For the next week, Leo spent his days at Tishman's Philadelphia headquarters, sparring with the restless executives there, and his nights attending banquets accompanied by Marlene—whose English had become quite fluent—to expand his influence in Pennsylvania.
Why not Grace? Because Grace was now in Hollywood, pursuing her dreams.
In the meantime, plenty of paparazzi tried their luck photographing Leo. The unluckiest were those caught on the spot: their cameras smashed and, sometimes, they themselves beaten to a pulp. Even the few who escaped back to their newsrooms soon found local gangsters knocking on their doors.
But Leo was no longer the man he used to be. Reporters had also grown more cunning, devising ever more sophisticated tricks in pursuit of headlines. Still, Leo now wielded immense sway in the press. Among the dailies, there was Le Monde, the newspaper every tycoon and politician subscribed to, and the tabloid bestseller The New Daily, adored by ordinary citizens.
So even when daring freelancers brought back photos and stories, the smaller papers dared not print them lightly, and the larger papers were even more cautious. After all, the goal of a newspaper was profit, not to make enemies—least of all with someone as untouchable as Leo Valentino.
Thus, though he appeared with different companions at public events barely a month after his wedding, this fact remained known only among Philadelphia's high society.
At yet another lavish ball, Leo was introduced by Philadelphia's mayor, Arson Beckett, to many entrepreneurs from the Northeast's heavy industry cities. Several openly said that when American Realty Group issued new shares again, they hoped Mr. Valentino would give them a chance to profit.
Many were venerable American firms. Their enthusiasm for American Realty's stock stemmed entirely from the newly implemented American Real Estate Regulatory Act, which had sent the stock price soaring toward $60 a share. If it broke that barrier, ARG would become the first company since the Great Depression to cross sixty dollars.
After some small talk, Leo politely disengaged from the crowd and followed Mayor Beckett into a private drawing room.
"The land deeds are done," Beckett said with a sigh. "But I took on enormous pressure—what you asked for is practically enough to build an entire town. Forget that—tell me, when will construction begin? How big this time?"
They were speaking of LWI Research Company.
Since the Federal Census Bureau and the Federal Housing Authority had adopted LWI's commercial computers, business had exploded. Later, Leo's outreach to universities only accelerated sales. The true breakthrough came after he joined the American Association for the Advancement of Science: eminent scholars who used LWI's Model 2 free of charge became enthusiastic advocates.
Meanwhile, Wall Street—led by Morgan—had dipped a toe into LWI machines, even if they still relied heavily on IBM for core processing.
Now, orders for the LWI-2 had surged to 800 units. Valentino Sales Company projected that before Christmas 1948, orders would break 1,000.
Although the New Jersey factory was online, producing 100 units a month, it was nowhere near enough. Even European research institutes were calling in; Truman himself had inquired, saying Britain had asked whether deliveries could be prioritized.
The new factory Beckett referred to had become feasible with his team's involvement.
As for funding, Leo didn't need to dip into his own fortune. Thanks to economies of scale, the LWI-2 now sold for $500,000 a unit, with costs reduced to $150,000. Hand-assembling one machine, even with reverse-engineered LWI designs, still cost independents nearly $400,000 in labor and time. Leo, meanwhile, demanded 30% deposits—exactly $150,000—perfectly covering costs. It was effectively zero-cost, high-profit business.
When word spread of a new factory, old Henry Augustus practically leapt to offer loans, eager for any way to wedge himself into LWI. Augustus reportedly fumed at dinner:
"Damn it! Zero-cost business? How are we bankers supposed to make money? And that damned little fox—he gets another ultra-low-interest loan!"
Leo had chuckled at that memory.
"A $50 million loan is already in place," Leo told Beckett. "We'll break ground immediately. And with this much money, I won't build just one factory. I'll build an entire campus."
"A campus?" Beckett asked.
"Yes—a hub like Chicago's industrial district. A complete ecosystem for computer hardware manufacturing and R&D. I'll place LWI's headquarters here in Philadelphia, near the University of Pennsylvania. We'll also build a headquarters for the American Scientific Association—you've always said top scientists lack a proper conference center.
"In the center, we'll build a factory capable of producing 500 units a month. The rest of the land? We'll lease or sell to others."
Beckett rolled his eyes. "You really can't shake your real estate instincts, can you? But this time it's impossible. I pushed the City Council hard just to get approval under strict guarantees that this land would be for a factory, not property speculation. Change its purpose, and they can stop us."
Leo waved dismissively. "Listen. Thomas Watson has complained repeatedly that building every part except diodes under one roof wastes time. So we'll spin off low-margin, time-consuming components to others. Let more factories sprout in our campus—we'll build the first true computer industry chain."
"An industry chain…" Beckett's eyes lit up. The jobs alone would be a political triumph.
He still worried. "But does it really need so much funding? Isn't $50 million too heavy?"
Leo shook his head. "Managing a city, you're better than me. Making money, I'm better than you. By year's end, orders will bring in $500 million. After costs, $400 million in pure profit. Fifty million will come back in no time."
Beckett frowned. "But have you considered that our customer base may already be saturated? Even Europe is poor; they'll order maybe 500 units. Do we really need such a giant factory?"
"That's why I'll prioritize R&D," Leo replied. "We'll invest $50 million into the LWI-3. It doesn't need new functions. Just: smaller size, lower failure rate, cost under $100,000."
In truth, he planned to invest $100 million, aiming for costs under $50,000 and machines compact enough to fit in a bathroom—or a shipping container.
Soon, construction of the LWI headquarters began fifteen kilometers outside Philadelphia's old town, with a six-month deadline.
On his drive back to the city, Walter reported:
"Sir, Sidney called. He's arrived in Philadelphia with all of Tishman's stock transaction files."
Leo nodded. "Tishman has only 30% floating shares, yet he secretly secured 23%. Sidney's got talent. Are we negotiating today?"
"Not today," Walter said. "Our last offer rattled them. They're holding a board meeting."
Leo raised his brows. Tishman still held prime assets in the old industrial Northeast. Even at $400 million value, Leo's last offer—$250 million—had almost tempted them. That alone showed how chaotic they'd become.
"Walter, tell Sidney to meet us right at Tishman's front door. Since ARG is now its largest shareholder, I'll launch a hostile takeover. This game ends now."
Inside Tishman's boardroom, chaos reigned.
"We should accept! Compared to our original investment, we've already profited greatly. If we don't sell now, once the American Real Estate Act fully hits us, even $250 million will vanish."
"That's nonsense," another shouted. "The company is still worth $400 million! We've been retreating constantly—maybe Valentino's plan is to pressure us into selling cheap!"
The board turned to Alfonso Goodman, the Chicago consortium's man sent to clean up the mess. He rubbed his temples, torn.
The doors swung open. Leo entered with Walter, Sidney, and legal adviser Tucson.
Goodman scowled. "Mr. Valentino, you're not authorized here. This is a board meeting."
"Correct, you have no right!" barked Byles Coco.
Leo's voice cut through the room. "On the contrary. American Realty is now Tishman's largest shareholder. I have every right."
Gasps filled the room. Documents circulated—Sidney's covert acquisitions had reached 23%. Goodman's face tightened. He knew what that meant: a forced takeover.
Leo's tone was ice. "Gentlemen, whether you agree or not, ARG will proceed with a compulsory acquisition. Offer: $120 million."
And with that, he strode out.
A week later, Tucson and Sidney arrived at Leo's Philadelphia estate.
"It's done," they reported. "Tishman is yours."
"How much?" Leo asked, setting aside the abstract painting he had been working on with Marlene.
"Twenty-three percent in the market cost $18 million. The rest, $92.4 million. Total, $110.4 million. Versus the $150 million valuation, we saved $39.6 million. Compared to your earlier $250 million bid, we saved $139.6 million."
Leo's mood brightened. His long-time rival had finally fallen. He tore out a check, writing $5 million.
"Besides your agreed $5 million, here's another $5 million as a reward."
Sidney smiled but declined. "Mr. Valentino, I'd prefer something else. If LWI Research ever goes public, please let Goldman handle the underwriting. My fee will still be one dollar—you may reward us as you see fit."
Leo chuckled. "So you've set your sights on LWI. Unfortunately, I won't take it public until the new factory is built."
Sidney pressed. "But now is the perfect window—ample orders, strong market sentiment. Next year might be too late."
"You needn't persuade me. But since you don't want the $5 million, I'll give you another job: arrange a stock swap between American Realty and Altria Group."
Sidney froze. What? Altria already capitulated? When did that happen?