After the meeting ended, Leo, who was expecting two victories in a row, walked out of the conference room in high spirits.
Beside him, Phoenix signaled with his eyes toward a man sitting on the sofa outside—the CEO of IBM—and said:
"You've been tricked, Leo. That's Thomas Watson Jr., the son of IBM's chairman."
"The key question is—can he make the decisions for IBM?"
Leo asked.
"As far as I know, no. And he's been pushing electronic computers inside IBM for a long time.
You know, IBM has always been deeply invested in mechanical computers. Their recently launched half-electronic model didn't perform well, and the company wasn't happy about it.
As the main proponent of electronic computers, he's naturally unpopular there."
In his previous life, Leo knew IBM had eventually sold its regular business to Lenovo. He had briefly looked into the company and knew it carried the nickname "Big Blue."
But at this point in time, it seemed that nickname didn't even exist yet, which made Leo hesitate about whether to cooperate.
Still, since the man had been waiting so long, it would be disrespectful not to have a proper conversation.
"Leo, I apologize for deceiving you. I'm not actually IBM's CEO—my father runs the company.
Allow me to reintroduce myself: I'm Thomas Watson Jr., an ardent enthusiast of electronic computers."
"No problem, Watson. The sales of the Valentino One are doing great—our monthly sales have already broken $90 million. There's no real need to look for a partner."
"No, Leo, you do need one. IBM has a strong relationship with the Census Bureau. Before coming here, I studied your machine in detail.
I'll admit—it meets the basic needs for data collection and compilation. But in my view, it's still far from the potential of an electronic computer.
The Valentino Research Institute has opened the door to a new era with this groundbreaking product.
But IBM isn't the only company deeply rooted in data processing—others have already begun investing in this area.
With their accumulated technical experience, your first-mover advantage will vanish quickly."
Watson spoke earnestly.
"As far as I know, IBM is the undisputed leader in data processing, with the deepest technical reserves in the industry.
So why come to me instead of developing it yourself?"
Leo asked.
Watson shook his head with a helpless smile.
"Are you familiar with IBM's latest project—the Selective Sequence Electronic Calculator (SSEC)?"
"Honestly, I only just heard about it from Phoenix. I've heard the sales weren't great."
Leo replied.
"They couldn't be. While the SSEC's results are accurate—and even better than yours—it has one fatal flaw: it has to reboot every three minutes.
Which means whoever's running it has to watch it constantly until the results come out. It's useless for most practical purposes.
But we did gain valuable experience from it. My friend, John Backus—the head of our electronic computer R&D department—has said our next model will be much better."
"So we're back to the question, Watson—why not just make a better one yourself? Why insist on investing in mine?"
Leo pressed.
"Because the SSEC cost $1 million to develop and hasn't made a cent back. The company sees it as a waste of resources.
My father is a sales-driven man—he believes performance is everything and profit is king.
Combined with the resistance from older board members who never liked electronic computers, the R&D budget for the department was slashed heavily.
I'm confident I could build a much better machine in three years—but by then, the best time to make money will have passed.
Leo, the Valentino One's strong market performance finally convinced my father. He's willing to invest $10 million plus IBM's entire electronic computer division's technical resources in exchange for a stake in your company.
We'd form a new company together.
Trust me—with your reputation as the first to take the leap, combined with our joint R&D experience, our second-generation product could dominate the American market!"
Leo could see the light in Watson's eyes, but his habit of caution made him decide to think it over.
"Let me consider it, Watson. I'll give you an answer tomorrow."
That night, in his study, Leo wrote down everything he could remember about computer development.
Truthfully, even though he had lived in the information age, his knowledge of the early days of computing was shallow.
The earliest thing he could recall was Apple's launch of the Apple II home computer in 1977—and that was only because of his past admiration for Steve Jobs.
Before 1977, it was a blank slate—he knew almost nothing about commercial computers.
Still, years in business had given him a sharp instinct. The moment he saw the Valentino prototype, he knew developing small home computers at this time was unrealistic.
The company's future had to target commercial computers.
But in such an unfamiliar field, he wasn't sure if he could succeed—or whether IBM's involvement would help.
As he frowned in thought, Evelyn walked in wearing a sheer purple nightgown.
Her curves were tantalizing under the fabric, her long legs captivating, and the view above her flat stomach equally breathtaking.
Seeing it was already late, Leo set aside his thoughts, scooped the beauty into his arms, and sought peace in his usual way—by pouring his restless emotions into Evelyn.
"Lenovo actually managed to buy IBM?"
"What's that?"
"You don't know IBM? They're a world-famous company—a computing giant!"
"Really?"
"Go online and see for yourself!"
The brief exchange jolted Leo awake. Lifting his head, he realized he had slipped into a lucid dream.
The setting was instantly familiar—it was the internet café he had frequented in high school.
Chunky desktop PCs, ball mice, noisy fans humming inside the heavy cases. Boys on either side were playing Half-Life or Red Alert, while girls blushed as they typed shy messages on old-school QQ chat windows.
The nostalgia was overwhelming.
In the dream, he and a classmate were speaking. Skeptical of his friend's claim, Leo closed his game and went to Sina.com for news—this was before Baidu dominated, when portal sites were still king.
The headline was exactly as his friend said: Lenovo had acquired IBM.
But what caught Leo's attention wasn't the headline—it was a short company profile just below it. One line stood out:
"Under the leadership of Thomas Watson Jr., IBM quickly shed the burden of its traditional business, embraced a new era, and—with his bold vision—developed the revolutionary System/360 mainframe, a landmark in IT history that secured IBM's dominance in computing and led the global information technology industry for over 20 years."
The next morning, in the Lynchburg hotel restaurant, Leo sat directly across from Watson and said:
"Your stake can't exceed 30%. If you agree, we have a deal."
Watson frowned—it was lower than he had hoped.
Truthfully, if not for the SSEC failure, he wouldn't have bothered working with Leo. Before coming, he had researched Leo thoroughly.
He respected Leo's abilities and envied his billionaire status, but in electronic computing, Watson saw him as a lucky gambler who had hit the jackpot.
After the Valentino prototype's success, Watson had immediately asked his father to restart electronic computer research.
His father flatly refused—he'd rather give Watson $10 million in cash than authorize another $1 million in R&D. The reason was clear.
The Watson family's influence at IBM had been won through years of victories over the board, but the board's veto power still loomed large.
Ten million was pocket money; one million for R&D required full board approval.
And the computer R&D department was just a small part of IBM's vast research apparatus. Spinning it off into a joint venture wouldn't hurt the company's core business.
Facing the reality, Watson wanted to refuse, but he couldn't risk falling three years behind. In computing, innovation moved too fast.
After a week of negotiations, LWI Data Research Company was founded in New York, renting office space from Leo's own properties—earning him money twice over.
Leo took 55% of the shares, Watson personally held 10%, IBM contributed its computer R&D division for 20%, and the prototype's inventor, Eckert, sold his stake to Leo for $8 million and walked away.
Leo kept the true pillar of the research team, the taciturn John Mauchly, by promising $500,000 a year to support his work on computer miniaturization.
Leo became chairman, and Watson was now a CEO in truth.
On his first day, Watson presented his plan—focusing on commercial computers. Leo agreed.
Then Watson took a deep breath and said:
"I'd like to raise R&D spending from 5% to 10%."
It was a bold number—most companies only spent 3%. Watson was ready to be rejected, as his father had done many times before.
"No," Leo said.
Watson sighed—just as he expected. These old-school businessmen only believed in sales, not R&D.
"I think 10% isn't enough—it should be 15%."
Watson froze. "What? Fifteen percent? That's $7.5 million a year!"
Leo shrugged. "Watson, in tech, innovation is everything. We need to fund it."
Watson walked back to his office stunned. Sitting at his desk, he realized the tabloids' gossip about Leo was wrong—this was no man who'd thrown $300,000 at a pretty researcher on a whim.
That one statement, backed by real money, put him ahead of most bosses.
Working closely together, they began developing the LWI-1 commercial computer—a refined version of the Valentino prototype, with the same features but half the size.
Leo also used his political connections to link up with top university labs—Virginia, Pennsylvania, Harvard, Princeton—to create machines tailored for academic research. Watson approved; after all, IBM had built its technical strength by solving the problems posed by the brightest minds.
Meanwhile, Ruben reported good news: the world's first computer production plant's blueprints were complete.
It would be small—experimental—but could produce up to 800 units a year once completed, with a target date of May.
By February 1948, Leo was in Columbus, Ohio, to deal with Destan Real Estate and push American Realty's expansion in the state before the roadshow.
But instead of heading straight to the city center branch, he went to a modest three-story building in a poor neighborhood.
The sign read: Hope Daily.
Its editor-in-chief, West, had been waiting at the door. He ushered Leo into his office, where a large map of Ohio was peppered with pins.
"Boss, I came to Ohio after Christmas. Now we have third-tier offices in every city.
Over 300 reporters statewide. Daily sales are 150,000 copies—big-paper numbers.
Our low price means paper sales barely break even at $10,000 a month, but our January ad revenue hit $400,000. I'm confident February will reach $1 million."
Leo nodded. West had once run the paper's "third-page" section under Leo's personal guidance before being sent to open new state markets.
To avoid attention, Leo usually bought small local papers and kept their names, but ran them with the Hope Daily model.
"How's our reach among young people?"
Leo asked. In the coming war, he wanted to know if the paper could be a weapon.
West grinned. "Boss, our third-page girls have conquered every young man in the state. They can't get through a lonely night without them. That's why I'm confident about the $1 million ads."
"Good. I've got a big job for you. Not on the front page—put it just under the third-page girls. That's the best spot."
"What's the content?"
"Daily updates on Destan Real Estate's quality issues."
"As far as I know, their housing quality is decent. Even if we smear them, the rumors will collapse in a few days."
"Then make the rumors come true," Leo said.