Washington wasn't large.
By noon, Truman had agreed to Leo's terms. By afternoon, Louis was already standing before him.
"Harry finally made the right choice."
The reason Leo spared Truman instead of crushing him completely wasn't that he had lost his ruthlessness or his taste for revenge.
On the contrary—he knew Truman too well.
As a man who had clawed his way up from the bottom by seizing every opportunity, Truman's desire for power had long surpassed his desire for life itself.
For someone who treated power as his very lifeblood, what could be more torturous than sitting atop the highest throne in the world—yet not being allowed to use that power?
That, Leo decided, was the perfect punishment.
Another reason was that, after all, the President of the United States was still the President.
He wasn't some random governor Leo could simply have killed.
After nearly two centuries of evolution, the presidency had become deeply woven into the fabric of the American political system—
a sacred symbol recognized by both the elite and the common man alike.
Leo could have forced Truman to resign, riding on his immense popularity and public sympathy.
But doing so would have shattered the symbolic foundation of the presidency itself—
sending a message that anyone with enough wealth and power could depose a sitting President at will.
If Leo could do it, others could too—and the political game of America would collapse overnight.
Even Morgan and Rockefeller, in their time, had the power to pull such a stunt.
But they didn't—because they understood that keeping the game alive brought far greater profit than ending it.
Leo understood this as well.
Deposing Truman would have been a poor trade—wasting the vast political capital he had built up for a short-term, symbolic victory.
No, Leo wasn't that foolish.
Instead, he chose the path of maximum return.
He would keep Truman on the throne—propped up like a puppet—
and as the undisputed victor of this shadow war against the Deep State, Leo would now become its new master.
With Truman under his thumb and the establishment acknowledging him as the de facto power behind Washington,
Leo could quietly place his own people in key positions—
a far more profitable move than publicly humiliating Truman and earning the hatred of every political faction.
This time, Truman was truly trapped—
a canary in a gilded cage.
"Mr. Valentino," Louis said respectfully,
"Harry wants to know whom he should appoint next."
"Of course," Leo replied calmly. "The capable should take their rightful place.
Give me one night—I'll call you tomorrow."
That evening, the threshold of Leo's villa at the Washington Valentino Spa Hotel was nearly trampled flat.
As for the phone? The line had long since been disconnected.
The villa was packed to the brim with people—just as Leo intended.
That, after all, was why he had let Louis go free.
The White House's door-opener had once again proven his efficiency, spreading word like wildfire:
Valentino would soon be rewarding his loyal allies.
Leo had staged this spectacle for a reason—because people, by nature, were cheap.
Gifts freely given were easily forgotten,
but rewards earned through struggle etched themselves deep in memory.
By making them fight for his favor, he ensured they would remember their gratitude.
During the election, Leo had gone out of his way to help Truman,
even engineering crises and saving him more than once.
But none of that compared to the debt created by a favor that seemed hard-won.
Now, though the villa was bursting with powerful men,
none had yet been granted audience with Mr. Valentino.
As the hours dragged on, impatience began to stir—
for among them were no small number of true titans.
But whenever tempers flared, Tony Lip would simply reply,
"Mr. Valentino is currently meeting with Mr. Thomas Morton."
That single sentence was enough to silence the room.
Everyone knew who Thomas Morton was—
a former Democratic heavyweight, now a Republican leader,
Leo's earliest political backer, and grandfather to Leo's wife.
At least one-fifth of the Valentino family fortune could be traced to the Mortons' early support.
Of course Leo would meet with such a man first.
And naturally, the crowd waited to see how much of the "cake" Thomas would receive—
to gauge how high they could set their own bids.
Inside the study, Thomas Morton was in full flow,
reciting all the ways he had "helped" Leo over the years.
He had once run for president within the party,
but fate had pitted him against Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Too proud to accept Roosevelt's offer of a senior post,
Thomas had returned to Virginia as governor—
only to regret it bitterly when, years later, he found himself forgotten in Washington's power circles.
He had managed to secure a Senate seat,
but even then, a senator's reach could never compare to that of a federal cabinet member.
Now nearing retirement, Thomas wanted one last taste of power.
And, truth be told, he had his own private agenda—
to leave behind some political inheritance for his son, Winston.
Winston's mistress was pregnant; if it were a boy,
the Morton line would have a new heir.
Thomas had once promised Leo to pass all his influence to Evelyn's child,
but—well—a grandson was still a Morton.
In any culture, name and bloodline mattered most.
"Thomas," Leo said with an easy smile,
"I'm truly grateful for all you've done for me.
But honestly, the Morton family's greatest gift to me was giving me a good wife.
It was Evelyn who saved our alliance when you and Winston wanted to walk away.
Wasn't that so, Thomas? You were planning to marry her off to that Hutchinson fellow.
Ah, the Hutchinsons—good thing you didn't.
They're not doing so well these days.
Oh wait—that was your idea to dissuade old Hutchinson, wasn't it?
Go on then, Thomas. Tell me—which position are you after?"
Thomas's forehead was slick with sweat.
If there was one thing that made him most uneasy tonight,
it was his past betrayal.
As a seasoned political animal, he knew what that meant—
a mark of eternal distrust.
Had it not been for Evelyn's intervention back then,
he and Leo would have been enemies for life.
He had hoped Leo would overlook it, given all the support he'd offered since.
But Leo hadn't forgotten.
Not only that—he was using the deaths of Hutchinson and Jefferson as a grim reminder:
You betrayed me once, Thomas. And I haven't forgotten what I do to traitors.
Thomas swallowed hard. Any thought of bargaining vanished.
Leo's meaning was crystal clear—
the only reason he and his son were still alive was Evelyn, not him.
"Wipe your sweat, Thomas," Leo said smoothly.
"You've talked a lot about what you've done for me—but the truth is,
most of it was just you riding the wave after I'd done the hard work.
You can admit that much, can't you?
And every time we defeated an enemy, you were paid in full.
The three hundred million dollars sitting in your family's offshore trust fund—
I gave you that.
And I've promised it won't be included in Evelyn's inheritance.
Tell me, since Africa—what has Winston actually done for the family?
At first, he was active. Then all he did was indulge himself.
In Vegas, Cuba, Monaco—he's known as 'the God of Fortune.'
Do you know why? Not because he wins,
but because he loses everything—every single time.
And I'm the one cleaning up after him.
Would you like to see how much he's lost?"
Thomas's sweat poured down again.
Leo handed him a sheet of paper.
"And if you don't know his gambling record," Leo continued,
"surely you know about his… women.
There's one in nearly every city—and every time,
I'm the one settling the bills and smoothing things over.
As for the powerful people he's offended—well, let's not even start."
Thomas froze.
He realized, with dawning dread, that Leo had been tracking his heir's every move.
And now, he was using Winston as leverage.
He glared at Leo.
"You're following Winston?"
"'Following' is such an ugly word," Leo said lightly.
"Let's say I'm… concerned.
As a son-in-law, isn't it only right that I take an interest in my dear father-in-law's affairs?
Otherwise, how would I know that you're about to give Evelyn a new brother or sister?"
Thomas was silent for a long time.
Finally, he sighed deeply.
"Leo," he said, "you've become a true capitalist shark.
I suppose you met me first today so you could use me as the chicken—
to scare the monkeys waiting outside."
He turned to leave.
"Thomas," Leo said calmly, "you didn't name a position,
but I can't let you go empty-handed.
Keep your seat as President of the Senate.
And as for the Morton family's compensation—
it will go to Winston."
Thomas paused mid-step, startled.
"I'll give him Frank's position—Administrator of the Federal Housing Authority.
If Gerard could do it, Winston can too—
so long as he doesn't try to kill himself in the process."
Thomas chuckled bitterly.
"I take back what I said.
You're not just a capitalist shark—you're America's top capitalist shark.
The way you swing the stick and then offer the candy—flawless.
I'll play the chicken for you, Leo."
Thomas didn't get what he wanted,
but his private little wish had been granted.
And a sharp man like him understood Leo's message clearly:
Keep supporting me, and I'll raise the next Morton heir myself.
After all, Winston's mistress's unborn child was, technically, Evelyn's sibling.
As he descended the staircase, Thomas saw the eager faces watching him.
Before he reached the bottom, his old friends swarmed around him, asking what he'd gained.
As a proper "chicken," Thomas gave them a carefully edited account of his talk with Leo—
emphasizing one key point:
Leo only rewarded those who stood by him in true crises.
Opportunistic followers didn't count.
Old debts that had already been paid didn't count.
Hearing this, the crowd's excitement cooled quickly.
If even Thomas Morton couldn't negotiate with Leo,
what chance did the rest of them have?
One by one, they drifted away,
until only a few men remained in the room.
The first to go up next were the Rockefeller brothers—David and Lawrence.
Thanks to Thomas's "briefing," they were well-prepared.
Lawrence spoke first:
"Leo, whatever else you may think, I've never wronged you.
But you locked me up on that ship for half a month for no reason—
surely I deserve some compensation for that?"
Before Leo could reply, David cut in:
"Leo, yes, we clashed at the Bank of America,
but it was all business.
After that, we had no conflict.
When the Rockefeller family's future was on the line,
you forced me to join your camp—that was on you.
So two wrongs on your side should be worth, say…
a seat as Attorney General?"
Leo smiled faintly.
"Fair enough. But I don't do charity."
"We understand," David said smoothly.
"The Rockefeller family's big project will need your support anyway.
We can't do it alone.
So—we invite you in.
But it's a core family venture,
so we'll need to balance the interests.
Five percent. That's our best offer."
Petrodollar hegemony—
even 5% was enough to sway the world.
A year ago, Leo would have been ecstatic.
But now, he had moved beyond that.
"Be generous, David," he said.
"Ten percent—and the Attorney General's office is yours.
And you know I'm not just giving you a man.
I'm giving you the entire Department of Justice."
The brothers exchanged glances, whispered briefly, then nodded.
"Deal, Leo."
Next came Phoenix—Willard himself.
He lacked the Rockefellers' leverage and asked only for a modest post:
Vice Chairman of the Federal Economic Council.
Leo granted it. After all, the Phoenix investment had been his "angel round."
In exchange, Willard delivered something far more valuable:
southern political support.
Through a flurry of backroom deals,
Leo gained 10% of Coca-Cola and majority control of Southern Power—
America's fourth-largest energy company.
Of course, it all required funding—
but without the new Deputy Secretary of the Treasury position,
he wouldn't even have the chance to spend that money.
Then came McKay.
He simply handed over control of the San Francisco Federal Reserve.
Leo already effectively owned it through his two western banks—
now he had the title to match.
McKay asked for only one thing in return:
that Leo, as de facto head of the Deep State,
guarantee the Federal Reserve's independence.
One by one, they came and went.
Eisenhower took the seat of Secretary of Defense.
The future general-president had already pledged himself to the military-industrial complex,
and to secure his path to power,
he had promised to wage—not one—but several wars.