"Create a UFO?"
James exclaimed in shock.
"Are you an alien yourself?"
Leo rolled his eyes. As for the Orwell Air Force Base—sure, that's the so-called UFO. Most Americans nowadays believe it was real.
But Leo thought it was probably a self-directed act by the Americans themselves. It's not like they hadn't done such things before.
When was the peak period of UFO sightings?
Answer: from the 1950s to the late 1990s.
Once humanity entered the information age and everyone had HD cameras on their phones—UFOs mysteriously vanished.
Seeing that Leo had no intention of changing his mind, James still looked astonished.
"But it has to fly," he said.
"Planes are the one thing I don't lack right now."
Leo replied coolly.
"Hire a few scientists to figure out how to decorate a plane to look like a flying saucer, make it fly a few laps in the sky.
Then find a cornfield and press down a few uneven circles.
Bribe a few 'experts' with low professional integrity.
And I'll contact the military ahead of time.
That should pretty much do it."
In his 20 years of journalism, James had never heard of such a plan.
He stammered:
"What about the aliens?"
Leo rolled his eyes again.
"The ship took off. What damn aliens?"
One week later, in a small town in Minnesota.
Old Zack, who had lived an ordinary life, suddenly became the center of attention.
Why?
Yesterday, someone had called to say they wanted to interview him—about which American cash crops were most profitable.
The question puzzled Zack. Shouldn't that go to an expert columnist?
But then he realized: in a town that never changed, being interviewed would be a hot topic.
Sure enough, today Zack enjoyed a full day of jealous stares and flattering praise. People queued to buy him drinks.
He didn't even remember how he got home. When he opened his eyes, it was already the next day.
Zack put on the suit he'd only ever worn for his wedding and stood proudly at the edge of his farm.
With him were the townsfolk, all eager to see how this interview would go.
Time passed—from sunrise to sunset.
Under growing whispers and mockery, Zack finally believed he'd been scammed.
But just as people were about to leave,
a car bearing the New York World News logo rolled up.
A young reporter got out, followed by a photographer.
Though it was growing dark, the town gathered in excitement.
In a sea of envy, the interview began.
Zack spoke passionately, but the reporter seemed distracted.
Then suddenly—there was a noise in the sky, like a plane tearing through the clouds.
Everyone instinctively looked up.
A large, black disc shimmered faintly through the clouds—metallic, with a central sphere and a few round windows.
The crowd was frozen in shock.
Only one child jumped up excitedly shouting, "Aliens! That's an alien spaceship!"
His mother quickly covered his mouth, afraid the aliens would abduct him for being too loud.
The saucer shimmered in and out of the clouds, then stretched and disappeared from view.
Long after the UFO vanished, the crowd remained dazed.
Whispers turned to chatter, then erupted into loud, chaotic discussion.
Everyone had a version of what they saw—
Some claimed it was a glowing 10-meter-wide saucer.
Others insisted they'd seen big-headed aliens through the windows.
One even swore he'd heard alien voices inside his head using telepathy.
The reporter and photographer stood stunned.
Apparently, there was no need to guide the story—Minnesotans had imagination in spades.
So they followed the flow and began interviewing people about the UFO,
completely forgetting poor Zack, who returned to his farm muttering curses at the aliens.
But then, through his kitchen window, he noticed something odd in his cornfield.
His instincts as a veteran farmer kicked in—crops were everything to him.
He jumped into his truck and drove straight over—
and gasped.
His neatly lined cornfield now had a massive, circular indentation—
seven or eight meters across, as if something heavy had landed.
Three deep craters suggested some kind of landing gear.
Zack immediately realized the UFO had landed in his field.
Damn it—he'd drunk too much last night and missed the chance to talk to aliens!
But that wouldn't stop him from bragging.
On the drive back, he decided—
Zack's Farm would now be "Alien Farm."
He grinned, sensing a fortune coming his way.
Sure enough, when he returned and announced the news, the town exploded.
Everyone rushed to his field to witness the alien landing site.
Soon, World News was the first to report the UFO sighting in Minnesota.
Other newspapers, who had been trying to suppress World News, accused them of fabricating headlines for clickbait.
But that's exactly what Leo was waiting for.
In the second issue, World News published photos of the saucer—
grainy black-and-white images showing the disk hovering beneath cloud cover.
This instantly reignited the previous year's UFO frenzy.
Sales soared.
Leo followed up with specific coordinates and interviews with town residents.
With a location to visit, UFO enthusiasts and skeptical rival reporters poured into Minnesota.
The locals warmly welcomed them, personally escorting them to "Alien Farm" and sharing their "experiences" with extraterrestrials.
While UFO fans were thrilled, the competitors realized the World News couldn't be killed now.
As expected, riding the UFO wave, World News sold 20,000 copies a day.
Leo pushed even harder—
With James and a few lead writers, he completed a book in two days: The Minnesota UFO Incident: Start to Finish.
It sold out instantly.
Priced at $1, it sold over 100,000 copies in a week.
And daily newspaper sales climbed to around 30,000.
Now World News stood shoulder-to-shoulder with older, established publications.
Original video footage and high-resolution photos were bought by TV networks and other newspapers for hefty prices.
In just 25 days under Leo's leadership, World News had raked in $650,000.
There were skeptics, of course.
But once the Air Force announced an official investigation, most people fell silent and joined the UFO craze.
New York's Newspaper Row.
When the team who covered the UFO story collected stacks of cash prizes in the office lobby,
the other reporters' grumbling about writing 20 articles a day vanished.
They quietly cursed their colleagues' luck while itching to uncover their own major scoop.
Sure, the boss was an exploiter—but he really paid.
What none of them noticed was how the journalists collecting the reward were trembling,
unable to meet Leo's eyes.
They had signed NDAs—and Leo had "shown some muscle," making sure the secrecy was ironclad.
If they dared leak the truth, they'd not only pay massive fines—
they'd get a one-way trip to the Hudson.
Using this opportunity, Leo made a public announcement.
World News would be a newspaper with bold, clear opinions.
He instructed everyone to ditch traditional, soft, "objective" writing.
Instead, they were to investigate what their readers wanted to hear—
and write with a sharp voice tailored to those tastes.
If readers in the South held biases against Black Americans?
Then write what those consumers wanted to read.
Bottom line—sales were everything.
Back in the office, even James—now fully in awe of Leo—voiced a concern:
"You're already in a lot of trouble. Won't clear-cut views attract even more?"
Leo shook his head.
"Running a newspaper will always bring trouble.
But I fear not earning money more than I fear backlash."
"Remember what I say: attack phenomena, not people.
Especially not the big bosses or high-ranking politicians.
Unless they're involved in something so scandalous it shocks the entire nation.
And in that case, you ask me first before we publish."
"I understand," James nodded.
"But other papers are still attacking us constantly. It's a real headache."
"I'll take care of that," Leo said.
Later that day, in the car.
Leo told Noodles, who was driving:
"Contact Turner. Ask how the investigation is going.
If it's done, you handle it."
At first, Leo had asked Turner to look into who at The Washington Post was leading the smear campaign against him.
But as World News kept bleeding money, Leo expanded the task to uncover who all the rival editors were.
A few days later – Washington, D.C., The Washington Post.
8 PM. Editor-in-chief Adrian had just finished work, still fuming.
That day, his backers had chewed him out for failing to crush World News.
He hadn't expected that rag to stumble upon a major scoop and come back to life.
"Mr. Adrian."
A voice called out.
He turned—and saw a plain-looking man approaching.
It was Noodles.
"What is it?" Adrian frowned.
"A very respectable man asked me to pass along a request—
Please stop targeting World News."
The moment Noodles finished, Adrian knew who had sent him.
He frowned and said coldly:
"Respectable? Just another nouveau riche.
Freedom of the press is a right guaranteed by America.
No one can interfere!
As long as I breathe, I'll keep attacking World News."
"To my knowledge, Mr. Valentino hasn't harmed you," Noodles replied.
"That hillbilly got rich in two years—he's clearly dirty.
He can't be allowed to become a public icon!
That's the reason."
Adrian turned to leave.
But Noodles added:
"Are you sure this has nothing to do with James Roosevelt?"
Turner's investigation had been thorough.
Adrian was Roosevelt's puppet in the media.
Called out, Adrian snapped:
"I'm a free journalist!
My reporting follows my conscience!"
He said it loud—but Noodles heard the guilt in his tone.
"Mr. Adrian, are you sure?
We can pay a lot of money."
Adrian hesitated, but then firmly shook his head.
He believed the elites' prediction that once Truman lost re-election, Leo would be jailed or worse.
As Adrian drove off, Noodles pulled a photo from his coat—one Turner had taken secretly.
He murmured:
"Glad you made the choice I hoped for."
Next morning.
Adrian arrived at work with a plan to destroy World News.
He'd band together with other political editors and subtly discredit World News's political coverage—
make it look unprofessional to elite readers.
That way, World News would be seen as a cheap tabloid, unable to trouble his backers.
Smiling smugly, he licked his lips—last night's rage had been taken out on his mistress.
But when he entered the office, everyone looked at him oddly.
Irritated, he asked his secretary what was going on.
She silently handed him a newspaper.
Adrian scoffed—World News. He was about to scold her.
Then he saw the headline:
"Shocking! Respected Political Editor Revealed to Be a Moral Fraud!"
Subheadline: "The Untold Story of Adrian from The Washington Post and His Sultry Neighbor."
The article included detailed accounts of Adrian's trysts—when, how, how often.
Even worse, there were five or six high-resolution photos. Two full-face shots.
To twist the knife, the second page reprinted Adrian's old articles
—where he had lambasted America's declining morals and failing values.
At that moment, Adrian realized—
His carefully crafted public image had been shattered.
By the afternoon, none of his emergency calls were answered.
Fired without ceremony, he left the job he'd held for 15 years with his belongings in a box.
His face pale, Adrian planned to head west, hoping someone still valued his skills.
His wife had already called at noon—she wanted a divorce.
When he got home to pack, the doorbell rang.
"Who is it?"
Adrian snapped.
"Real estate office."
"So fast?"
He opened the door.
At that moment, the man outside smiled cruelly—
pulled a Colt from his waist—
and shot Adrian in the head, three times.
Blood splattered on the wall.
His death caused no ripples.
In America, when you're no longer useful—you're in the most danger.
At the same time:
New York Post editor—critical of Leo—was hospitalized after a mysterious brake failure.
New York Times editor was exposed for taking bribes and removing news stories—photos and all. He later jumped into a river and ended his life.
Thus, the three main newspapers targeting World News all fell silent.
With Leo's paper standing firm and its bold voice gaining traction,
World News's daily sales continued to soar.