A price war is the nuclear weapon of business competition.
Once unleashed, all other conventional tactics become nothing more than clouds before the sun.
In this price war's fiercest battlefield—New York—residents were overjoyed.
Yet the happier the people, the greater the pressure on the two commanders.
"Walker, should we keep going?
The credit manager from Bank of America says our loans have already hit the red line.
If we want more, Chairman Correa has to convene a full board meeting.
What should we do?"
Valentino City Retail's CFO looked anxiously at Walker.
Walker immediately grasped the implication behind the credit manager's words: even with Chairman Correa's backing, the bank had reached its lending cap for them.
He wasn't burning through money just for discounts and promotions—it was also to expand aggressively.
Leo needed cash flow not to fund stores directly, but as a safeguard, ensuring that if loans couldn't be repaid, the company would still stand.
After all, the most basic quality of a capitalist is knowing how to make money with other people's money.
To ride the wave of publicity, Valentino City Retail had burned through fifty million in a short span.
Now it had six hundred branches across the Eastern and Southern United States, with outlets in the Midwest's major cities as well.
With media exposure skyrocketing, even Valentino Town Retail gained attention.
Many townsfolk were shocked to find such a trendy store in their remote communities.
In this era, when most Americans still lived in small towns, Valentino Town perfectly catered to young people's vanity.
They would rather shop at Valentino Town than at century-old local stores—because it gave them face.
Valentino Town had also invested heavily, though not as extravagantly as its big-city sibling.
With only twenty million, it achieved the same impact that cost City Retail forty million.
In truth, City Retail's direct spending on the price war itself was only about ten million.
Walker raised his head and reassured the executive:
"Don't panic. Plenty of banks are eager to lend to us."
He opened a drawer, pulled out a thick stack of business cards Leo had given him, dialed one belonging to a Kennedy-controlled Boston bank—and secured another ten million with ease.
Watching this, the CFO voiced his concern:
"Shouldn't we report this to Mr. Valentino?"
Walker glanced at him and replied:
"No need. The boss said I'm only to contact him if we exceed a hundred million."
Hearing him call Leo the boss instead of "Mr. Valentino" made the CFO's eyes flash with respect.
"Wow… a hundred million. Mr. Valentino truly plays on a grand scale."
Walker smiled faintly.
"It's not just expansion. Our supply chain and cost controls save us plenty.
For every ten million we spend, Sears has to burn twenty.
If we really invest a hundred million, Sears will be drained dry.
At that point, we'll easily sever their supply chain.
And those are Leo's own words.
The real headache isn't ours—it's our opponent's. They should be out of borrowing options by now."
Walker was right.
His rival, Claude of Sears, once again marched into the New York Governor's mansion.
The maids, practiced by his frequent visits, quickly served him his favorite Blue Mountain coffee.
But this time, barely had the door closed when Governor Dewey's furious roar rang out:
"What! Thirty million already gone?!"
Claude endured the outburst and nodded bitterly.
"Yes, sir. I underestimated that tycoon. He's too reckless—breaking every business rule, expanding and waging a price war simultaneously.
I've calculated it: their losses are at least double mine."
Speaking of it only deepened Claude's misery. He felt wronged, convinced Leo was merely a lucky upstart who had stumbled upon a fortune.
Otherwise, how could anyone in America's hundred-year history of commerce be so foolish—throwing away money to win?
Yet his words made Dewey pause.
Though a politician, Dewey still oversaw family business affairs and knew basic commercial logic.
He too could not fully understand Leo's massive outlays.
But unlike Claude, he had met Leo.
At first glance, Leo looked like some young pretty boy.
But once he spoke, he exuded the seasoned aura of both politician and businessman.
Would such a man act rashly?
Dewey didn't think so. Still, no matter how he turned it over, he couldn't see the logic behind Leo's strategy.
"Are you sure Leo's operating costs are higher than yours?" Dewey asked.
"Impossible. Absolutely impossible. Sears' supply chain and cost controls are far more mature.
Our costs are definitely lower. Even excluding their expansion costs, our operations are half as expensive as theirs."
Claude pounded his chest in conviction, but Dewey felt no relief.
Frankly, he was already regretting his choice. He had burned thirty million in favors, and though his family wouldn't bear the financial loss, the damage to his credibility hurt deeply.
After frantic calls, Dewey scraped together another twenty million. He sighed and told Claude:
"This is our last support. If you lose, be ready to feed the fish in the Atlantic."
Claude staggered back to the company, weighed down by the threat. He knew Dewey wasn't joking.
Just then, his deputy Hutton appeared, face alight.
"Sir, good news! A supplier says they can provide services at half our current costs."
Claude snapped:
"Are you crazy, Hutton? There are no reliable supply companies like that. They must be frauds.
And no retail giant hands over its supply chain lifeline to outsiders."
"But what if they say, 'deliver first, pay later'?" Hutton insisted.
Claude cursed.
"Nonsense! I lived through the era of swindlers. That's child's play. What's wrong with you lately, suggesting such things?"
Hutton gave an awkward smile.
"Sir, what if I told you—they've already been supplying us for a month?
And saved us one-third in costs."
Claude froze, then shot to his feet.
As a retail magnate, he knew exactly what saving a third in costs meant—especially when drowning in crisis.
"A third? Truly?"
Hutton handed over a stack of data. After reading, Claude's eyes lit up.
"Cooperate—we must cooperate! What's the company's name?"
Hutton grinned.
"W Supply Chain."
At the name, Claude's face twisted. That letter "W" made him think instantly of the man he hated most.
The price war raged fiercer still.
New Yorkers were ecstatic—products practically free!
But as Valentino finished its Eastern and Southern layout, the burn rate soared further.
Where two million once lasted months, Claude now couldn't last a single month—even after outsourcing supply and saving a third.
Trouble compounded misery. Just as Claude floundered, Governor Dewey called with worse news: the court case could not be delayed.
When the money finally ran out, Claude had no choice but to halt the price war.
He was in despair—he felt himself drawing ever closer to the Atlantic's fish.
Claude tried to dig holes for escape, reaching out repeatedly to Leo.
But Leo was determined: to establish absolute dominance in retail, Sears had to be slain like a sacrificial chicken.
In his Westchester mansion, Leo held a final meeting on retail strategy.
Participants included Walker Walton, CEO of Valentino City Retail, and New York mafia boss Clemenza.
Business competition, after all, must ultimately root itself in the streets.
"Clemenza, have you located the target warehouses?"
The mobster answered confidently:
"Mr. Valentino, the moment you ordered it, I secured Sears' supply warehouses."
Leo nodded with satisfaction.
"Good. Proceed as planned. And you, Walker?"
Walker grinned.
"Boss, when have I ever let you down?
Sears' executives have been infiltrated thoroughly. Just give the order, and we'll dismantle their management from within.
But I have one question—public opinion is so favorable. Why not keep expanding further?"
Leo shot him a deep look.
"You must eat only what your stomach can hold.
Right now, every hundred new stores multiplies costs geometrically.
Even if we aim to spread nationwide, do you have enough managers to run them?"
Walker suddenly understood and bowed his head in obedience.
The next morning, as Claude stepped into his office, he found Hutton already waiting, pale-faced.
Claude's heart sank.
"What's happened, Hutton?"
"Bad news, sir. To avoid being fully shackled by W Supply Chain, we had set aside several warehouses.
Last night, they burned down. Losses—at least ten million."
"What! What good are those gangsters? All the protection money we paid to the Irish mob—wasted!"
Hutton explained bitterly:
"Sir, you may not realize. Since Mr. Valentino unified the Italians, the mafia landscape in New York has changed.
Clemenza has driven the Irish almost completely out.
In truth, our protection fees expired long ago."
Claude's heart sank completely. Tomorrow was the court date.
"What can I do to survive, Hutton? Tell me."
Hutton answered solemnly:
"Sir, you only have one choice left—risk everything."
"How? I've borrowed every cent I can. Dewey has exhausted his influence."
Claude was desperate.
"You still have shares to pledge," Hutton said with a hint of persuasion.
"But all the banks have already taken them!" Claude cried.
"There are… illegal options, sir. Loan sharks.
If you're doomed anyway, why not gamble to the end?"
Claude muttered to himself, slipping into a daze:
"If I must die, I may as well fight."
Lost in his thoughts, he never noticed the satisfied smile on Hutton's face as he quietly withdrew.
At a remote Valentino City Retail store near the New Jersey border, lights blazed late into the night.
Through the window, two men in suits raised their glasses in celebration.
"Hutton, trust me—you've made the smartest choice of your life.
I've spoken with Mr. Valentino, just as I told you before: Valentino City Retail can have two CEOs.
I'll handle the East and South; you'll take the Midwest and West.
Your commission will come directly from your performance.
You brought Sears to its peak—I believe, under your lead, Valentino will dominate the Midwest too."
So spoke Walker Walton.
Hutton had served Sears for over twenty years, his loyalty as deep as Claude's.
But once Walker and Harley showed him W Supply Chain and Valentino's data center, he knew he was defeated.
Fortunately, Leo valued his talent.
His only way out was to drive Claude to ruin—destroy Sears completely.
Yet man is not made of stone.
With a choked voice, Hutton asked:
"Claude… truly can't survive?"
Walker shook his head.
"No. To conserve the costs of this retail war, Claude—the sacrificial chicken—must die."