After reading the data, Sam frowned in confusion.
"These poor folks signing up for a card just to save a tiny bit of money, or for two free deliveries—I can understand that.
But what about the rich? Especially those Wall Street bankers. Every one of them owns a villa, and they never set foot in a retail store themselves. What do they get out of it?"
There was suspicion in his eyes. He half-believed Leo must have pulled strings to help his brother cheat the competition.
Leo smiled faintly. "It's not what you think, Sam. You know very well how expensive my favors are—I wouldn't waste them on something like this.
Actually, the Diamond Members fall into two main categories. Let's take Wall Street as an example. The vast financial circle is divided into hereditary bankers and the new generation of self-made bankers.
As you said, those hereditary bankers probably never set foot in a retail store in their lives.
Who does the shopping? Their servants. And those servants have often been with their wealthy employers for decades. Outwardly, they're in service, but in reality, they themselves are far from poor—wealthier than most ordinary families.
They are the real Diamond Members. For example, if their employer gives them $10,000 a month to purchase household supplies, with this 15% discount card, they can save $1,500 each month. That's not a small sum.
The $30,000 deposit isn't lost either—it's spendable. And each time they shop, they save again. Why wouldn't they take it?"
He leaned back, his tone casual but sharp.
"As for the new generation of bankers, they also don't go shopping themselves. But as first-generation entrepreneurs—and with wives who struggled alongside them—they know well how hard life can be.
In this era, a good wife is one who can manage a household. Men even boast about it in social circles—it becomes a point of pride.
So their wives, too, are strong supporters of the Diamond Card.
I used Wall Street as an example, but it's the same across every industry."
Sam nodded slowly, admiration dawning in his eyes. No wonder he's a billionaire, he thought.
Not wanting to waste such a rare opportunity to learn, Sam quickly raised another question.
"What about the Gold Members? Are they the same as Diamond Members?"
Leo nodded, then shook his head.
"In terms of boasting that their wives are excellent household managers, yes, Gold and Diamond Members are similar. But Diamond Members usually don't care about saving such small amounts of money.
For Gold and Silver Members, who are more often salaried workers, saving money matters.
And there's another key reason—human nature. People crave to show off a sense of superiority.
Bronze and Black Iron Members offer this function too, but for people living on the edge of hunger, pride is a luxury. Filling their stomachs matters more. That's why they focus on discounts above all else."
Leo's words left the room silent.
Not just Sam—even Thomas Watson, the CEO of IBM who had come to see whether computers could prove useful, was left gaping in astonishment.
None of them had imagined that a simple tiered membership system could conceal so many layers of calculation.
The look they turned on Leo shifted from admiration to awe.
To so precisely seize upon the weaknesses of human nature… this man is terrifying. No wonder he became a billionaire.
Sam abandoned all thought of returning to his hometown to start a business. Compared to Leo's schemes, his minor skill in cost management was laughable. Against this kind of opponent, he'd have no chance at survival.
Among them, the sharpest business mind aside from Leo was Thomas Watson. After recovering from his initial shock, he said calmly:
"This move is brilliant, no doubt. But it's also very easy to imitate. Your rivals might not understand the core logic, but copying the surface is simple."
His words instantly darkened Walker's expression. A moment earlier, he had been brimming with confidence, ready to expand. But now—if giants like Macy's and Sears copied the system, his advantage would vanish overnight.
All eyes turned to Leo again—not out of curiosity, but out of quiet certainty. They all believed he would have an answer.
And indeed, Leo replied with ease:
"In business, being copied is normal. The key is to do it better than they do.
Besides, our true winning edge isn't just the model—it's that machine right there in the room.
The membership system is a clever tactic, yes. But in retail, cost control is the true battlefield.
I've often urged you all to read that ancient military classic from the East, written two thousand years ago. The most important lesson in it is this:
'In war, use the orthodox to engage, the unorthodox to triumph.'
As long as you don't lose on the main battlefield, you never need to worry about your tricks being copied."
He clapped Walker on the shoulder.
"With your foundation secure, the rest is nothing to fear."
Armed with the experience of a future era, Leo now had the confidence that after three years of struggle, he finally possessed the ability to protect his wealth. He could fight boldly, leveraging his knowledge of the future to its fullest.
"I understand, boss," Walker said firmly. "I'm already using customer money to make more money. I won't be defeated again!"
That first great wave of New Year shopping had established Valentino City Retail's reputation across New York State.
Walker, full of drive, accelerated store expansion. Sam, too, was satisfied, as the computer's role in managing the small-town grocery was enormous.
Small-town tastes were often uniform. By accurately predicting which products residents liked, Sam could buy and sell in bulk, driving up revenue.
The only drawback—most small-town residents registered only as Black Iron Members. His plan to fund new stores through customer deposits had fallen flat.
Still, the true heart of the retail empire lay with Harley.
Leo injected $30 million directly into Harley's hands, founding the W Supply Chain Company.
The key to supply chains is warehousing. For most, finding and securing the right storage sites would be costly.
But Leo used his Valentino Real Estate network to easily secure prime warehouse locations for Harley.
The retail business was off to a flying start. But Leo warned the three men they had to move quickly—such a large operation would inevitably attract competitors.
At dawn, Leo awoke with Yelena and Marina in his arms. Slipping free of their smooth skin, he washed up and stepped into Walter's waiting car.
"Boss, when is Noodles coming back?" Walter asked. Lately he had resumed work as a driver, but watching all his brothers gain their own ventures left him restless.
Leo shot him a glance. "Soon. Don't worry—you'll have things to do."
Walter nodded. "Alright, boss. So where are we going today?"
"Chelsea Pier. I'll show you what a real tycoon looks like."
In recent weeks, aside from supporting retail and research ventures, Leo had also met with many "friends" he rarely interacted with. Today was one such meeting.
Chelsea Pier bustled with activity. But under Leo's direction, Walter turned off the cargo-clogged main road and onto a smaller lane marked by a wooden sign.
Though labeled a "small road," it was wide enough for two cars to pass. The asphalt was smoother than the main artery, but no vehicles dared to enter.
The wooden sign at the entrance read: Private Property.
Dock workers knew well—this road led to another pier. But instead of freighters, it housed the luxury yachts of the wealthy.
The entire two square miles from the yacht pier to the road entrance belonged to the Vanderbilt family.
Vanderbilt.
In New York, where every inch of waterfront land was gold, only the descendants of 18th-century tycoons could afford to keep such vast land green and undeveloped.
But today, Leo wasn't here to see the Vanderbilts.
He was here for another old family of the same era—the Harrimans.
As the car sped along, trees whipping by, Leo recalled the dossier in his mind.
Truth be told, the name Harriman didn't resonate with him like Rockefeller, Morgan, or Vanderbilt.
This file had come from Hoover, discreetly passed along.
The founder was Edward Henry Harriman.
By modern terms, a "phoenix man." At thirty-three, he married the daughter of the New York Railway Company's owner. At the time, the company was near bankruptcy—but Harriman revived it, restoring it to power.
His railroads soon stretched across America, making him the undisputed Railroad King.
But even kings have rivals. When Morgan set his sights on rail, Harriman shrewdly sold off some shares, joining the Morgan camp instead.
In exchange, J.P. Morgan opened the doors of Wall Street's financial circle to him.
Today, the renowned Brown Brothers Harriman investment bank was the family's legacy. They were among the few non-Jewish banking families able to contend on equal footing.
Leo agreed to meet for two reasons. One was Augustus's request—though Augustus himself admitted, "I'm just asking for face; go if you want, skip it if you don't."
The real reason was Secretary of State Marshall.
Marshall, that truly brilliant man, rarely asked favors. But this time, he told Leo plainly: "An important participant in the European Recovery Plan—our ally—wants to meet you."
If Marshall asked, Leo had to go.
Because while finance wasn't the Harriman family's ultimate focus, politics was.
Edward's second son had held great sway, serving as Ambassador to the Soviet Union during WWII—an immensely important post.
And his eldest son—the man Leo was meeting today—was William Averell Harriman.
He had served as Ambassador to the Soviet Union, Ambassador to Britain, and most recently as U.S. Secretary of Commerce, resigning just last year.
His resignation had long been expected. After all, a Commerce Secretary serving corporate giants could hardly get along with Truman's fairness-driven administration.
The Vanderbilt pier was a marvel. To Leo's farsighted eyes, it was a future paradise for antique yacht collectors.
He saw a dozen classic wooden yachts built by Riva, each 20–30 feet, meant for the Hudson River or nearshore sailing. Behind them were fishing boxes and rods, with luxurious seats designed for old money fishing trips.
He also spotted yachts by Chris-Craft—already showing similarities to modern styles. Each had a flying bridge, an upper-deck helm and leisure area.
This was the place where, in the future, many pretty young women would serve drinks and laughter under the open sky.
As Leo's car halted, attendants hurried to open his door and lead him toward the largest yacht.
At the gangway, the hosts were waiting.
It wasn't Leo's first time meeting William Harriman—they had crossed paths many times in Marshall's company. But today was the first time he felt Harriman's warmth.
"Leo, allow me to introduce my family. This is my eldest son, David Mortimer, and my younger son, Jay Mortimer."
The surname caught Leo's attention. Harriman's sons bore the name Mortimer.
He dismissed the possibility of a powerful maternal lineage—there was no notable Mortimer family in America's elite.
The only explanation: the Harrimans, wary of their own prominence, had deliberately changed the surname of descendants to deflect attention.
Leo had once thought only Eastern families did such things. But he had since learned that in America's political arena, name changes were common. Unlike business dynasties, political families valued survival over tradition.
They boarded the flying bridge. Jay took the helm, steering the yacht smoothly out to sea. Aside from the chef and Walter, only the four of them were present. Clearly, this was a serious conversation.
But Leo wasn't worried. No single family could strong-arm him anymore. And the Harriman sons didn't act like spoiled playboys. Both men, in their mid-thirties, were calm and restrained, never speaking while their father did not.
They were professionals.
The yacht glided into the frigid January Atlantic. After a brief moment on deck, they retreated to the cabin, warming their hands on steaming cocoa.
When the mood had settled, William finally spoke his purpose.
"Leo, I hear American Real Estate plans to issue ten million more shares. Would Brown Brothers Harriman have the honor of underwriting the deal?"
Leo shook his head. "We're working well with Goldman Sachs. No reason to change."
"Ha! Leo, we can do better than that janitor boy," William's eldest, David, interjected arrogantly.
Leo's brow furrowed. He knew it was father-son playacting, but the condescension in David's tone annoyed him.
William caught it instantly. Leo's lack of response was all the signal he needed.
He snapped at his son. "How many times have I told you? Respect your opponents. In this, you're far inferior to your brother Jay. Go take the helm."
David, sullen, went up to the bridge.
Jay turned his head as his brother approached. "Looks like Father's first move didn't work. Leo and Sidney aren't at odds after all."
David shrugged, the arrogance from below gone. "Yeah. He even forced me to act like some Vanderbilt brat. I tried, but it fell flat.
Be careful. Don't underestimate Leo just because he's young and successful."
"I'm only a year younger than you," Jay said dryly. "And no—I'm not foolish enough to underestimate a self-made billionaire."