"Criminal! He's a criminal!"
Claude had just borrowed a loan from the mob, intending to keep the price war alive—
only to see the New Times publish the news of Sears' warehouse fire.
The impact was immediate: Sears' stock price nosedived.
The freshly borrowed money wasn't enough to cover the loss.
Claude knew very well—such a plunge would inevitably trigger a massive sell-off.
The question now was: should he use the loan to prop up the stock,
or to continue the price war?
In truth, there was no real choice.
The only option was to keep fighting Leo.
If he won, the stock would rise again.
If he lost, both the stock and the company would be worthless to him anyway.
In the Governor's office, Dewey's secretary was tidying up papers while Dewey himself spoke on the phone, his tone filled with anger:
"Jefferson, you can't do this. We had an agreement.
If you break your word again, we'll never cooperate with you in the future."
Dewey, representing the victorious Civil War aristocratic clans, was issuing a credit threat.
Jefferson's deep voice came back:
"What do you want from us?"
"It's simple," Dewey snapped.
"Provide Sears with more money.
Block tomorrow's court hearing.
You've always claimed you had hidden strength—now's the time to prove it!
If Leo takes Sears, along with Macy's that he already acquired, he'll have another company worth over half a billion in his hands."
Jefferson hesitated, then relented.
"We've already tried with the court. We'll think of another way.
As for the money—I'll contact some banks."
Top-tier credibility was at stake, and they indeed didn't want Leo's power to keep growing.
That night, countless calls went out from Jefferson's Virginia estate.
In Washington, those working to block Leo's Housing Act suddenly realized—
while they were still passionately sparring with Truman,
Leo had quietly built another company worth over a hundred million!
Washington's night turned restless.
While his enemies schemed, Leo welcomed the endgame.
Dick swaggered into Leo's office at the Empire State Building, grinning ear to ear:
"Boss, it's all set. We can initiate the hostile takeover."
Leo nodded in satisfaction. Looking out at the sunset and the bustling New York beneath, he said slowly:
"It's done. This retail war should come to an end."
The next morning, red-eyed from staying up all night, Dewey called Claude, his voice trembling with excitement:
"The trial's been postponed—they'll announce it shortly!"
But what answered him was Claude's despair:
"It's too late, Governor Dewey.
Valentino has secretly acquired Sears' stock and launched a hostile takeover."
"Then counterattack! Launch a defensive acquisition! Pull yourself together, Claude.
Or do you really want to feed the fish in the Atlantic?"
Dewey's words held no comfort.
"No, I don't want to die… but I've been betrayed.
The W Supply Chain Company that I told you about—the one that cut our costs so drastically—
it belongs to Valentino.
On top of that, my own warehouses were burned.
By tomorrow, if Sears wants to put goods on the shelves, it depends on Valentino's approval.
And before your call, several banks demanded early repayment with penalties."
Claude's voice broke. He thought of the blood-red paint sprayed on his lawn that morning.
The banks weren't the only ones—loan sharks Hutton had approached were demanding early repayment too.
And Hutton… Claude shut his eyes in pain.
The CEO who had followed him for decades betrayed him.
That very morning, Hutton personally welcomed the CEO of Valentino City Retail into the building.
"Impossible! Which banks?" Dewey asked in disbelief. After all, he had been the one to connect Sears with those lenders.
"Chase Manhattan and the banks it leads."
Claude's voice grew emptier, because he knew—even Dewey himself had been betrayed.
Dewey fell silent for a long while.
Then came a knock at Claude's office door.
His secretary entered, her face full of pity:
"Sir, the board meeting is ready. Mr. Hutton asks you to attend."
Claude nodded mechanically, his voice flat as he spoke into the phone:
"Governor, I won't need you to send me to the Atlantic."
The board never saw Claude.
Instead, from his eighth-floor office, he leapt to his death.
Dewey did not yet know this.
But when he learned that Chase Manhattan and the other banks had chosen to back Leo,
his spirit collapsed—like a balloon deflated in an instant.
At that moment, the phone on his desk rang.
Jefferson's voice came through:
"The money is ready. Tell Claude to prepare collateral."
Dewey's reply was cold and bitter:
"No need, Jefferson. We're finished.
Because after today, there will be no Sears Retail.
Only Valentino City Retail.
No… I'm wrong. It's not just City Retail.
It's the Valentino Retail Group, worth at least half a billion.
Your hesitation has only allowed your enemy to grow stronger.
We will never cooperate with you again."
And Dewey was not wrong.
When Leo used a mere hundred million to take Sears,
the Valentino Retail Group was born.
It unified three retail arms:
Valentino City Retail (including Sears),
Valentino Town Retail,
Macy's.
All connected through W Supply Chain, forming a seamless retail empire.
Leo's next step was clear: taking the group public.
Even before the announcement spread, countless people—friends and strangers alike—came knocking.
The fastest, of course, was the man who had helped him in the takeover: Jack Rockefeller.
In a coffee shop inside the Empire State Building, Jack greeted Leo:
"Mr. Valentino, you're truly difficult to meet.
Without helping you, I'd never have gotten the chance."
Jack was displeased. After all, he was a Rockefeller.
After Lawrence's meeting with Leo—and his early investment in American Realty secured him the first seat at the table—
the other Rockefeller brothers also sought meetings with Leo.
But Leo brushed them off, citing his busy schedule.
"You know, Jack, I really was busy—with the Sears takeover.
You should understand, I have many enemies.
Success came only because I moved fast—before they could react."
Jack wanted to make a snide remark, but swallowed it.
Leo had grown even stronger.
The Valentino Retail Group—already valued at six hundred million before listing—made Jack's heart itch.
He wanted in.
Leo, seeing his hesitation, asked directly:
"So, Jack—you oversee finance for the Rockefellers.
I don't dabble much in finance.
Which of my businesses caught your eye?"
Leo's bluntness left Jack off balance—he was used to small talk before easing into negotiations.
"Uh…"
Jack wanted to say "all of them," but in the end he stuck to his true goal.
"Leo, name your price. What will it take for you to give up supporting Bank of America?
We've been eyeing them for years. With Giannini nearing death, our plan was finally within reach.
Then you appeared.
At first, no one took you seriously.
But now, you're a problem. A serious problem."
Leo stroked his chin, not naming a price. Instead, he asked:
"Why would my involvement hurt your plans?
I'm from the East Coast too. Why can't I be your ally?
Or do you think I'm not qualified?"
Jack froze. He had prepared countless persuasive arguments, but this question silenced him.
How could Leo not be qualified?
He was one of America's richest billionaires already.
But at the same time, he wasn't a traditional Wall Street player.
Nor was he Jewish like the Rockefeller clan.
That made him an outsider—not one of them.
Yet such words could never be spoken aloud.
Leo, of course, knew all of this. His question was deliberate.
No empire can run without banks—as pipelines, reservoirs, and fueling stations.
That was why Leo would never give up Bank of America.
Jack struggled, then dropped the subject, circling back:
"Leo, just name your price."
But Leo only smiled faintly. He had gotten the answer he wanted—
Wall Street's capital blocs and the Jewish bankers had no intention of bringing him into the fold.
"Jack, it's not that I don't want to name a price.
It's that you can't afford what I want.
You're wealthy, yes—but I'm not short of money. Am I?"
Again, Jack was speechless.
His usual strategy—throwing money to get his way—meant nothing here.
"We have resources," Jack pressed.
"We can help you find more ways to make a fortune."
Leo shook his head.
"I don't lack the vision to find wealth.
You reaching out one after another is proof enough."
"You—!"
Jack's frustration boiled over.
But Leo cut him off, blunt as ever:
"Jack, the truth is, what you want is too valuable.
And you're not offering enough to match it.
Lower your expectations instead.
For instance, I could allow you to invest openly in Bank of America."
That did it. Jack's temper flared.
"Listen, Leo—Bank of America doesn't belong to you yet.
You don't have the right to make that call!
And if you refuse, you'll make an enemy of Wall Street!"
Leo only sneered.
He didn't even look at Jack, calmly sipping his coffee before replying:
"If it doesn't belong to me, why are you here?
As for enemies… heh.
On Wall Street, anyone who wants to profit from me is my friend.
Even you, Jack.
If the Valentino Retail Group sought investors, would you really stay away?"
Jack hesitated. His anger stalled.
"You mean it?"
Leo chuckled.
"Jack, you're a Rockefeller. Why would I refuse?
But let's talk after I've taken Bank of America—when we're no longer enemies."
Without another glance at the stunned Jack, Leo rose and left the café.
Instead of returning to the Empire State Building, Leo slid into Noodles' car and ordered:
"Airport."
Noodles nodded.
The Valentino Retail Group would need shareholders, of course.
But just like American Realty, Leo had no intention of letting titans like the Rockefellers in early.
He preferred local power blocs—especially since his next venture would require exchanging favors.
South Carolina.
There, Leo met Father Cade, newly returned from Europe.
Yes—Leo was about to launch the Valentino Central American International Trading Company.
He didn't linger in South Carolina.
Together with Father Cade, he boarded a plane bound for Honduras.
Why Honduras?
Because at this time, it was one of the few safe countries in Central America.
Tegucigalpa, capital of Honduras.
It was the dry season, the heat oppressive.
Honduras was still a British colony, which explained its relative stability.
At the airport, Governor Charles stood waiting with the National Guard.
Charles was a British baron, descended from a family of colonial governors.
But the truth was, they were fallen nobles—unable to survive in London, they'd been shipped off here.
During Britain's glory days, they could still flaunt imperial power.
But now, as the empire trailed meekly behind America, Charles' life grew worse each year.
Especially as neighboring nations, under U.S. pressure and encouragement, launched endless wars of "self-determination."
To Charles, it felt like living on a volcano about to erupt.
He had already exhausted every connection he had, trying to return to Britain.
But the best he could reach was a member of Parliament.
The ones who truly decided governorships were the royals and peers of the House of Lords—far beyond his grasp.
He had been on the verge of abandoning his title and fleeing to America when the call came.
From none other than Earl Robert of the Westminster family—the true master of that dynasty.
The Earl informed him that a top American tycoon was about to invest in Central America,
building his company headquarters in Honduras.
And that this man was one of Robert's most important business partners.
Charles was ordered to give Mr. Valentino everything he wanted.
So, when Leo descended the plane with Father Cade at his side,
Governor Charles hurried forward, grasped his hand, and said in the humblest tone:
"Honduras welcomes you, Mr. Valentino!"