins.
But I'm still your friend. Listen to me—if you want to stay president, you must surrender your authority."
Truman's voice trembled. "How many positions does he want?"
"Other than me and the Vice President," Louis said quietly,
"Mr. Valentino wants to replace the Secretary of State, Treasury, Defense, and Justice.
He also has his own candidate for the CIA."
Truman exploded. "His appetite is outrageous! Why doesn't he just take the presidency himself?"
Louis's expression remained calm.
"He doesn't want the presidency.
If he did, he could replace you tomorrow—and you know he can.
You can't beat him, Harry. Accept it."
Truman's anger drained away, replaced by despair.
He slumped in his chair and whispered,
"Tell Leo… if he drops the impeachment, I'll agree to his terms."