Samuel was a perceptive man, and he could smell the murderous intent hidden in Will's words.
What did he mean by "what will happen to our descendants"? Wasn't that just another way of saying we surrender?
A chill ran down Samuel's spine as he suddenly realized something horrifying — among all the representatives of Wall Street, it seemed only he and Leo still bore a grudge against each other.
And Will, who had always been responsible for intelligence and his personal protection, had never taken direct action against Valentino.
Even when MacArthur and Alfred had moved militarily against Leo, Will had refused to let Samuel participate. He had said that if the Jewish armed forces in America were ever exposed, they would lose their last line of defense.
Now, in hindsight, it was obvious — Will had never wanted to truly offend Leo.
"When did you start thinking of replacing me?"
Samuel asked bitterly.
"I never have," Will sighed. "We've been friends since youth. I've never once thought of replacing you.
But since all the Eastern European Jews in America look to us as their protectors, then we must act like protectors.
Now that a crisis is upon us — would you rather sink together, or throw one man overboard to save the ship? The choice isn't difficult, is it?"
Will's words left Samuel silent. He was old now, and though he'd long come to terms with the idea of death, to die handed over by his own people to his enemy — that was a pain he couldn't bear.
"We've become too visible," Samuel muttered resentfully. "Killing me won't be enough to appease Valentino. With his greed, you'll pay dearly before he's satisfied. The question is—are you willing to pay that price?"
Will's expression stayed calm. "Our people's wisdom, earned over thousands of years, has taught us how to gain wealth — and also when to spend it to survive.
I'll be waiting outside. By dawn, we must decide. For your information, the Morgan family has already… handled Roland Morgan themselves."
He patted Samuel's shoulder, sighed deeply, and walked out of the synagogue.
Inside, Samuel was alone. For once, the shrewd old man felt his mind stop working. He'd always claimed not to fear death — yet when it finally came, he realized how deeply he feared it.
Almost instinctively, he followed a twenty-year-old habit. He walked to the center of the synagogue and knelt.
As his knees touched the cold floor, he saw it — a pistol lying in front of him.
Will knew him too well.
And Samuel knew Will — if he didn't choose to die with dignity, Will would help him do it "dignifiedly."
Hands trembling, Samuel reached for the gun. As he did, his life flashed before his eyes.
Bang.
Outside, Will heard the sound. He exhaled in relief. "Good," he muttered. "He spared me the trouble."
Then he turned to his men. "Clean it up."
After that, he stepped into a car and told the driver,
"To the Valentino Hot Springs Hotel."
Meanwhile, Leo — the man who had once again triumphed in the grand game of power — was lounging lazily in bed. One hand caressed a smooth, delicate body, while the other answered a phone call from Augustus, who had just flown back from Europe.
"Leo!" Augustus laughed ecstatically. "You magnificent bastard — you actually forced Jack to personally eliminate Roland!
Ha! The funniest thing is, that old fox Jack still refuses to bow to you. He called me yesterday, all polite and desperate, begging me to come back to save the Morgan business!"
Leo smiled faintly.
"Augustus, do you remember what I told you back when we stood outside Morgan Stanley?"
Those words instantly pulled Augustus back to that long-ago morning — when he and Leo had been humiliated by Henry Morgan himself, the family's ruling elder.
Back then, Leo had told him:
'One day, when you're in charge of the Morgan family, you'll get your chance to humiliate him in return.'
Leo could tell Augustus remembered.
"So," Leo said softly, "it's time to become head of the Morgan family. Jack's old. Isn't he?
When you do, don't forget Henry Morgan. You know me — I'm not one to forgive and forget."
Leo's words struck Augustus like lightning. Until that moment, he'd been obsessed with his dream of "rebuilding the Morgan legacy" in Europe. But now — now he saw the shortcut.
Why rebuild, when he could inherit?
"Thank you, Leo," Augustus said earnestly.
"Don't thank me," Leo replied. "Thank yourself — for agreeing to meet me that day in the theater."
Beep... beep...
The line went dead. But Augustus sat frozen, still holding the receiver.
He remembered that autumn afternoon years ago, when his assistant Hubert had called, saying there was a young businessman from Virginia with a "brilliant idea" who wanted to meet him.
He hadn't cared much — until that meeting changed his life.
Now, that same young man had made him a king.
Slowly, Augustus put down the phone, eyes sharpening. It was time to visit Jack. If he and the late Roland had ever agreed on anything, it was that Jack Morgan was the root of the family's decay.
At the Valentino Hot Springs Hotel, Will found Leo enjoying breakfast.
Before Will could speak, Leo interrupted him with a wave.
"Spare me the unpleasant talk. The fact that you're here means I already know everything.
But business is business — now that the debts are settled, let's talk business."
Will frowned. Samuel had been right — the lion was going to demand his price.
But he was powerless.
"Mr. Valentino," Will asked quietly, "what do you want?"
Leo continued eating, shaking his head.
"Recently, I acquired Federal Reserve accreditation.
I'm not saying what I want — I'm saying I'd like to see your sincerity."
Will understood immediately. Years ago, Samuel had offered that same Fed qualification to persuade Leo to spare Jesse.
Now Leo brought it up again — not because he wanted it, but to say: That's no longer enough.
It was, in essence, a question with only one acceptable answer.
What did they have left that could compare to the Federal Reserve?
Only one thing — shares in the New York Stock Exchange.
"Mr. Valentino," Will began carefully, "we don't have much left of real value. What remains is our very foundation."
Leo smiled faintly.
"Then ask yourself — is it better to hold on to what you have and risk losing everything, or to give something up and survive?
I'm a reasonable man, Will. I don't want to corner you.
Just show me your utmost sincerity — you'll only get one chance.
Remember, I'm satisfied. But the Morgans and the DuPonts? They're hungry. You don't want to be the reason they unite, do you?"
Will's face hardened. He was silent for a long moment. Then he exhaled.
"We control 27%," he said finally. "We'll give you 20%, in exchange for your protection."
Leo dabbed his lips with a napkin and smiled.
"Sit," he said.
When Will obeyed, Leo added casually,
"Twenty percent is a transaction.
As for 'protection' — that's something else.
I don't intend to be anyone's protector. History hasn't been kind to those who protect the Jews.
What I will guarantee is that our grudges are now settled. And when the Morgans and DuPonts come after you — I won't interfere."
After Will left, Leo exited the hotel, got into Tony Lip's car, and headed for Washington Airport, where his private jet awaited.
His destination was Hawaii — not for pleasure, nor with company. He was there to wait for an old friend.
As Leo's plane crossed Washington's sky, every official in the cabinet whom he'd personally placed in power watched as President Truman, locked in his "golden cage," signed an executive order.
The order dismissed General Douglas MacArthur from his position.
The date was exactly as Leo remembered from his previous life — April 11, 1951.
The wording was identical too: MacArthur's statements had contradicted the government's policies and undermined civilian control over the military.
Leo smiled coldly.
In his previous life, he had never known the real story behind that announcement.
But this time, he was the story.
Every word in that declaration was a lash — Leo's public punishment of MacArthur.
"Policy differences" meant only one thing: You lost because you opposed me.
And "undermining foreign and military policy" — a charge that wasn't even true in this life — was simply Leo saying:
You crossed me, and that's enough. I'll make you fall, even without a reason.
When the dismissal reached the Far East, MacArthur was already boarding a plane from Tokyo.
He had seen it coming. He even suspected that when he returned, Leo might try him before a military tribunal.
But he was ready. He planned to use his service record, his heroism, and even Leo's own punch to his face years ago as proof that Leo was acting out of personal vengeance.
That kind of accusation would spark massive public sympathy — and as long as public opinion stayed on his side, MacArthur would be safe. He could even become the symbol of resistance against Leo's growing power.
He was confident: America still had plenty of people who despised Leo.
And if all went well, he might even blame the Far East failures on Leo.
So when he received word of his dismissal — before the official document even arrived — MacArthur quietly flew home.
During the flight, his plane stopped to refuel at the U.S. Air Force Base in Hawaii.
There, he stepped out, entered his private lounge, and accepted a cup of his favorite coffee from his aide.
He drank it absentmindedly, still thinking about how to confront Leo — and within minutes, the world went black.
When he awoke, he was surrounded by darkness.
MacArthur froze. He guessed immediately — kidnapped. And who else would dare?
Leo.
Even his aide had betrayed him. Rage surged in his chest, but so did fear. He'd underestimated the Italian devil.
"Turn on the lights! Come out, Leo! You've got me — now face me!" he shouted.
His voice echoed — echoing meant a large space. Freeing his hands, he groped in the dark until he found a flashlight.
When he switched it on… he dropped it.
What the beam revealed were charred corpses — dozens of them. Some burned beyond recognition; others half intact, faces twisted in agony.
Though a soldier, MacArthur had not seen such horror in years.
Still, he forced himself to remain calm. Whatever game Leo was playing, he would survive. He had to.
Clutching the flashlight, he explored further — and realized he was in a Japanese underground military facility.
He followed the passages until he found a stairway and climbed it, reaching a long corridor lined with cubicles — each filled with mangled bodies, human test subjects of past experiments.
Even MacArthur, hardened by war, shivered.
He pressed on until he found an exit. But when he reached it, he discovered the metal door had been welded shut.
Rage boiled inside him.
"Leo! I know you're watching! What kind of man locks another in a tomb?"
No answer. Only silence.
He searched for other exits — a second, a third, a fourth — all sealed.
Even the underground water channel he crawled through was blocked.
Soaked and shivering, MacArthur climbed out, laughing like a madman, the last flickers of his flashlight dimming.
And as the darkness swallowed him — surrounded by the stench of death — fear finally conquered the general.