"So, this place is actually called British Honduras?"
Sitting inside the Governor's mansion—designed with a distinctly Central American style, its windows and doors all thrown wide open—Leo felt no hint of coolness. Instead, the air was stiflingly hot. Listening to Governor Charles' introduction, Leo realized that his understanding of Central America was still woefully insufficient.
To be honest, Leo didn't yet have a clear plan for his company in Central America. This trip was mainly for on-site inspection.
There were two reasons for his haste:
first, to avoid the prying eyes of the many predators in New York targeting his new company;
second, the enthusiastic invitations from his southern allies.
The entourage accompanying him on this trip was nothing short of a luxurious lineup:
Phoenix Willard, chairman of Altria Investments, and his estranged elder brother, Owen Willard, current CEO of Altria Group.
Jay Mortimer and George Bush, shareholders of Brown Brothers Harriman investment bank.
Clea, CEO of Bank of America.
Father Cade, representing the Evangelicals.
Evan, chairman of Norfolk & Railway and also a minor shareholder in American Realty.
"Leo, I don't think there's much to see here. Why don't we visit the Willard family's tobacco plantation in British Honduras? It's not far.
The estate sits by the coast—sunshine, beaches, premium cigars, and passionate Latin beauties."
That suggestion came from Owen Willard, who had been fawning over Leo the entire trip.
As a former major shareholder in American Tobacco, the Willard family had begun building plantations in Central America long before anyone else cast their eyes on the region.
The heir-apparent of Altria spoke with confidence as he described the scenery of their estate—and with good reason. In every Central American country, the Willards maintained similar tobacco estates, built purely for leisure.
But Charles, still introducing British Honduras, panicked when he saw Owen trying to whisk Leo away.
For the Duke of Westminster's orders had been twofold:
first, obey Leo's arrangements;
second, and more importantly—
"Make sure Mr. Valentino stays. I am leaving Britain immediately for British Honduras."
Charles was desperate to meet the nobleman who held his fate in his hands.
And, as if that weren't enough, right after the Earl of Westminster hung up, Charles received another unexpected call—this one from Jim Hacker, assistant to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, a rising star in Parliament. Hacker, too, announced plans to visit British Honduras for an "inspection."
Though Hacker couldn't decide Charles' official future, he controlled Charles' financial lifeline. In the past six months, many of Hacker's friends had set up shell companies in British Honduras. Each company paid Charles only symbolic fees, but with so many being registered, the governor had made a tidy sum.
One man was his future, the other his present source of wealth—Charles couldn't afford to offend either. Worse still, both demanded secrecy regarding their visits.
And now, Charles was beside himself with anxiety, for he truly had no good excuse to make Leo stay.
After all, the Willards' estates were undeniably more luxurious than his shabby governor's residence.
Just as Charles was at a loss, others who didn't want Leo too deeply influenced by the Willards stepped in.
"Leo, why don't we visit a church first? The Pope and I have already reached an agreement concerning Central America—without your help, it wouldn't be possible.
So, why don't we take a look at the results of our joint efforts?"
It was Father Cade who spoke.
Leo showed little interest. To him, religion was merely a tool for controlling the minds of the Central American people.
As for the "heritage" Cade spoke of, Leo had no desire for religious relics housed in churches. He had no intention of grooming his children into cardinals or grand clerics. Religion, to him, was the least important partner in his circle.
But Cade was no fool. He could see Leo's indifference. So, he offered something else—something Leo would care about.
"Aside from religious relics, the churches also keep parish registries.
Under my orders, every bishop in Central America has copied their records and sent them here."
Seeing the curiosity in Leo's eyes, Cade delivered his final strike:
"As far as I know, nearly every plantation in Central America has a chapel. And in those chapels are detailed maps of every parish."
Leo sprang to his feet. This wasn't just a collection of parish registries—this was a population census!
Anyone wishing to make money and establish roots here had to know precisely how many people they controlled.
Glancing at Charles—whose own eyes gleamed with the same realization—everything became clear.
The Governor of British Honduras, despite generations of family presence, knew less about his people than the Church did.
It wasn't entirely his fault. True, the Charles family wasn't particularly capable, but they still outperformed the local natives. The real issue was that his authority didn't extend into areas dominated by entrenched enterprises—old British lumber firms, or America's giant fruit, tobacco, sugar, and metallurgical companies.
If the governor was the emperor, these companies were like high-ranking mandarins. The laborers under their patronage were never recorded in the "imperial" population registers.
And the maps were just as critical. In the hilly terrain of Central America, dense rainforests concealed countless plantations.
Agricultural trade was the region's primary industry. To make it his back garden, Leo would have to enter this business—and inevitably clash with those already rooted here.
With the maps and the Church as a guide, Leo would at least prevent others from exploiting information asymmetry.
The allure of sunshine, beaches, cigars, and women evaporated instantly. Leo chose the Church.
He ordered the main group to rest while he, accompanied by Aldo and Edward, headed out under the protection of Joseph's security detail.
This trip to Central America included Edward—manager of Leo's tax haven network—and Aldo, the seventh Lynchburg brother, who had recently left Valentino Sales and was steadily rising.
As Leo's empire grew, different factions were beginning to emerge within his team.
Just as a great man once said:
"Without factions, a party becomes a monarchy. With too many factions, it becomes chaos."
Broadly speaking, Leo saw three groups forming:
The Special Forces veterans, his blood brothers from the Pacific.
The early followers, non-combatants led by Tucson, many of whom were now executives.
The Lynchburg gang, weaker but closely tied to the Valentino family, with Lucas as their rising leader.
Leo knew this was still premature to call them "factions," but as time passed, war faded, and interests tangled, they inevitably would evolve into true political blocs.
Better to manage them early—introduce checks and balances—than let them explode later.
British Honduras' Governor's residence sat in Belize City, the first settlement of the colonizers. As a port town, it wasn't very large.
A short walk—barely ten minutes—brought Leo to a basilica-style church.
This early Christian architectural style, older than Gothic, was rare even in Europe, let alone here.
Leo asked about it, and Father Cade explained:
"The bishop who built this church was a Jesuit classicist. He advocated a return to early Christian traditions. Of course, to the red-cloaked cardinals—now more merchants than clerics—that was heresy. So he ended up here, naturally."
"Welcome, Father Cade. As instructed by the Pope, I've prepared everything you requested."
At the entrance, Bishop Celis Giorgione greeted them.
Despite belonging to different branches of Christianity, Celis bore no ill will. In this age of declining theocracy, the three major denominations no longer sought each other's destruction.
Celis had already prepared two full sets of documents.
After a cursory check confirmed their value, Aldo had men pack them up.
With the documents secured, Leo was invited into the bishop's office for a short rest. A cup of bitter coffee was served.
Leo studied the tall, muscular bishop, who looked more like a boxer than a clergyman. His office was shockingly bare—just a desk, nothing else.
Cade explained with a small shrug: this was simply their order's doctrine of poverty.
But Leo, having grown up under the red flag and the spring breeze, recalled the Latin American liberation movements he had studied—movements built on theology in one hand and a gun in the other.
Now, as a capitalist, he silently reminded himself: once outside, Joseph must keep an eye on this Bishop Celis.
Seeing Leo lost in thought instead of talking business, Cade grew anxious. He hadn't brought such a gift to curry favor; he had a purpose.
"Leo, you understand the value of these records. With the Church's support in Central America, your ventures will advance twice as fast.
But the Vatican is struggling, and after the Cotton family fled to Brazil, Central American Catholic churches have received no funding. Isn't that so?"
He stopped there. As a clergyman, he couldn't outright beg for money. But he trusted Leo would understand.
Leo smiled. He had known all along why Cade insisted on coming.
Those $400 million had bought him the territory, but to execute Cade's plans for the Church here, money was still essential.
"How much do you want for these records?"
Leo asked.
Cade raised three fingers, cautiously replying:
"Including continued Church support… three million a year, offered to God?"
He knew the $400 million deal had been tied to American Realty and southern Evangelical assets. This time, he dared not open his lion's mouth.
Leo frowned. He glanced at Bishop Celis, whose expectant eyes betrayed his own hopes.
Three million? That was enough to arm rebels in the jungle with Soviet gear before Leo even secured his footing here.
He shook his head.
"Too much, Cade. This is Central America. Let's drop a zero."
Three million became three hundred thousand.
Cade nearly collapsed. In his mind, the floor was at least one million. Three hundred thousand would barely keep the local churches running, leaving Evangelicals with nothing.
Even a great Father couldn't hold his flock without bread.
"That's far too little, Mr. Valentino. I cannot accept it."
Had he the force, Cade would have snatched the documents back.
Leo waved him off.
"Don't be hasty, Cade. I wasn't finished. The 300,000 is only to support the Catholic Church in Central America.
As for the Evangelicals—you said you wouldn't demand control over the company. I never promised to exclude you, either.
I guarantee you'll be the largest shareholder besides myself.
So, if you want more money, let's see how well our business does."
Paying "protection money" was one thing—having the Church work for him was quite another. Leo knew which was better.
And Cade knew it too. His plan had been to win twice: a steady annual tribute, plus participation in the company. But Leo wasn't so easily fooled.
Cade and Celis both looked disappointed, though Celis quickly masked his expression.
Leo, however, caught it. And that flicker of disappointment confirmed his suspicion: this bishop was not content.
He turned to Celis with a thin smile.
"Since you've now joined our cause, I formally invite you to America.
You can lecture among your Catholic peers.
And tell me—have you heard of the Religious Front Committee?"
There are many ways to keep a man in check.
One is to keep him close—observe him, and if possible, make him useful.