Leo sat down and smiled at Father Cade.
"The split doesn't need to change. It's still seventy–thirty. Only this time, seventy for me, thirty for you."
At these words, anger flashed across Father Cade's face. He was just about to rise and rebuke Leo, but Leo cut him off:
"Father Cade, hear me out.
First, only American Realty has the capacity to swallow such a massive amount of Evangelical land in one go, while raising enough money to persuade the Pope.
Second, the newly established Southern branch of American Realty will accompany you to Central America. Not only will it guide them ideologically, but it will also help drain their pockets economically. Surely you understand, with American Realty backing you, your missionary journey in Central America will be far smoother.
Third, have you thought about the taxes the church will owe next year on such a vast land deal? I can legally minimize those losses—absolutely no tax evasion.
And fourth, most importantly—every shareholder of American Realty is formidable in his own right. Even in the case of a branch company, it's impossible for you to casually claim fifty percent.
Father, you must understand—elections are my concern.
American Realty Group has its own will!"
Feeling the pressure radiating from Leo, Father Cade took a step back, collected himself for a moment, and finally nodded in agreement.
While Leo and Cade headed north to Washington, Austin traveled south to sign agreements with Evangelical shadow-asset companies. He invested four hundred million dollars to purchase prime Evangelical land and, in exchange for just three percent of shares, secured seventy percent ownership of the newly formed American Southern Realty Company.
This company's main business was to develop the Evangelical Church's secondary lands.
By mid-May, after ten days of preparation, the Religious Front Committee was officially established. Marshall would travel to Europe and Asia, with Father Cade accompanying him. But even earlier than their departure, the four hundred million from the land deal had already flowed quietly through the British tax–avoidance network and was now lying in wait in an Italian bank, ready for Cade to withdraw.
Because of this, Jim from Britain personally called Leo with good news: thanks to the pilot's success and Leo's constant promotion, this tax network had earned twenty million dollars in fees in just one month.
The gentlemen of Downing Street grew instantly envious. After all, Britain had not three thousand but at least ten thousand such potential "lines." How much revenue could this bring in?
Jim himself gained tremendous political prestige. Not only was he allowed to continue managing this line, but he was also tasked with drafting relevant laws and overseeing the entire tax–avoidance system.
Jim was a shrewd man. His eyes were set on Downing Street. Having achieved his personal goal, he generously revealed to Leo five existing but fading trade lines that would soon collapse due to declining commerce.
Leo immediately dispatched Edward to acquire them, establishing an asset management company in London's financial district to oversee these lines.
Although he had secured five routes, Leo knew Jim was aware of them too, which meant they weren't absolutely secure. Thus, he remained determined to pursue his Central American strategy.
But before that, there were debts to settle. In less than half a month, Leo had already survived two assassination attempts. If he didn't strike back soon, such attacks would become endless.
For the Philadelphia attempt, all clues pointed to Walter. But Leo knew Walter couldn't have managed something of that scale alone without serious backing. Beckett had hinted that James was involved.
As for the attack amid the Ku Klux Klan riot in Columbia, the mastermind seemed to be none other than Columbia's mayor, Bo Reed. Back in Washington, many politicians eager to curry favor with Leo leaked Reed's résumé in detail: he was also a retainer of the Roosevelt family.
In his Washington mansion, Leo seethed.
"James is breaking the rules! He's trampling on the political norms everyone abides by!" Truman fumed, fresh back from the West, standing firmly on Leo's side.
Truman was riding high. His recent union tour had gone exceptionally well, especially with the speech drafts Leo personally prepared. They had roused the simple workers' enthusiasm effortlessly and won the recognition of union leaders. Even if they didn't fully grasp Truman's policies, they felt he was a good president—his speeches were the only ones they could understand, and that gave them a sense of participation.
Grateful for these changes, Truman felt the presidency closer than ever. So when James called him the previous night, asking him to mediate, dangling irresistible bait—his full support for Truman and the possible return of Wallace—Truman couldn't resist. He rushed straight to Leo upon returning.
Leo sneered at Truman's dramatics.
"So what's your punishment for someone who breaks the rules? Run to the victim's home and curse the perpetrator? Harry, I thought you came here to strategize with me against James. But instead, you've wasted half an hour babbling.
In my view, anyone who breaks the rules has forfeited the protection of the rules. Whatever he does to me, I am entitled to do to him."
"Leo! Please, give me some face! Just this once—let James go!" Truman begged.
"Ha! Harry, what bait did James dangle this time that made you crawl so pathetically? Let me guess—he promised full support and Wallace's return, didn't he?"
Truman fell silent, exposed, and could only look at Leo imploringly.
"Harry, who helped you when you were at your lowest? Do you truly need James that badly? With my arrangement, Douglas will be no match for you at the Democratic Convention."
"But with James's help, we can unify the party earlier to fight Dewey! Please, Leo, we're so close to success now. I once learned a saying in the East: 'One who cannot endure small setbacks cannot achieve great plans.' You're close with the British, aren't you? Let me persuade those old men for their support. Once I'm president, we can settle with James later."
Hearing this, Leo sighed, closed his eyes, and waved Truman away.
"You're agreeing, aren't you, Leo?" Truman asked hopefully.
"Leave, Harry. I don't want to see you right now."
"Rest well, Leo. Once I'm president, I'll avenge you."
After Truman left, Evelyn emerged from behind the hidden wall. She slipped her delicate hands onto Leo's temples, massaging them gently as she whispered:
"My love, in the savannah, if a lion ignores the provocations of another male too many times, even without a fight, the lionesses will kill him in his sleep. This world has always been survival of the fittest. You can't listen to Harry. You must strike back."
Leo clasped her hand, stroking it softly.
"Of course, darling. I only feigned weakness. My foundation is not as deep as James's. The Roosevelt family has more than just him. To kill in one strike, I must prepare. But trust me—the time won't be long."
Even as he reassured Evelyn, Leo's mind worked fast. James asking Truman to mediate felt wrong. Having clashed with him multiple times, Leo knew James was relentless. Would such a man concede so easily? Unlikely.
In the "documentary" from his golden finger, Douglas only withdrew near late June at the Democratic National Convention. It was still only May—far too early for James to give up.
No, this was James feigning weakness too. He was buying time to lay his own plans.
Leo pondered: what would require James to stall? Assassination took little planning. And with American Realty no longer under his sole control, James wouldn't widen his attacks recklessly. So what could it be?
While Evelyn chatted about rewarding Joseph's men, an idea struck Leo like lightning. He kissed her and rushed upstairs to call Joseph.
"Have our old Iron Curtain Security brothers' families been relocated west?"
"Most, but a few parents still refuse to move," Joseph replied.
"Do they know where they're supposed to move to?"
"Of course."
Leo drew a deep breath.
"Then take men back west immediately. Protect our families. And for those stubborn ones, organize teams to forcefully bring them. No delays."
"You mean it's already reached families?" Joseph asked grimly.
"I hope I'm wrong. But you know my judgment rarely is."
"What about your safety?"
"I'll return to Lynchburg—our birthplace. Go, Joseph."
That very night, Joseph and his men departed.
The next morning, before leaving Washington, Leo stormed into Hoover's office.
"Director, I thought we were friends."
Such blunt aggression made Hoover frown. But Leo was no longer a young man to be swayed easily. Hoover, a veteran director, knew which people not to cross. He swallowed his irritation and asked with a smile:
"What's happened to upset you so much?"
"Don't play dumb, Hoover. Has the FBI become James's dagger?"
Accusing him of such treachery was dangerous. Hoover knew Leo had many serious allies. If word spread that the FBI had political leanings, his position would become untenable.
"Leo, take that back. The FBI is America's dagger, not anyone's private blade."
"Then why does James always know my exact location? In the U.S., only the FBI has that reach. So it must be you."
Leo was cornering him. He knew Hoover wasn't James's man, but he wanted the truth, and he'd spread rumors of FBI bias if Hoover stayed silent.
At last Hoover relented.
"Times are changing fast, Leo. Many so-called intelligence agencies are now using the FBI's name for their own ends. I believe James controls one of them."
"Hoover, that's too vague," Leo pressed coldly.
"You know I can't take sides. The FBI may be used, but not while I'm in charge," Hoover insisted.
"You're old, near retirement. Age softens men—they value friendships, they make exceptions. For a friend whose life was nearly taken, no one will fault you for bending the rules. After all, sleeping well now matters less than sleeping well when you're old. Few can promise you that—I'm one of them."
First the threat, then the bribe. Five years ago, Hoover wouldn't have budged. But now, he truly was aging.
"They say you agreed to Truman's mediation," Hoover tested.
"Yes. I promised to spare James. But only James."
Hoover saw the naked hatred in Leo's eyes. He didn't believe for a second Leo truly meant it.
"Ever heard of the CIA?" Hoover asked.
Of course Leo had—it was infamous in his previous life. He nodded.
"Their director, Roscoe, was Roosevelt's student," Hoover revealed.
Leo stood and embraced him, whispering in his ear:
"If you can tell me just a little more, I'll be forever grateful."
Hoover rolled his eyes.
"As far as I know, a CIA coffee mug costs three hundred dollars."
"What kind of mansion do you like?" Leo shot back without missing a beat.
Grinning at the blatant bribe, Hoover replied:
"I like mansions with lots of security."
On the road to Lynchburg, Walter asked,
"Boss, shouldn't we deal with Bo Reed first? I'll do it myself."
"Of course we'll deal with him," Leo said calmly. "But I can handle them both now. And Walter—you need to shift your thinking. In the early days, rough tactics were necessary. But now I have other ways. I don't need to dirty my own hands to kill them."
Gazing out the window, Leo murmured to both Walter and himself:
"James, our first round has only just begun. I've prepared a gift for you. Let's see if you can survive it."