At the Lynchburg Hotel, Evelyn, dressed elegantly, opened the presidential suite reserved exclusively for Leo.
She looked at Yelena, sprawled like water on the bed, sunk deep in slumber. Evelyn knew this was the consequence of indulgence.
Her own body felt a surge of heat—a primal craving stirring within her. She hadn't lain here last night because today, she had to accompany Leo to the National Real Estate Summit.
This year, with Leo's investment, the Lynchburg Hotel had been expanded, adding over fifty independent suites along the eastern foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Three small buildings nestled by the water and hills, totaling 80 rooms, plus four conference halls accommodating 100 to 800 people.
The National Real Estate Summit was taking place here—the very first nationwide event in American real estate history. Beyond the guest experts and members of the Real Estate Association, three to four thousand additional participants gradually arrived.
Not only was the Lynchburg Hotel fully booked, but every other hotel in Lynchburg was completely filled. Some even stayed in private residences.
These attendees were owners of real estate companies or executives of related enterprises. Many might scoff at the idea of such a conference, but Leo wasn't just any organizer—he led pre-sale innovation, presided over the American Real Estate Association, and chaired the largest real estate company in the eastern U.S., the American Realty Group.
What added even more authority to this event were the guests: the Federal Reserve Chairman and Harry White, one of the architects of the Bretton Woods monetary system.
The summit's motto was to explore development over the next twenty years. Missing this, one risked falling behind, being acquired, or surpassed—regret would follow.
The hotel's front yard teemed with people, while behind the ridge, in the forest hunting grounds, a man in his sixties, holding a double-barreled shotgun, accurately shot a wild rabbit. Those gathered around immediately applauded.
This celebrated elder was Thomas McCay, the current Federal Reserve Chairman. Among those applauding were Wall Street bankers, such as Leo's rival from Citibank, Walter, and Henry Morgan, who had once treated Leo coldly at Morgan Stanley.
There were also political heavyweights: Marshall, Thomas, and Taft, as well as Truman and his staff, rumored to be on their way.
McCay handed the shotgun to an attendant and waved with a smile to Leo, standing on the crowd's periphery:
"Why are you keeping our host on the sidelines, Mr. Leo Valentino? Come closer—we'll have a private talk."
Amid jealous glances, Leo approached McCay, and the two left the main group, walking along a forest path. In the U.S., forest paths were still dirt roads, but to highlight the Lynchburg Hotel's character, Leo had installed wooden boardwalks along all paths.
"You're resourceful. Most entrepreneurs, after years of success, wouldn't even think of hosting a conference," McCay said.
"I just had a sudden idea. It's really just a prelude to the roadshow of the American Realty Group. I didn't expect such popularity. Having someone of your stature attend… I'm truly honored," Leo replied.
Indeed, Leo barely knew McCay. Given his strained relations with Jewish elites, he could never have invited someone of McCay's caliber. McCay had come unbidden, bringing along Harry White.
Leo's words made the elder pause; his cloudy eyes sharpened, a cold smile forming:
"Young man, I studied you before coming. You can't fool me. You're not someone who takes one step at a time blindly. You see the essence at a glance, plan ten steps ahead, and seize opportunities to perfection.
The Cotten family—a glorious lineage. Even I, dealing with them, had to pay a high price, yet you dissected them like slicing flesh, leaving them to bleed to death. What I admire most is your prudence and restraint in pursuit of a greater goal.
When you weren't strong enough to protect yourself, you could have used force, but you held back. Your opponent couldn't find a flaw to exploit. That unlucky mayor, Patrick, his administrative powers were useless against someone so untouchable, and you turned the tables effortlessly.
So, Leo, is this really just a simple prelude for a roadshow?"
McCay's words set off alarm bells in Leo's mind. He was facing a top-tier master; the praise was a veiled warning: your moves are all visible to me.
"You are a true sage. The U.S., even the world's financial system, belongs under your control. Actually, I aim to use this conference to establish my status in real estate, as you have in finance. At the same time, I want to create a circle—like the Masons—but times have changed. We have countless ways to placate the masses without secret forest rituals," Leo said.
"Hahaha, I also dislike those mystical rituals. Today, even swearing on a wooden stick won't prevent betrayal under the lure of profit. I admire ambition, because ambition brought me here. But you still haven't told me the truth, Leo: what do you think the Fed's mission is? To maintain U.S. financial stability? Or to safeguard the global financial system?"
McCay's expression changed in an instant from cold to beaming, but Leo didn't underestimate him. Internally, he realized his ultimate purpose couldn't remain hidden. Since it couldn't, he would stop hiding it.
"Neither. What you said is just like this conference—smoke and mirrors. The Fed exists to make the rich richer and the masses mere fish in its pond. In other words, the Fed is like the medieval pope—guiding money instead of souls, letting them generate profit, which the Fed then harvests piece by piece."
Leo's perspective, shaped by hindsight, easily discerned the Fed's essence. McCay fell silent for a long while, then sighed:
"I wish you were Jewish. Ever thought of breaking the engagement with a Morton girl? We have many beautiful Jewish girls."
"Would I get into big trouble if I refuse?" Leo joked.
"No, not at all, as long as you don't spread what we just discussed. Now, back to business. Leo, through this conference, you must set industry standards and create a more controllable, profitable market—that's how you grow the pie. Anything that increases the dollar's value is welcome in America. But we must participate in this standard, this market. You can't monopolize it alone."
Leo turned to the Fed chairman, no longer smiling. He knew refusing McCay would be fatal, even with his strength—this old man represented not himself, but the will of most American capital. And now, Leo was part of that will.
As a proxy of that will, he appeared powerful but had to follow the objective rules of capital, unable to act against its interests. So he could get a share of the pie, but couldn't be eliminated. If McCay did otherwise, others would immediately retaliate.
Leo lost some ground, but their involvement expanded the pie and endorsed the high-level summit. Calculating carefully, it was only a minor loss—so he told himself.
Seeing Leo's acquiescence, McCay laughed heartily:
"Don't wear that expression. Once the conference starts, you'll see the weight Harry and I carry. With us present, at least the initiator and executor of this standard and market is absolutely you."
At night, in McCay's suite, John Steelman, chief of staff to Truman and a Citibank behind-the-scenes ally, frowned at McCay:
"Sir, why are you letting that kid off so easily?"
Seeing the same puzzled expressions from younger Jewish colleagues, McCay sighed. His people were clever and capable but had fatal flaws: jealousy, greed, and shortsightedness. A distant Eastern phrase suited them well: "drain the pond to catch the fish."
McCay also worried that his people increasingly valued money itself, neglecting the ability to create it. What made Leo valuable was his constant expansion of the pie across industries. In examining Leo, real estate alone didn't impress McCay; investments in convenience stores and artificial intelligence brains revealed Leo's keen commercial intuition.
Countless resources on Earth—Leo found and exploited the best. Such a person, under McCay's system, was most beneficial. He shook his head, watching his money-focused kin:
"Why? If you had proposed this first, with the power to convene it, it wouldn't involve him. Now, get out of my room—I need rest."
The next day, the conference officially began, and Leo immediately understood McCay's words. Truman arrived, Leo's rival James arrived, and every major financial conglomerate in the U.S. was present.
To make room for these heavyweights, smaller real estate firms, already checked in, left upon a single call. The 800-seat venue was full, even the aisles crowded.
During McCay's speech, applause came every minute. Was he brilliant? To Leo, it was just okay. The enthusiasm was for the man on stage—the god of land wealth.
Leo's inner sarcasm turned into genuine respect at McCay's last words. This old man, deserving of his position, kept his word: meticulous.
"I'm here entirely at Mr. Valentino's invitation for this crucial American real estate event. I trust that under his leadership, American Realty can achieve new brilliance."
This was the official seal of approval from the financial father figure for Leo. While it wouldn't fend off hidden enemies, it would facilitate consolidation of the real estate industry. Rapid expansion, thicker "health bars"—another form of defense.
The blessings from the big shots didn't end there. In Leo's plan, building the market and standards would take a year—but McCay accelerated it. He directly required Leo to invite the ten most influential U.S. real estate companies to a closed-door meeting.
Only such invitation-only meetings were truly "secret gatherings" of the era. Named the Real Estate Summit (dropping "American"), it encompassed capital control worldwide. Participants included real estate representatives, five bankers representing capital, three top newspapers for media, expert academics, and politicians.
Casual discussion determined the standards and market scale. Real estate and infrastructure projects from Turkey, Iran, Europe, Canada, South America, the Philippines, and Japan were presented like dishes on the summit's table.
From that moment, Leo's casually named conference seemed destined to shape the next twenty years. While the profits weren't his, the pie—and Leo's original plan—had more than doubled.
The most valuable gain for Leo was personal growth. Today's conference baptism was as enlightening as Augustus' teachings last year. He observed how top-tier capitalists earned: not by running a single industry, but by cultivating a tailor-made market.
In short, Leo had leveled up.
After six days—three for the public conference, three for the closed-door summit—the pinnacle forum concluded. Leo, as the undisputed protagonist, once again stood at the forefront of American public opinion. The ripples crossed the Atlantic to Europe.
The Netherlands and Italy cheered—their capable leaders could bring more investment. Smaller nations were left in disappointment. The presidents and prime ministers of Britain and France raised Leo's priority. Even the Red Empire began taking notice; a special department scouted women across allied nations, intending to shadow a future capital tycoon.
Leo, fully aware of media dynamics, knew that fame was temporary; lasting influence depended on real strength. He was now working overtime with all shareholders of American Realty, having just overturned Sidney's prepared roadshow pitch.
Having been bombarded by 21st-century product launches and having successfully used PPT to attract investment multiple times, Leo decided to bring innovative elements to this era's roadshow.