After Jay and Mortimer came down, the atmosphere in the cabin grew tense.
Jay walked to the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses of champagne, and set them before Leo.
"Mr. Valentino, please forgive my brother's rude words.
Perhaps you don't fully understand the strength of our investment bank.
Allow me to introduce you to Brown Brothers Harriman & Co.
Our firm was founded in 1818.
The reason you may not know us is that our focus has always been international trade.
But that doesn't mean we lack experience in stock financing.
Since entering the 20th century, we have successfully taken more than thirty European companies public on the New York Stock Exchange.
The most famous among them is the one under your European sphere of influence during the Marshall Plan—Royal Dutch Shell Oil Company."
Jay spoke humbly, his tone smooth and pleasant to the ear.
Leo lifted the champagne, sipped lightly, and said,
"The real estate in Holland is my territory. The rest isn't."
Leo already saw through it—the father and sons were testing him.
Just now they'd tried the hard approach, now they softened their stance.
But Leo was far too shrewd to fall for either. He would make sure they knew: he yields to neither pressure nor flattery.
His words carried hidden barbs.
William and Jay exchanged a glance—they understood. Unless they put something real on the table, there would be no negotiation.
William smiled warmly and said,
"If American Realty's stock financing this time is entrusted to our firm, then Holland can become the territory of the Valentino family."
Leo curled his lip.
The price was far too high—it was obviously a fantasy offer.
Just Shell Oil alone brought Brown Brothers Harriman profits enough to outweigh any proceeds from this stock offering.
Did they think he was a fool who'd trade gold for copper? Clearly not.
And since he hadn't yet uncovered their true intentions in approaching him, Leo would never agree.
Seeing Leo wasn't biting, the two tried harder to lure him in.
But no matter how many tricks they played, Leo deflected with vague answers, never giving them a clear response.
This meaningless exchange dragged on until the yacht returned to port.
The father and sons watched Leo's car disappear into the distance and sighed heavily.
"Completely unlike a young man," William muttered.
"Slippery as an eel," Jay added.
"Shall we continue, Father?
If we humble ourselves like this, the Harriman family will be mocked in the circles," David said bitterly.
William turned cold.
"Our family has gone through too much, and you still cling to so-called honor and face?
Ever since we bet wrong—supporting the Soviets and Hitler—the name Harriman has no longer been our shield.
Its final protection lies only in ensuring no one dares to fully settle scores with us, the losers.
Both of you have already changed your surnames. Stop caring so much about this name.
As for 'the circle'—don't be enslaved by it.
Do you remember how your grandfather's generation toppled the founding families of this nation?
Because those old families clung too tightly to their so-called circle.
Jefferson—what a glorious name. And now? Its influence barely extends beyond Virginia.
By the way, Jay, about renaming Brown Brothers Harriman—have the shareholders agreed?"
Jay answered,
"What is there to oppose? Our family has already become the burden of the bank.
But they object to replacing Harriman with Mortimer."
William sneered.
"How dare they object? Was it only our idea to back those regimes?
Do they think Shell Oil alone could sustain unlimited supply?
American and Middle Eastern crude oil—did they really not know the truth?"
David, the eldest, bristled with anger. But William ignored him, turning to Jay:
"Their objection is natural. Being at the top means enjoying more wealth, but also shouldering greater consequences.
That is why many want to cast us out.
So I must prove to the shareholders we can still lead them to profit.
And Leo's American Realty is our chance to prove ourselves."
"Even if we help distribute their stock, the profit isn't much.
Will the shareholders really accept it?" Jay asked.
Deep down, he still resented lowering themselves before a small-town upstart. Leo's aloofness only fueled his frustration.
"No, no, no—you mistake it. Approaching him is not about money," William said, his voice meaningful.
"Then what else?" David snapped, still convinced their cooperation was a gift Leo ought to treasure.
William's gaze grew distant as he spoke,
"Your grandfather was just a poor boy. Many mocked him, saying he rose only by marrying your grandmother.
But we know the truth.
When he joined your maternal grandfather's company, the New York Railroad was drowning in debt, on the verge of bankruptcy.
If it had failed, your grandmother might have ended up a street prostitute to pay off debts.
It was your grandfather—through brilliance, courage, and sharp vision—who led the company's revival,
becoming one of the central figures of that age of tycoon ascendance.
Later, when the giants clashed, your grandfather wisely avoided fighting Morgan.
Instead, he chose to join the Morgan camp—securing the foundation of our family's wealth to this very day.
Because of that experience, he always taught me: invest not in companies, but in the men who shape eras.
I invested in Stalin. I invested in Hitler. My judgment was not wrong—only luck abandoned me."
"You're putting Leo on too high a pedestal. He's just a lucky fellow," Jay sneered, bitter at his father's admiration for the young man.
William shook his head firmly.
"No, no. A small-town boy who built a company worth 6.5 billion dollars in three years, who even shaped the presidential election, turning the impossible into possible—this is not mere luck.
And I am not alone in this belief. Many who folded in the last great gamble have studied him and agree.
Look at the industries he has built: a man with clear goals, sharp mind, and the golden touch.
Others may choose to wait and see.
But I hunger to return to the table. That is why I will invest early.
If I succeed, the others will follow—and we shall create a new Morgan dynasty!
By then, when we add 'Mortimer' before Brown Brothers, no one will dare object."
Jay and David exchanged a look.
To them, their father sounded half-mad, still scarred from past failures.
How could Leo, famed only for real estate, possibly become another Morgan?
But out of filial respect, they didn't argue further.
A week later, when William returned to the Valentino estate in New York, the ones at his side were no longer Jay and David, but his eldest grandson—Wallace Mortimer.
When Leo saw the pair—a weathered old man and a fresh young boy—he asked in surprise,
"William, what's this?"
"Leo, this is my grandson, Wallace Mortimer.
As the family's future, I've raised him at my side for years, teaching him myself.
I once thought no one in America could be a better teacher than me.
But after repeated failures, I realized if he learns only from me, he may repeat my mistakes.
I struggled long with who could guide him—until I met you.
And I knew, there is no one more suitable."
William spoke with rare sincerity.
"Ha! William, I'm busy. I don't have time to be anyone's private tutor," Leo mocked.
"Don't you want to hear what salary I offer?" William smiled knowingly.
Leo arched a brow. "Oh? Let's hear it."
"My payment is this: the Mortimer family will bind itself completely to the Valentino family."
William pointed at his grandson, solemnly.
Leo studied him deeply, then looked at Wallace's curious young eyes.
Inwardly, he sighed—this old man really was playing big.
After their last meeting, Leo had investigated the Harriman family.
He had suspected William's intent but hadn't been certain.
Today's act confirmed it: William was like a modern-day Lü Buwei, seeking to invest in Leo Valentino himself.
In Europe, there was no master-disciple tradition as in the East.
But there was the practice of sending hostages to cement alliances.
That was William's true meaning—placing his heir under Leo's wing, to prove his family's sincerity and determination.
Had Leo been unmarried, William would surely have offered a granddaughter for marriage instead.
Such complete surrender—if Leo rejected it, the story would spread, and his reputation would suffer.
And as one great man had taught Leo: to build an empire, make more friends, fewer enemies.
Even if the Mortimers brought limited value, so long as there was something to gain, Leo would accept.
"Wallace looks like he's still in high school. If he stays with me, won't it delay his university?" Leo asked.
William's heart leapt—this was agreement.
"Not at all. I graduated Yale, as did his father and uncle.
For a family like ours, even an illiterate heir can still enter Yale.
Besides, my grandson is gifted—he's already finished all pre-university courses."
Leo nodded, then told his new disciple,
"Wallace, go explore the estate. I need to speak privately with your grandfather."
When the boy left, Leo said to William,
"William, I value reputation too. Sidney has done nothing wrong—I will not replace Goldman Sachs.
So no matter your sincerity, American Realty's business cannot go to Brown Brothers Harriman."
William's heart sank. Was this a public humiliation?
"But," Leo added, "I have a new business, one perfectly suited for a firm that specializes in bringing international companies to the NYSE."
William's brows furrowed. "What business?"
"My newspapers," Leo said simply.
"Of course I know them. In this election, your World Journal and New Journal were brilliant.
I've also heard rumors of merging them into a media group.
But forgive me, Leo—though their sales are impressive, asking Brown Brothers Harriman to take such a group public seems like using a sledgehammer to crack a nut."
In truth, William was already looking for an excuse to leave.
To him, this young man had revealed a fatal flaw: arrogance.
Leo saw his displeasure and smiled.
"I don't make empty boasts. If I dare call it a Media Group, I dare entrust it to your bank.
I assure you, its IPO will be no weaker than American Realty—
and in my view, its future will far surpass it."
But William only felt Leo was painting fantasies—just as William himself once had with Shell.
"Enough talk," Leo said. "I'll show you. Walter, fetch Augustus—we'll need his private jet."
"Jet? Where are we going?" William asked.
"To Britain."
London's skies were as gray as ever.
The chill bit deeper than snowy New York.
Their car pulled directly into Fleet Street—the heart of Britain's press.
Stopping before the tallest old building, William noticed the bustling crowd of journalists at its doors, a stark contrast to the desolate neighboring offices.
A new sign hung proudly: The Sun.
"This is yours too?" William asked.
Leo nodded, gesturing to Lucas, who awaited them.
"Introduce Mr. Harriman to the Sun."
Inside, the phones rang nonstop. Reporters dashed about.
On the wall, a massive world map commanded attention.
Lucas pointed to it:
"Mr. Harriman, though newly established, last quarter we became the top-selling paper in Britain.
The Sun is not merely British—it is a Commonwealth-wide paper.
In September we opened offices in Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Hong Kong, and India.
In just months, sales have already reached top positions in each region.
Based on our proven models in the U.S. and U.K., our editors predict that by the first quarter this year, we'll be number one in every country."
William grabbed a copy from a nearby desk, flipping through.
Bold headlines, scandalous photos, and—most striking—the Page Three girls.
"You understand what this means, William," Leo said smoothly.
William knew all too well.
The New Journal had propelled Truman's election.
If The Sun dominated the Commonwealth, Leo would wield power over governments across the empire.
He had underestimated Leo—everyone had.
They thought his empire was real estate.
But here, quietly, he had built something even more terrifying.
"Don't be shocked yet, William. There's more."
Behind the map was another—Europe.
Colored pins dotted the nations: white, black, green.
"White is shares, black is acquisitions in progress, green is acquisitions complete," Lucas explained.
William's breath caught.
France, Germany, Belgium, Luxembourg, Switzerland, Spain—all were already green.
"And in these countries, you'll use the same model?" William asked.
"Of course," Leo nodded.
William clenched his fists.
He knew—these nations, focused on rebuilding, ignored the tabloid press.
Leo's model would hit them like a dimensional strike.
With control of public thought, Leo would control Europe's very discourse.
"How about it, William?" Leo asked, his confidence radiating.
"Doesn't an international media empire like this deserve Brown Brothers Harriman to lead its IPO?"