Lamb Company's entire management was rounded up and jailed.
The biggest real estate firm on the East Coast went from bankruptcy, delisting, asset stripping, and restructuring to a fire-sale acquisition in record time.
One whale falls, and a thousand creatures feast.
Manhattan, Waldorf Astoria.
Under the direction of the Federal Housing Administration and the Senate Housing Committee, the acquisition of Lamb & Harmon was finalized.
Tishman Realty & Construction—who had been the main force moving the Justice Department and the Congressional committees—took the largest share.
Across the states, the strongest developers either individually or in consortiums carved up the local operations.
Leo's Valentino Company acquired all of Lamb's business in Virginia.
In addition, as the man who "fired the first shot," Leo also gained three of Lamb's prefab factories in New Jersey, plus Lamb's old Manhattan headquarters—a century-old building from before they moved to the Empire State Building.
It was far from the ultra-core zone around Central Park, but it still marked Leo's concrete return to New York City.
At the reception afterward, Federal Housing Administrator Gerard Thompson deliberately came over to Leo and said:
"Mr. Valentino, you're only here at this acquisition table because the President personally asked for it."
The subtext was clear: Leo had no rightful seat in this feeding frenzy. He owed his thanks to the President.
Leo guessed Truman was no friend of the Cotton family, and these Virginia spoils were his reward for hurting their interests.
After Gerard left, executives from other states crowded over to meet this new East Coast real estate player.
A round of business-card trading ensued.
Then the highest-profile man in the room—Austin Heller, President of Tishman Realty—walked up and said:
"Mr. Valentino.
Forgive my curiosity, but I just had to meet the man who dared pop the Lamb Company bubble.
I asked Director Hoover about you.
You're a legend.
At your age I was nowhere near your level.
The Bubble House fiasco, now this Lamb collapse…
The two biggest boosts to our wealth since 1946, both thanks to you."
Leo looked at the impeccably tailored, slicked-back, smiling executive.
He replied modestly:
"You flatter me. Tishman is the undisputed leader in East Coast real estate now.
Small companies like mine will have to follow your lead in the industry's future."
Leo knew from past experience that the real dangers in business were never the brash, aggressive rivals, but the ones who smiled like this.
Since he couldn't read Heller's intent yet, he kept up the polite, insincere back-and-forth.
Austin chuckled warmly:
"Please, call me Austin.
We're both friends of Director Hoover—no need to stand on ceremony.
Every word I said was true.
You're a very creative young man.
Your Virginia Real Estate Association is a brilliant idea.
I'm planning to found an American Real Estate Association.
I'd love you to join us—bring that experience to a bigger stage."
Leo's instincts went on high alert.
But Heller's face was unreadable.
A master player.
Each line had multiple layers.
First the praise—giving Leo credit for their gains.
But paired with that "Association" talk, it was a warning:
Be the trailblazer once, maybe twice, but don't keep trying it.
The invitation was the real point:
Join and you're a friend.
Refuse and you're an enemy.
No middle ground.
Leo realized that the higher you climbed, the tougher your counterparts got.
What sounded to bystanders like friendly banter was, to him, a clear ultimatum.
And Heller had neatly blocked any "playing dumb" by name-dropping Hoover twice.
He was making sure Leo knew there were no secrets here.
Refusing to understand was as good as refusing outright.
Leo was sharp, but in that asymmetric situation, he didn't have much choice.
He had just finished one war and couldn't afford to start another.
And Heller probably knew that.
Leo inclined his head:
"It would be my honor, Mr. Heller."
Austin gave a faintly satisfied smile and clapped Leo on the shoulder:
"Welcome.
I hear you have quite a distinctive hotel.
As your joining gift, let's hold our Association's first meeting there—at the Lynchburg Hotel.
The President himself will attend."
Threat first, then sugar.
Most people would instantly forget the forced choice after hearing "The President will come."
But Leo's inner alarms were still blaring.
Both men had ambitions too big for this country to easily contain.
Austin leaned in, eyes twinkling:
"Oh—and I heard about your little anti-fascist festivities at night.
Make sure to book me in."
Another subtle attempt to break Leo's guard with self-deprecating humor.
Pretend to share a vice to create false intimacy.
Despite the hidden tensions, Leo's New York trip had been a major success.
Leaving the Waldorf, he got into a brand-new 1946 Lincoln Continental with Lucas.
Lucas's network of 50+ small newspapers had been vital in the fight against Lamb.
Per their deal, Leo was bringing him closer to mentor personally.
Their driver was a silent, stone-faced man Leo recognized immediately:
Rocco Lampone, Michael Corleone's trusted enforcer from the Godfather film.
They were riding in a Corleone family car for two reasons:
First, Leo's Lynchburg Gang technically had no ceasefire with the Basini family.
Sure, Basini had retreated from Richmond after Lamb fell and had no reason to target Leo anymore.
But if they learned Leo was in New York and decided impulsively to make a move?
Too late for regrets then.
The Corleones and Basinis had just signed a truce.
With mutual hostages in place, Basini wouldn't dare attack a Corleone car.
Second reason: Leo was here for his friend Mike's wedding.
Long Island, Corleone Family Estate.
The decorations were as lavish and festive as ever.
But unlike a year ago, Leo didn't have to wait outside in line with the other guests.
He was led straight in through the side entrance.
Waiting to greet him was the entire Corleone family, minus the aging Don.
Leo stepped out and first hugged Michael's mother.
Then embraced Michael himself, tightly.
Compared to their last meeting in the hospital, Michael was even grimmer now.
Not a trace of wedding-day joy.
Nothing like the open, relaxed man who'd come to Richmond before.
Leo understood.
In a single year, Michael had seen his father gravely wounded, his older brother murdered, his bride assassinated, while his family's enemies walked free.
Who could smile through that?
"Welcome back, brother."
When Leo went to hug Kay, the new bride, she wore open annoyance.
Blunt as ever, she blurted:
"Where's Emily? Why are you suddenly New York's playboy? Who's Grace Kelly?"
Leo held her gaze, unimpressed with this boldness.
He hadn't liked her in the movie either.
Michael moved quickly to smooth things over, but Leo waved him off.
"We're brothers, Mike."
He stepped past Kay to hug Fredo and Connie.
When it was Connie's husband Carlo's turn, Carlo opened his arms wide.
Leo just shook his hand.
Greeting done, Michael murmured quietly:
"Papa's upstairs waiting for you."
They led the way forward.
At the back, Carlo's face burned red.
To him, Leo's snub was a grave insult.
He hissed to Connie:
"Last year he wasn't even good enough for our wedding.
Now he humiliates me like this? Who the hell does he think he is?"
He kept his voice low, but Leo's hearing was sharp.
His cold stare snapped toward Carlo like a drawn blade.
Carlo froze, sweat prickling all over, gut-clenching terror seizing him.
It felt like seeing Death raise its scythe.
The Don's Study.
After an embrace, the still-recovering Don Victor Corleone, weak from past gunshot wounds, got straight to the point.
"Leo. Now it's my turn to owe you.
To deal with our mutual enemy, Basini.
Michael needs a private army.
New York's too visible.
I hear Lynchburg, Virginia is your uncontested territory.
I need you to train them there."
Leo frowned slightly, then relaxed.
He didn't want deep mafia entanglements.
But after seeing Heller's moves today?
He realized how complex East Coast relationships were.
He was a newcomer with no hope of untangling them.
A real estate tycoon who could call Hoover directly, or speak to the President? That was real power.
His so-called "base" in Lynchburg was just drifting weeds, easily swept away with a flick of someone's finger.
Only the West, with its wild growth and simpler power structures, offered real promise.
Leo understood now why, in the film, Michael eventually moved to Nevada.
On the East Coast, there would never be room to truly stand out.
If he wanted to establish himself quickly in Nevada or California, he needed partners to do the dirty work.
Michael was the perfect choice.
Leo nodded firmly.
"I'm Italian. We should stand together."
Michael's wedding, despite its lavish decor, was simple and subdued in ceremony.
No one in the Corleone family had really recovered from Sonny's death.
Returning to Virginia, Leo's convoy was grand.
Over a hundred old-school Corleone foot soldiers accompanied him to Lynchburg.
He handed them over to Desmond for training, then headed to the Lynchburg Hotel for an overdue meeting with an old acquaintance:
Governor Harry.
"So… can I still enjoy the anti-fascist entertainment tonight?"
A true career politician, Harry had perfected shamelessness and changing face instantly.
Leo knew exactly why he was here.
Polls for the midterm elections showed Harry had no hope of another term.
And the main reason was Leo's network of grassroots legislators.
After that big Lynchburg meeting and Lamb's spectacular collapse, those previously rootless local legislators realized they had forged a powerful new bloc that could truly sway Virginia's politics.
They'd already done one big thing:
After Lamb fell, Harry, Eamon, and their allies tried to find another big contractor to monopolize the highway project.
But the local legislators revived two decades of precedent, pushing restrictive local-interest laws:
Some districts mandated only Virginia firms could bid.
Others wrote explicit minimum-compensation rules for eminent domain.
These changes also aligned with the interests of the mayors and town councils.
Suddenly, tailored bills were popping up everywhere.
Virginia was one of America's oldest states with tangled local power webs.
Even a governor couldn't just dictate terms.
Those district leaders had their own networks and DC connections.
Harry couldn't afford to block their payday if he wanted to be re-elected.
And digging into it, he found it was Leo orchestrating this new alliance.
If you want to untie a knot, go to the one who tied it.
Hence today's surprise visit.
In a private room, Harry got right to it:
"Leo, I want to apologize for the past.
We had a good partnership once.
I believe we can have an even better one going forward.
I need you to help coordinate these legislators.
Have them back me in the next election."
An empty promise. No real offer. No sincerity.
Leo just held his wine glass without drinking, staring Harry down.
Forgive? Forgive my ass.
If Harry didn't pay now, Leo would lose all credibility with his base.
Harry was savvy. He read Leo's refusal to drink.
He added quickly:
"I'll consolidate all these local protection bills into a statewide law.
I'm inviting you onto the drafting committee."
Meaning: You can write whatever protections you want.
That was a $1 billion highway project, offered on a platter.
But Leo still didn't drink.
Harry's expression soured.
"Leo, Virginia is complicated.
Even as governor I can't just do what I want.
If you still consider me a friend—this is my biggest offer.
Don't be too greedy."
Leo set the glass down deliberately.
"Friend? The moment you turned your head at the Jefferson Hotel, we stopped being friends.
Business is business.
I have people behind me.
Your price isn't good enough."
Harry's face darkened.
No one had dared talk to him like that since he became governor.
He almost stormed out.
But he remembered the polling numbers dragging him under.
He ground his molars.
"Fine. Virginia's five biggest cities—their entire urban-renewal and utility-replacement contracts.
All yours.
That's another $500 million in work.
Don't get too greedy, Leo."
Leo finally lifted his glass and drained it.
Then he handed Harry a James River Association membership card.
"Business is business. Fair's fair.
We're not friends anymore, but I still believe in sharing.
By this time next year, you can move into the Fan District."