Genter had been a diligent salesman at Destan Realty for thirty years.
When a large number of salespeople left the company, Genter saw an opportunity.
For an entire project, he would be the only salesperson—and Genter thought he could earn ten thousand dollars in a month.
Driven by the prospect of huge profits, he ignored the gang threats and continued reporting for duty.
Yet, as he waited for a flood of homebuyers, the morning passed without a single visitor.
This was illogical. Even with Destan Realty embroiled in a scandal over poor quality, there shouldn't have been nobody.
By his experience, the recent massive price cuts should have attracted a crowd.
Puzzled, Genter left the sales community. When he reached the street, his anger flared instantly.
Not far ahead, salespeople wearing the uniform of Valentino Realty blocked the road to Destan Realty, holding large posters.
Seven or eight cars surrounded them, ready to transport any buyers they lured.
This aggressive, door-to-door competition ignited Genter's fury.
A former dockworker, he grabbed a wooden stick from the roadside and charged at them.
However, the others seemed prepared. Before he reached the street, several gang members sprang from the sides, dragged him into the woods, and beat him mercilessly.
As the sun set, bruised and battered, clothes in tatters, Genter returned home.
Immediately, he sensed something was wrong.
His wife stood obediently aside, while on the sofa sat a salesperson wearing a Valentino Realty uniform.
"Genter, my name is Aldo. Your colleagues told me you're the most capable salesperson at Destan Realty.
Don't waste your talent in a place where it can't shine."
As he spoke, Aldo stood and pulled out a wad of cash, continuing:
"These $5,000 are both for today's medical expenses and an advance for one month's salary.
I can see from your eyes your desire for money—something Destan Realty in Ohio cannot satisfy.
At American Realty, just listen to our name: the vast Eastern market will turn into a steady stream of money flowing into your pockets.
Oh, by the way, your address was given to me by your manager. This afternoon, he chose to join Valentino Realty."
When Finn met Robert Alphonse Taft in Washington,
his company was already in complete crisis. Not only had the sales staff jumped ship, but mid-level managers had also defected under American Realty's financial offensive.
Government officials who used to favor him no longer took his calls, and several previously approved land permits became painfully slow.
Due to major problems in the company, bank loans were entirely unavailable.
Stock prices plunged, and shareholders could call him a dozen times a day:
"Mr. Taft, for the sake of our fathers' relationship, please help Destan Realty."
President Taft had once received the largest donation for his fundraising committee from Destan Realty.
It was because of this that Taft helped Destan Realty secure pre-sale rights from Eisenhower.
Looking at Finn, who again mentioned the old favor and begged for help, Taft furrowed his brow.
Honestly, after Finn's father won that gamble, the Taft family had already given him the proper return.
During his presidency, Finn's father was even invited to leave Ohio—but he had no ambition.
Although Robert Taft and his brother Charles weren't close, he often heard from Charles. Over the years, Destan Realty had expanded its business leveraging the Taft family's influence—but never invited them to invest.
Robert had long grown tired of Finn but remained a principled man—or at least appeared so in the party.
"I'm a Republican. As you know, Leo Valentino is closely aligned with the Democrats.
This is normal business competition.
I cannot interfere."
Hearing Taft's reluctance, Finn grew anxious:
"Sir, as you said, Ohio is Republican territory. How can we let Democrats barge in?
If other Republicans knew, what would they think of you?
And I heard you intend to run for president next year.
If you help me through this, I'll do my best to raise five million dollars for you."
Seeing Finn's desperation, Robert Taft shook his head.
This local tycoon was threatening him. His understanding of America's political scene was still stuck in the early century, when money equaled political power.
Robert rose and ended the meeting.
As he went upstairs, he reminded his butler to spread the contents of the meeting.
His mood was already sour—his campaign funds nearly vanished since the party had unanimously supported Dewey.
A sudden burning in his lungs reminded him that both the Taft family's power and his own health were declining.
The rift with his brother further weakened the family's influence.
Looking out at the darkened Washington, he considered returning to Ohio to rebuild the family's strength.
"Valentino."
Robert thought of the name that had recently appeared frequently in the papers.
Having spent thirty years in politics, he knew money was the original engine of all power and the final resting place of authority.
The family needed to hop on the fast track of wealth.
"Father, your medicine."
His youngest son, Rick Taft, entered.
Robert admired him: rational, methodical, and understanding that silence is golden.
Most importantly, Rick had courage his older brothers lacked. He had once served in the Marines under the alias Rick Tov.
Where he was stationed even Robert didn't know. With the family's connections, he should have advanced quickly.
But lacking a reliable heir, Rick had to leave the military.
Now, he was a low-profile councilman in Cleveland, mostly kept close to Robert to observe high-level political maneuvering firsthand.
Rick noticed his father's worry and could guess its cause.
As he set down the water and pills, he glimpsed the photo Robert pressed against the newspaper.
"Interested in this Valentino too?"
"Who wouldn't be curious about someone who amassed billions in two years?
Probably all of America envies this young man's luck," Robert sighed.
Rick shook his head firmly: "It's not luck. Leo has the talent.
Even if you took all his wealth and gave him another chance, he could rise again.
He's the kind of man who creates miracles."
Rick's words made Robert sit up, studying his son.
Robert referred to Valentino formally, while his son spoke casually.
With slight surprise, he tested:
"You know Leo Valentino?"
"Of course. We served in the same unit."
Rick's casual tone made Robert serious.
"You were part of the near-death special forces team?"
"Yes and no. Later, Leo's intelligence needs grew. General William Halsey specifically assigned me as an intelligence officer for the special forces. Our cooperation went smoothly."
"Good, Rick.
Now go find General Eisenhower. Tell him I have a matter to discuss and ask him to bring Secretary of State Marshall."
Cincinnati, Ohio.
Leo looked over the gently sloping green golf course, feeling a bit out of place.
As someone used to simpler pleasures, wearing a golf outfit and holding a club felt alien.
If not for Marshall's invitation, he wouldn't have come.
"Doesn't your man look ridiculous?"
Evelyn, accompanying him, tidied his messy collar, kissed his cheek, and with a queenly air said:
"No, darling. You look handsome in anything."
She discreetly pointed at a few approaching men:
"See them? They don't even deserve to tie your shoes. Watch me today and learn."
As they neared, Leo studied one person and opened his arms.
"Rick Tov, you damn ghost—come like a phantom, leave like a phantom, and not even leave contact info."
Leo rarely showed his true self, except to Emily and Evelyn.
But with comrades-in-arms, he didn't hide his emotions.
After hugging, Rick apologized with a complex expression:
"Sorry, Leo. I deceived you and the others. My real name is Rick Taft."
Rick's conflicted expression made sense. When Leo punched McTianhuang, Rick tried to save him via his channels, only to be stopped by General Halsey.
Rick was no ordinary man; as a Taft, his actions must align with family interests.
Leo hid his smile and looked around thoughtfully:
"Then let's just say you're Rick Taft. After this game, we'll go to a bar. I want to drink with my brother Rick Tov properly."
Leo's words were carefully prepared: not a genuine display of emotion, but a performance to activate camaraderie.
This subtle manipulation tightened bonds among everyone present.
Soon, they began the day's golf game.
Since the 17th century, golf among nobility often involved bets.
This game followed that tradition.
Leo handed $10,000 to the waiter. Observing Taft from Ohio, he sensed that losing $10,000 might gain far more than just Destan Realty.
Everyone present, except Evelyn, had military backgrounds.
Topics were chosen carefully, avoiding Far Eastern matters entirely.
Leo predictably lost; Marshall collected the winnings cheerfully—it was his entry fee for the day.
During this golf game, Destan Realty was effectively divided among them.
By the end, all were James River Association members, depositing large sums from friends and relatives—totaling $40 million!
Leo, representing American Realty, used $80 million in collaboration with the Association to acquire Destan Realty.
Half of American Realty's Ohio profits would go to the James River Association.
Leo held shares on their behalf; dividends flowed legally through complex arrangements.
As they parted, Robert Taft hinted:
"I understand you're not affiliated with any party.
The Democratic Party is too prejudiced. As Republican chairman, I welcome talented youth like you."
In the car, Leo asked MianTiao:
"Did you get a photo of me shaking Taft's hand?"
MianTiao nodded.
Evelyn added:
"See, the Republicans won't be pleased about your approach."
"That's the point, especially our Mr. Truman.
If his support were slightly stronger, this battle over Destan Realty wouldn't need such a spectacle.
I need to give them a small warning."
With the Taft family's tacit approval, Destan Realty lost its last protection in Ohio.
American Realty succeeded.
Destan Realty was worth $150 million.
American Realty's net profit: $70 million.
Of the $35 million for the asset management company, $5 million was Leo's management fee.
Of the remaining $35 million, with American Realty holding 25%, Leo received $8.75 million.
Total earnings for Leo in this acquisition: $13.75 million.
This was 1948, when a bottle of Coke cost 14 cents.
The charm of political-business collusion was evident.
The James River Charity Association was officially renamed James River Asset Management Company.
With Ohio secured, Austin returned to the stage where he had worked for twenty years.
Leveraging American Realty's financial power and his personal network, within ten days he established over forty branches in Pennsylvania and Michigan.
Having built Iron Lion Gate himself, Austin knew its weaknesses.
Combined with Leo's strategy and Valentino Realty's innovation, Iron Lion Gate faltered.
Even with Citibank funding, its decline was unstoppable.
Gavin, despondent, told Walter:
"I may not survive until the election."
Walter patted his shoulder:
"Hold on. James has big moves ready. Perhaps we won't have to wait for heavy snow to divide that kid's wealth."
Leo was unaware of the enemy's plans.
He had returned to Virginia, to a forest on the outskirts of Richmond.
Looking at the robe handed by the Freemasons, Leo shook his head. He had no interest in participating in a secretive ritual with masked men around a fire.
The Masonic masters in Norfolk, along with the railroad chairman Evan, pursued him:
"You'll need to get used to this. You'll attend many such events in the future."
Leo turned to Evan:
"Tell me, Evan—profits from the Lynchburg Blue Ridge Mountain top, or from performing these rituals here?"
"Of course, the mountain top."
Since joining American Realty, Norfolk and the railroad survived hostile acquisitions and gained orders from Southern giants, California Merlin Group, and Canadian and Florida clients.
Recently, Norfolk's stocks had risen sharply.
"Then with this time, you'd better attend my upcoming conference."
Leo handed Evan an invitation.
He glanced: National Real Estate Summit.
Subheading: "Focus on the Era's Development, Explore the Next 20 Years of American Realty."
Organizers: Federal Housing Administration, American Realty Association, American Realty Group, Goldman Sachs, Merrill Lynch, Banque de France.
VIPs included Harry White, architect of the Bretton Woods system, and Thomas McKay, rumored to be a potential Fed chair.
Seeing Evan's astonishment, Leo patted his shoulder:
"The times have changed, Evan. Our gatherings no longer need to hide in forests. A good name is enough for the public to understand us."
If you want, I can also polish this into a smoother, more novel-like English version, keeping it cinematic and engaging, since this translation is fairly literal.