The party whip entering a mental institution for treatment was a major event for the entire Democratic Party.
It signaled that nothing would stand in Truman's way on his path to becoming the Democratic nominee.
The internal winds shifted instantly. Even many who had left the party over Wallace now chose to return and support Truman.
Compared with the Democrats, where the clouds had cleared and harmony prevailed, the Republicans were in chaos. Facing MacArthur's unprincipled intrusion, Dewey could no longer sit firmly as if nothing had happened. Compared to Taft, whose purpose was simply to disrupt, MacArthur's threat was clearly far greater.
Dewey abruptly cut short his vacation to lobby MacArthur. But before MacArthur, Dewey was like a blade of grass before a storm, earning nothing but endless humiliation.
Reporters from Leo's New Times, ever-present and omnipresent, published accounts of this lobbying attempt. The word "idiot" appeared with striking frequency throughout the article.
It concluded with this sharp summary:
Governor Dewey of New York looked like nothing more than a chastised soldier before a five-star general. But Dewey is no mere soldier; to command such absolute support within the party, he is no simple man.
Very soon, the newspapers that had once sung MacArthur's praises shifted course, joining the New Times chorus of criticism.
The Republican farce continued.
On June 15, Leo accompanied Truman to Columbia, South Carolina. By then, the Roosevelt family's supporter, Bo Reed, was already behind bars.
All the way, Truman held Leo's hand. The western trip had been a great success. According to Daniel's latest report, Truman's campaign donations had surpassed eight million dollars—nearly matching Dewey.
The absolute numbers didn't matter; each donation represented a voter's alignment with Truman in the presidential race. That was what truly mattered.
One of their key goals in South Carolina was to seize the moment: with the Roosevelt family's influence waning, they aimed to rapidly expand Truman's reach into this critical southern state.
Leo had prepared a two-pronged plan—one overt, one covert.
Overtly, Truman would, at the invitation of evangelical bishop Cade, go to a southern church and deliver a speech to Black congregants. This would be one of the rare occasions in American history where a presidential candidate gave a speech specifically to Black citizens. It would help ease tensions between the state government and its Black population.
Covertly, under Governor Lestor Wood's introduction, Truman would, that very evening after the speech, don the white robes and pointed hood, and formally join the Ku Klux Klan.
Unbelievable? In fact, not so much. At the time, many civil rights progressives in South Carolina had some form of hidden connection with the Klan.
Truman was hesitant, worried it would backfire, pleasing no one. But Leo explained coolly:
"Public toilets exist for everyone. If others can use them, so can we. We control South Carolina's public opinion—there won't be a problem."
While Truman busied himself, Leo discussed the Central American development plan with Bishop Cade.
Cade's European trip was over. With Leo's help, he had met the Pope and secured the necessary backing. He was especially impressed by Leo's money-moving methods—three times in a short conversation he exclaimed that Leo's financial maneuvers were nothing short of magic.
Leo was shrewd; he sensed Cade's interest in the business but didn't raise it himself—whoever spoke first would be at a disadvantage.
At last, after Leo changed the subject four times, Cade finally said:
"Leo, although the U.S. tax code grants churches many exemptions, this only makes the IRS more stringent in monitoring our non-religious income. Many of our parishioners are not poor—some are wealthy. Spreading the faith inevitably requires their support, and many of them hope to use our exemptions to safeguard their assets. This puts tremendous strain on us.
Our church enterprises are also closely regulated by the IRS. So, I want to know if I can join your tax-avoidance network. I believe it would benefit us both greatly."
"Father, many share your troubles. But building such a network is enormously costly."
Leo's reply was direct and firm. He rejected Cade's hope of joining cheaply, while hinting that entry was possible—at a price.
"The Central American United Company shares—I can cede another half percent," Cade offered.
"Father, I am not the only shareholder in this network. I cannot decide alone," Leo said, shaking his head.
Pain flashed across Cade's face. He raised one finger, gritting out a single word:
"One percent."
"This network spans multiple companies. Everyone needs their cut. In truth, the profits aren't as large as you think. You might find it easier to pay an intermediary fee," Leo countered.
Cade's face twisted; if not for the immense value this tax network could bring in attracting wealthy believers, he would never concede so much.
Finally, through clenched teeth, he said:
"One and a half percent."
Leo instantly clasped his finger and declared:
"Deal."
The meeting left Leo deeply satisfied. Now, the American Real Estate Group held 65% controlling stake in the Southern United Company.
He immediately instructed Walter to contact Edward in Europe, who was building money-laundering channels, and send him to Italy to pitch the new tax-avoidance network to the Catholic Church. Leo was certain the Church was one of Swiss banks' biggest clients, and no one ever complained of too many channels. With his position as an Italian godson, as long as the Pope was sane, refusal was unlikely.
That night, on the wooded estate of a wealthy rancher near Columbia, Leo witnessed Truman's initiation into the Klan. Joining alongside him was Mac, the American Mafia boss from Nevada. Under Leo's orders, Mac too became a member of the South's largest violent fraternity—the Klan.
At Leo's direction, southern Italians would also be organized under Mac, consolidated from scattered groups into a proper Mafia.
After the initiation, Truman, exhausted, fell into deep sleep.
Leo, however, listened to Mac's report. Since their last playful venture, Mac had been on a grand tour of America. Aside from the South, where the Mafia was weak, he had visited the West, Midwest, East, and North—every major Italian enclave. The journey rekindled many's fear of the Corleone family.
In the East and North, faced with Mac's wealth and muscle, most bowed. But some, like the Chicago Mafia, stood defiant.
Though Capone's fall had weakened them, they regrouped quickly, rivaling New York's Mafia once again. They were also eyeing Las Vegas and Hollywood, placing them in direct competition with Mac.
Confronted with Mac's fierce bid to consolidate, Chicago's gangsters fought back fiercely, clashing with him in Chicago, San Francisco, Seattle, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles. Both sides won and lost; the stalemate filled the headlines.
Seeing Leo's darkened face, Mac defended himself:
"But according to my intel, many forces are secretly backing Chicago against me. Not just Jews and Irish gangs—even our old friends at the FBI."
Leo stroked his chin and called Hoover.
When asked, Hoover paused, then replied:
"Leo, whatever you've lined up for me, remember—I must retire in peace. Has no one told you? You've grown too bold—grabbing at everything, wanting it all. Business is endless. You must leave others some room. Even a rabbit will bite when cornered.
As for the Mafia—let Mac handle it. A united Mafia serves no one's interest.
Oh, and when you're back in Washington, invite me for a hunt. A friend of mine wants to meet you."
Hanging up, Leo pondered—not on Hoover's warning that he was too arrogant, but on the thought that he was not yet strong enough.
"Continue the fight, Mac. The war with Chicago must go on. California and Nevada are our future strongholds. We cannot yield them. Drive them out. I'll bankroll you."
With the southern trip done, Truman returned to Washington bearing the contradictory badges of civil rights champion and Klan initiate. But such was politics—magical at its core.
Even after two busy months, rest was impossible.
The White House was public property—not suitable for improper dealings. Leo purchased an 18th-century building near the White House, once a publisher's office, and turned it into the World News' Washington bureau. The top floor became a grand reception hall—Truman's campaign headquarters.
For 15 days, Leo and Truman met dozens of politicians daily—locals and out-of-state alike. Their division of labor was clear: Truman granted favors, Leo mapped the interests behind them.
Reasonable requests were granted. Those requiring presidential power later were noted. For demands of immediate profit, if Leo's companies could meet them, he did so; if not, he brokered alternatives.
But some were excessive. One Michigan mining magnate—almost the sole backer of the state's Democrats, funding the lieutenant governor and Senate candidates—demanded monopoly rights, legislative support, and a guaranteed IPO on Wall Street under harsh conditions: no price below $45, family equity at 60%, and no management changes.
Such greed Leo crushed decisively. Using his Taft connections, he unleashed the American Mining Group on the company in a takeover bid, while pushing Michigan to open antitrust investigations. The company was seized. As for the politicians the magnate had propped up—who needed them, when Mr. Valentino himself was ready to be their patron?
Politics everywhere followed the same rule: grand assemblies merely ratified decisions already made in small rooms.
After 15 days, Leo and Truman had consolidated most factions. There would still be traitors at the last moment—that was unavoidable.
With his dominance secure, Truman, after conferring with Leo, set the Democratic National Convention date for July 12.
That very day, the Republican convention concluded with Dewey's nomination by a landslide. MacArthur, face ashen, stormed to a military airfield and flew back to Japan.
Dewey's victory united the Republicans—every hand pushing him toward the presidency. Such solidarity was formidable. In the marathon of elections, each day of unity was like running another hundred meters ahead.
For the venue, Truman leaned toward New York, winning committee support. But Leo stayed silent, which annoyed Truman. Still, it was clear—Leo's word carried more weight than Truman's own.
"What do you think, Leo?" Truman asked.
Leo caught the flicker of resentment in his eyes. The teamwork that appeared harmonious was built on smoldering discontent. Truman's wish for New York was obvious—its tangled web of power would let him cut deals beyond Leo's reach.
But Leo already knew. Orland had called him yesterday—Truman had tried to woo him.
From Truman's view, it was understandable—who wanted to be a puppet president? But from Leo's view, it was intolerable.
"I don't think it's wise, Harry," Leo said flatly.
Truman's face darkened. "And why not, Leo?"
Leo gave his rehearsed line:
"New York is Dewey's turf. Too many congressmen will be swayed there. We can't control the convention's direction."
Truman glanced at Louis, hoping he'd back him. But Louis, after reflection, nodded at Leo's reasoning.
Truman regretted not keeping John Stillman. With no ally, he pressed on:
"Then where do you suggest?"
"Philadelphia," Leo answered.
"But the Republicans just held theirs there. Isn't it improper to share the same city?" Truman asked.
Leo shook his head:
"First, Philadelphia is our ground. After the assassination attempt, Mayor Beckett is firmly with me.
Second, there is precedent for both parties meeting in the same city. Not only must we do so—we must hold it in the same district, the same hotel, even the same hall.
That will show everyone that you, Harry Truman, are declaring war on Dewey."
Truman frowned. "Such a head-on clash isn't necessary."
"No, it is. Because Dewey's opponent is you," Leo said.
"I have nothing to do with declaring war," Truman muttered—then caught the strange looks around him. He understood. Leo was hinting at his weakness. His face flushed red. Such weakness might stir public sympathy, but at this moment it cut his authority deeply.
He glared at Leo, chest heaving, and stormed out.
As soon as he left, someone chuckled. Then another. Soon the room rang with unrestrained laughter.
Leo watched, satisfied. His goal was achieved. Not only had he forced Truman to accept Philadelphia, he had also weakened Truman's authority in the campaign. The message was clear: Truman's success would be thanks to Leo, and Leo alone.
Politics was the art of compromise—or rather, of forcing balance through dissatisfaction.
On the flight to Philadelphia, Truman and Leo acted as if nothing had happened, chatting and planning.
Upon arrival, they split up to shore up promises from Democratic politicians, ensuring earlier commitments held. Truman chose a top racetrack as his venue; Leo opted for an exclusive golf club.
After finishing a round with a Pennsylvania Democrat, Leo spotted Hoover approaching with two men.
"Thank you for the game, Gleason. See you at the convention banquet," Leo said, sending the senator off before greeting Hoover warmly.
Hoover gestured to the older of the two men—a distinguished gentleman, somewhat younger than himself:
"This is Joseph P. Kennedy—you've heard of him, I'm sure. The Great Depression's lucky man. Known as 'Rich Joseph.' Another of your party's great patrons."
Then he motioned to the younger man beside him—handsome, slightly stooped, his neck stiff in motion:
"And this—an outstanding young man like yourself, who once fought beside you in the Pacific. Joseph's son—John Fitzgerald Kennedy."