In April, Republicans were thrown into chaos by Thomas's proposals, a turmoil that lasted half a month.
Meanwhile, their carefully maintained image as the defenders of the people was completely destroyed.
The United States, after all, was a capitalist society. As the heat of the controversy soared, the major newspapers—urged on by their financial backers—seized the chance to profit. They, too, joined in the chorus of condemnation against the Republicans.
Naturally, the Republicans would not sit idle. They tried to explain to the public that such proposals required time to study and review.
But ordinary people didn't care about such excuses. All they saw was that the Republican-controlled Congress had blocked those proposals.
James's fears became reality. Truman's campaign movement had rekindled Democratic hopes of returning to power.
Swing legislators began drifting back, and even some of Douglas's original supporters grew hesitant to openly stand by him.
In high spirits, Truman walked into his office, but did not see Leo.
"Where's Leo?" he asked Louis.
"He went back to Richmond with Desmond," Louis replied.
At Richmond's Jefferson Hotel, Bishop Harrison of the Seventh-day Adventist Church looked at the two young men approaching and sighed deeply.
Two years ago, when these country boys had rejected his proposal, he thought them reckless fools who didn't know a golden opportunity when it was offered.
But now, time had flown, and Harrison regretted bitterly—it was he who had missed the express train to prosperity.
"Father Lesterwin, you know the trouble our church faces. Later, you must persuade Mr. Valentino," Harrison said to the priest beside him.
When old acquaintances meet, pleasantries are inevitable.
Unlike Harrison, whose expression brimmed with calculation, Father Lesterwin looked upon Leo with relief and joy.
As he embraced Leo, he whispered in his ear:
"Child, you've fulfilled your promise."
Leo had risen, and so had Desmond, who was now a state legislator and a regular face in Congress and even the White House.
The atmosphere grew warm. Unable to contain himself, Harrison said:
"Mr. Valentino, you and our Church are old friends. Together, we once drove out the Cotton family that darkened America's religious world. But now we face serious difficulties."
"Such as?" Leo asked.
"We need money," Harrison admitted, hanging his head.
As he spoke, the Seventh-day Adventists' predicament unfolded.
After the fall of the Cotton family, the shadow over their church lifted. At last, they could operate the businesses that had once been monopolized by the Cottons—businesses that rightfully belonged to the Adventists.
At first things went well. Especially after selling land to Valentino Realty, they accumulated a respectable cash reserve, even if the sale price had been modest.
Flush with funds, their leaders traveled to Miami, mingling with other churches there. In the process, they purchased lavish residences.
Just as they were savoring the pleasure of managing their own wealth, misfortune struck.
Eager to grow their money, they ignored Desmond's invitation to invest in the newly founded American Realty Group.
Fearing another Cotton-like overlord, they refused.
Instead, one colleague claimed to know a Wall Street friend with "inside information" guaranteeing steady profits.
Naïve clergy knew nothing of stock markets. At first cautious, they sent investigators, who confirmed the man was a rising "young stock god."
Encouraged, they invested modestly and saw returns. Then again, and again.
Soon, they trusted him completely—pouring in not just their own money but church funds as well.
Worse, they solicited millions from their followers.
And then—the money vanished.
It was a Ponzi scheme. Even in modern times, such fraud lures countless victims. In that America, it was devastating.
Now the Adventists were robbing Peter to pay Paul, teetering on collapse.
And though they claimed God's protection, their furious followers were ready to show them what earthly devils could be.
"How much of the followers' money did you take?" Leo asked.
"In total, eight million," Harrison said.
But Desmond snapped:
"Leo asked—how much of the followers' money did you take?"
Harrison realized he could no longer deceive them. He admitted:
"Three million."
Though Leo's assets now exceeded a billion, in those days fewer than fifty men in America had reached that threshold.
Three million—equivalent to sixty million in later times—was still enormous.
"You're never honest with me, Harrison. So why should I help you? Even Father Lesterwin's face is not enough to make me shoulder this loss," Leo said, smiling apologetically at the priest.
Harrison forced a grin—he had anticipated this. He tried another approach:
"Mr. Valentino, our Church has over six million followers. We could contribute to President Truman's campaign."
Leo chuckled. "I grew up in your parishes. Are you counting people like me in that six million? Harrison, for Father Lesterwin's sake, I'll give you one last chance. Honestly tell me what you can offer, and I'll decide the price."
"Three million votes. With the Church's urging, they'll go to Truman."
Leo shook his head. "Spending three million on propaganda would likely win me more votes than that. I'll pay one million for your six million followers."
In this negotiation, only Leo could save them—and he would not pay full price.
"Aren't you afraid we'll support the Republicans instead?" Harrison asked.
"No. They don't need you. The whole country believes the Republicans will win easily. Why would they waste money? And would you dare expose your weakness to them? They are wolves. They'll eat you alive."
Leo's words punctured Harrison's bluff. Deflated, he murmured:
"One million is too little. It won't save us."
"Leo…" Father Lesterwin pleaded softly.
"Fine—for Father Lesterwin's sake. Harrison, I know you didn't sell all your land to Valentino Realty. Especially prime city lots you claimed you'd use to expand churches. But you no longer have that ability. I'll take them. One million."
"They're worth at least two million," Harrison protested.
"Then sell them elsewhere. See if any firm dares compete with American Realty in this market."
Leo's domineering words silenced the room.
"But even two million won't save us," Harrison whispered.
Leo already had a plan to bleed them. He continued smoothly:
"I hear your ties with Southern evangelicals are good."
"We share the same roots. But what of it?"
"Brokerage. For every land deal you arrange, you get a one-percent commission. Evangelicals hold prime land and a third of America's faithful. As brokers, you profit, and I gain ties with them."
Harrison weighed it. He could probably arrange eighty deals.
"But our funds are about to collapse. Such transactions take time…"
"I'm a businessman. Cash on delivery," Leo cut in.
"I'll give you one million now—enough to stabilize you. But it comes with strings. For example, invite Truman to speak at your parishes.
If people hear directly from him, they'll vote willingly. That's worth more than mere clerical orders."
Thus, Leo blocked Harrison's path of retreat. The faithful might accept pastors saying God favored Truman—but not constant flip-flopping.
As they parted, Leo shook Harrison's hand:
"After Truman's first speech, the first million will be transferred."
Riding back to Washington, Leo reflected on his insights into American elections.
In his previous life, he thought the huge crowds at presidential rallies meant Americans were passionate about politics.
Now, after seeing Truman's sparsely attended speeches, he realized: those crowds were the product of careful preparation.
Without his deal with the Adventists, Truman's Virginia rally would have looked no different.
Pre-selecting audiences had another advantage: tailoring speeches to their vocabulary and concerns.
At campaign headquarters, Leo immediately asked for Truman's speech draft for the Adventists. Harrison had wasted no time—the rally was set for the next day.
"This one's written by Louis," Truman said, handing it over. "He's a top Harvard graduate. Should be fine."
Louis stood proudly. This was his masterpiece, the finest speech he had ever written—long, ornate, packed with classical references. He was certain Leo would not even understand some of the vocabulary.
Sure enough, Leo's brow furrowed as he read. Long, convoluted sentences, obscure terms—it was incomprehensible.
Halfway through, Leo crumpled it and tossed it in the trash. Grabbing a blank sheet, he began writing quickly.
"Hey! What are you doing?" Louis cried in outrage.
"Finishing the job you failed to do," Leo replied without looking up.
Louis fumed, but Truman stopped him. Recent successes had proved Leo was the true professional.
Soon Leo finished his draft—short, direct, filled with plain words and even a few slang terms. Louis read it, then sneered:
"This is garbage. Simple phrases, crude slang, no historical references. If my professor saw this, he'd call it disgraceful. If Truman reads this, the elite will laugh at him. It'll brand him as an uneducated commoner."
Truman also hesitated—but looked to Leo for an explanation.
"Louis, who is tomorrow's audience?" Leo asked.
"The congregation," Louis said.
"And who are they?"
"…Farmers. Laborers. Most can't read. Their vocabulary is under five hundred words. They won't understand lofty phrases or historical allusions. They don't care who succeeded with a reform in history. They only care: if Truman pushes it, what do they get?"
Louis was speechless. Truman's eyes lit with understanding.
But Leo pressed further. He couldn't write every speech himself—Louis had talent and needed guidance.
"You worry elites will reject Truman. But, Harry, elites have already abandoned you. The polls show it. So why not embrace your true role—the people's president? That's your core identity."
Truman fell silent, thoughtful. Louis flushed and argued:
"But elites have money and influence."
"True. But some elites—like me—support Harry. And with my newspaper network, his words will reach millions. That's more powerful than elite approval. And luckily, in this era, the people still matter in elections."
Leo stood and clapped Louis on the shoulder, his voice hard:
"Louis, Harry trusts you. If not, you'd be fish food in the Atlantic for mocking me. I don't care about your background. Just do as I teach—and do it well. My patience has limits."
The menace in Leo's tone made Louis pale. He nodded weakly.
Finally, Leo turned to Truman.
"Tomorrow, Desmond will accompany you."
"Where will you be?" Truman asked.
"Visiting your enemies—the unions."