"Will the rent really be that cheap?" Lucas asked curiously.
"How could it be? I'm not a charity organization. What I taught you today—can you apply it to those who refuse to obey?" Leo replied.
"Oh, you mean those small newspapers from the Press Alliance that stopped listening to our orders recently?"
Without needing more prompting from Leo, Lucas answered himself, "They don't have strong backers. Subduing them won't be hard. I just don't get it—those outlets don't have any real influence in the media world, not even enough to cheerlead. As for rent, many of them operate out of their own homes. If they can be bought into with just some new equipment, there's probably not much value to squeeze from them. Is it really worth using this strategy on them?"
"Imitate me and you live, try to become me and you'll die. Think bigger. Choosing the wrong side comes with a price. Don't you think 'Virginia Press Alliance' sounds like a ragtag militia? Change the name—it'll now be called the American Sun.
And I already have an address in mind for the paper: Press Row in Manhattan," Leo said.
Lucas was confused. "That sounds like a reward, not a punishment. Every media person dreams of working on Press Row!"
"That's for the elites. The American Sun will be for those who obey the company's will and can write compelling articles. Go screen them. The Press Alliance has 500 people—I'm offering only 30 spots. The rest? Send them to our American World outpost in Los Angeles. It's pretty awkward over there—we have bases in cities across the West, but no staff.
Weren't they all ignoring our recruitment efforts? Now, you can offer them something they can't refuse. Aldo will cooperate. I don't care if they're sick, they better die out West if they must."
Lucas nodded, but asked his final question:
"Boss, even the most elite in the Alliance can't support a big newspaper. We need someone with industry influence, or we'll be laughed at. Also, I'm curious about the new location—there shouldn't be any available buildings left on Press Row."
"The editor-in-chief I hired should already be here. This part will be settled soon. As for the building—it comes with the editor. Come, to my office."
The headquarters of Valentino Co. was a mid-19th-century four-story building. When Robert from Lamb Company purchased it, the luxury-loving man turned half of the fourth floor into his office—over 600 square meters.
At its center was a 300-square-meter reception hall, crowned with a Gothic mosaic glass dome that allowed beams of sunlight to cast dazzling rainbow colors throughout the room.
The renovated reception area preserved the classical style: marble walls and intricate wood paneling. Beneath each wall stood various decorative tables, adorned with bronze sculptures nestled among vibrant fresh flowers, adding a touch of elegance.
Behind the green French sofa stood a feature wall that showcased Robert's favorite piece—a massive oil painting by Albert Bierstadt from the Hudson River School.
"My dear James, sorry to keep you waiting.
Yelena, go get my treasured box of Apollo cigars. And replace James's coffee with the blend Mr. Marshall gifted me."
A moment later, Yelena, graceful as ever, returned with hand-ground coffee and the cigar box, placing them neatly on the table.
As James took a sip, Leo explained, "These are Blue Mountain beans from the Warrenford Estate in Jamaica, a gift from the Secretary of State. I've been saving them—but for an old friend like you, I spared no expense."
His words brought James back from his daze.
Before coming, James wasn't very optimistic. He didn't believe Leo could amass any meaningful wealth in just 18 months.
But now—the headquarters, the palatial office, expensive artwork, luxury cigars, coffee from a Cabinet-level figure, and a beautiful assistant—all screamed power and status.
From August 1945 to now, just 21 months later, the young officer who had been forced back to his hometown had returned in triumphant glory.
Back then, James had been a high-ranking editor helping a promising youth as a favor.
Now, in desperation to save his soon-to-be-bankrupt paper, he had come to that same young man for help.
"I understand why you're here," Leo said, exhaling smoke. "I did some digging into your paper's condition. Tell me, James—why'd you make the same mistake I did?"
"MacArthur's being way too soft on Japan—it's like he doesn't even see them as a defeated nation. Look at how they call him 'the Emperor Emeritus.' And now, he can't even tolerate a word of dissent!"
"That's true," Leo said calmly. "But James, he might not be the one taking action. Others may be punishing you just to earn his favor, hoping to secure a slice of the Far East pie—same thing happened to me."
"We won the war, defeated fascism, defended the free world—yet we've lost our freedom. More and more people and topics are off-limits," James sighed.
"You're right. But what I hear in your voice isn't sorrow over America's decay—it's frustration over failing to bet on the right horse.
I know you, James. You're patriotic—but not too much. You came to me because I'm the only one in America who can save your paper. So let's be clear—I'm not interested in becoming a shareholder in the New York Herald."
James's hopeful eyes dimmed. Leo was his last chance. Was a century-old newspaper about to die in his hands?
"But—I do have another proposal," Leo said.
James looked up.
"I want to be the owner—a controlling owner."
James hesitated. After the scandal, the former Jewish investor had quickly pulled out, leaving the editors holding the shares.
To hand over equity and control just like that—James felt some pain. But without new funding, the paper would shut down next month.
Survival comes first.
Gritting his teeth, James said, "Fine."
"It needs a new name," Leo added.
"Change the name?! That's like killing it!" James pleaded. "It's been the Herald for a hundred years."
"Alright, as a favor to an old friend, the new paper can be called the Sun-Herald. But we'll establish a Content Review Board. The chairman will be him—Lucas Valentino."
Leo pointed at Lucas, who looked completely stunned.
"This is a leash! It restricts creative freedom and undermines editorial independence!" James snapped.
"James, this is America—everyone has a price. You taught me that.
You can refuse. I'll wait until you're bankrupt and buy the building to start a new paper.
The review board is non-negotiable. I bet your old Jewish boss now regrets not setting one up—letting you publish all that dangerous nonsense at the worst time.
You were right about one thing, James: America is losing its freedom. Let me tell you something harsher—freedom will disappear entirely."
Leo sipped his coffee, confident James would fold. He wasn't a moral crusader—just a pragmatist.
Sure enough, after a long inner struggle, James sat down like a man resigned to fate.
"I agree. All of it.
Lovely lady, please regrind the coffee and light a fresh cigar for me. I'd better enjoy my young friend's tyrant behavior while I still can—because starting tomorrow, he'll be my boss.
And by the way, I'm heading to your Lynchburg Hotel tonight. I heard there's a special anti-fascist exhibition. As your friend, you won't refuse, right?"
"Lucas, when you move to New York, learn from James. In the future, only people like him will survive in America."
After seeing off James—who was now fully governed by the lower half of his body—Leo headed to an abandoned factory on the outskirts of town.
There, Richmond's mayor, Jesse, was already waiting.
"I've completed the task. When will you return the photos?" Jesse asked coldly.
Leo smiled and replied,
"My dear Mayor, don't be so naive.
When did I ever say I'd return the photos?
Besides, don't you see that, compared to you and Harry, we make the better team?
We cooperated quite smoothly this time."
Jesse had anticipated this outcome. He said flatly,
"Cooperation—sure. You staged a miraculous reversal, but I'm the one in deep trouble.
The Cotton family is going crazy looking for the leak.
After all, the way you calmly entered the cabin that day—people knew something was off."
As Jesse spoke, he pulled out a Colt revolver.
The move instantly put Noodles on alert—he drew his own weapon and aimed at Jesse.
"Relax," Jesse said. "I fought in the Pacific too. Who would be stupid enough to draw on Colonel Leo?"
Then, he pointed the revolver at his own chin.
Sure, he had unusual preferences when it came to pleasure, but when it came to pride, he saw himself as a true man.
He didn't want to be Leo's puppet for the rest of his life.
"Pull the trigger, Jesse.
It's a shame—I was planning to help you become governor."
What is more important than dignity?
Anyone who has been beaten down by life will tell you:
Power and money.
"Governor? They all suspect me already.
Why would they still consider me a successor?" Jesse asked, uncertain.
"Everyone in that room had ties to the Cotton family. Even if they suspect someone leaked the info, they'll have to investigate one by one—and only eventually get to you.
Who would immediately point the finger at you? Harry, right?"
Jesse's shifting eyes gave Leo the answer.
"So it's Harry.
Then it's simple—make him disappear."
"You're crazy!" Jesse shouted.
"Killing a few reporters is one thing. But killing a governor?
You want to make enemies with the entire United States?!"
Leo chuckled.
"This is America, Jesse—we have a tradition of assassinating presidents.
A governor? That's small potatoes.
And I won't get my hands dirty.
But… what if his own people did it?"
"That's impossible," Jesse said.
"Nothing's impossible.
When a man's only remaining value is his death,
his teammates will be the first to extract that value."
Leo's voice was calm—terrifyingly calm.
"But even if Harry dies, the Cottons could still support someone else.
After all, I'm still a suspect."
Jesse lowered the gun from his chin.
"But what if the Cottons have no other choice?"
Leo gave him a wink.
To Jesse, Leo's charming smile looked like the grin of a demon.
"But there's one condition—you have to stay alive until Harry is gone.
To keep you from dying too soon,
I need to arrange a little… 'accident' for you.
After all, I hate you.
And for someone like me, who fears nothing,
publicly expressing dissatisfaction with the mayor is perfectly reasonable.
That's the real reason I asked you here today.
I'm leaving now, Jesse.
Whether you die here or walk out to greet a bright tomorrow…
That's your choice."