After Leo announced the distribution of benefits, the people present quickly dispersed.
The only one left behind was Jim Hacker, who had no qualification to participate in this round of allocation.
"So Jim, what's your real purpose here?"
Leo turned to him.
Jim glanced around at Clea, Edward, and Aldo—still in the room. Leo waved a hand.
"They're trustworthy."
With that reassurance, Jim finally spoke his mind.
"Leo, many in Britain are watching your movements. Some of them know you've come to New York, and they also know about our… connection. In particular, Vito asked me to come and discuss a deal with you."
"You're the Assistant to the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Who has the pull to send you running errands?"
Leo asked.
"Don't mock me, Leo. You know how it is—in Britain, I'm nothing more than someone summoned at will.
Take the Earl of Westminster, who just left. With a single word, he could have me ousted from my post.
But this time, the ones urging me here aren't people like him. They're my core supporters. I had no choice but to come."
Jim gave a bitter smile.
"Core supporters?"
Leo raised a brow.
"Yes. My backers in politics are Britain's international traders. Our offshore tax networks rely heavily on their global trading companies to circulate funds.
But with Britain's declining overseas influence, these merchants are finding business harder and harder.
The preferential policies they once enjoyed in certain countries are being canceled one after another, while American traders are steadily encroaching on their markets."
Jim explained.
"You want me to support British traders? Impossible, Jim. My foundation is in America.
One merchant alone means little to me, but together they represent enormous public will—and I cannot go against that."
Leo replied seriously.
"No, no, Leo, you've misunderstood. The ones who approached me this time were the representatives of British traders in Central and South America.
They want to ask if you'd be interested in their companies spread throughout the region. They're willing to sell them to you outright."
Jim said.
Leo's expression remained calm, but inwardly he stirred.
"Sell to me? And how would they survive?"
Leo asked.
"They could open small shops back in Britain, or invest in Europe, which is now being rebuilt. At least they'd live.
If they don't sell, it will be like an open wound—bleeding out until nothing remains."
Jim's words were clear. The British merchants were cutting their losses.
"So, what exactly am I buying?"
Leo asked.
"I'm sorry, Leo. They won't sell piecemeal. It's all or nothing. But I assure you, most of what's inside will be of great interest to you."
Jim produced a freshly printed booklet and handed it to Leo.
Leo opened it. The first page was a detailed map of Central and South America, crisscrossed with dense lines stretching beyond the map's edges, each endpoint marked with a company name.
By rough count, there were over five hundred companies.
The second page began the company profiles. Leo skimmed quickly—ten lines at a glance—and within minutes had finished the entire book.
With his photographic memory, he had already decided: if the price was right, he would buy them all.
For among the three to four hundred trading firms were also a hundred banks, varying in size.
Most of these banks only handled foreign trade. But in Leo's hands, their functions could be greatly expanded—even merged into Bank of America, making it truly worthy of the name.
As for the three to four hundred trading firms, they could be absorbed into his Central America Company.
Leo was confident that once the local governments learned these companies had a new master, the old preferential policies Britain once enjoyed would return—perhaps even more favorable than before.
"How much do they want?"
Leo didn't bother pretending disinterest to bargain. He asked directly.
"Their asking price is one hundred million. But in truth, their bottom line is fifty million."
Jim disclosed the very heart of his supporters' interests without hesitation. After all, Leo was also one of his core supporters—and by rank, the most important of all.
Leo chuckled. That was precisely why he hadn't played games—because Jim was, in many ways, his man.
Fifty million for all of this was a steal. At least 80% of the companies were still profitable, generating around ten million annually. With Leo's management, profits would rise. He could recoup his investment in three years.
Leo turned to Edward.
"Write Jim a check. Sixty million. His supporters need a respectable figure to present."
"Wait, Leo—there's another matter."
Jim continued as Leo fixed his gaze on him.
"Leo, have you ever heard of MI6?"
Leo had indeed. From his previous life, he knew it well—from the James Bond films if nothing else.
"This intelligence agency wants to do business with me?"
Jim nodded.
"Since Labour came to power, MI6's budget has been heavily slashed. Combined with turmoil across the Commonwealth, their self-funding has become extremely difficult.
So they want to know if you're interested in accessing Britain's intelligence network in South America."
"Jim, let's be honest. Of course I'm interested. But intelligence systems aren't things you can simply buy.
Money can secure hired men, but those truly valuable agents—the ones driven by ideals—cannot be bought."
Leo said.
"The head of MI6 has already considered this. That's why he approached me. He wants me to guarantee you this offer:
For just one million a year, MI6 will give you full access to their intelligence in Central and South America.
Moreover, if you wish, they'll help you build your own intelligence system there."
Jim then drew a sealed envelope from his coat and handed it over.
"Leo, this was entrusted to me by the head of MI6. He asked that you open it only when alone. He says it will demonstrate his sincerity."
Leo accepted it. After dismissing everyone else, he broke the seal.
Inside was a brief message:
"Respected Mr. Valentino,
Your enemy MacArthur is attempting to stir up war in the Far East.
According to our assessment, his chances of success are high.
He is very likely to become the next President of the United States, fully binding himself to America's ever-expanding military-industrial complex.
This will pose a grave threat to you.
Your friend,
Sir Chris Philby, MI6."
Leo slipped the paper back into its envelope and kept it on his person. It was proof of MI6's goodwill.
After all, such a letter was itself a liability. To offend MacArthur—and the all-powerful U.S. military-industrial complex—could mean Sir Philby's life would end in an "accidental" suicide.
When Jim and the others returned, Leo had already written a check for one million and handed it to him.
Jim departed early the next morning. His mission complete, there was no reason to linger.
Leo, meanwhile, prepared for his inspection tour of Central America. As for the MI6 intelligence—he had already heard whispers of MacArthur's plans.
But could he stop it? Hardly.
Despite his current wealth and power—enough to rival the Rockefellers, enough to make even Wall Street's Jewish bankers stumble at times—he was powerless before the military-industrial complex.
The war had only just ended, and America still kept vast standing armies at home, their command firmly in the hands of the complex.
Unlike later decades, when Jewish bankers dominated, the military-industrial complex now held unrivaled power.
And Leo himself wasn't entirely outside it. He owned shares in Boeing and McDonnell Douglas, as well as two shipyards in Virginia.
He was a former officer, sponsored by Nimitz, and closely tied to Marshall—the complex's foremost spokesman. Everyone knew it.
To many outsiders, Leo himself was already part of the military-industrial complex.
Against such an opponent, his strength was thin. He might sneer at any single CEO, but he could not dismiss the collective will of the complex.
And that will was clear: war.
This was why Leo, despite his fortune and even his ability to sway elections, could never afford complacency.
He knew MacArthur would bleed himself dry on the peninsula. But most others in the West believed otherwise—that MacArthur would win.
In such a consensus, anything that might upset the would-be "Supreme Commander's" mood would put Leo in jeopardy.
Every effort Leo made now was to endure that period—to survive long enough, or hasten MacArthur's failure—before finally sending his greatest enemy where he belonged.
For the next two weeks, Leo toured Central America. He witnessed the surging independence movement in British Honduras, the turbulent politics of Honduras, Guatemala, and Costa Rica, and the aggressive presence of American corporations—particularly the low-profile but dominant United Fruit Company.
His final stop was Panama City, where he would board a ship back to the American West.
A man of Leo's stature naturally drew the Governor's personal company. After a brief tour of the Panama Canal, Leo checked into the city's grandest hotel.
In his suite, he told Aldo:
"Managing Central America is a long-term venture. Don't expect quick results. Be patient. Don't rush expansion. First, understand those hundreds of trading companies thoroughly.
And be cautious. You've seen how volatile things are here."
Aldo nodded. He understood—this was no America, but a place where lives could be lost in an instant.
"Edward, work quickly to reclaim those banks. Once I take Bank of America, I want us ready to absorb these smaller firms immediately."
"Yes, boss." Edward replied.
After Edward and Aldo left, only Clea remained, her expression unchanged.
Leo's intent to acquire Bank of America no longer fazed her. She had ceased resisting and instead begun to savor the protection Leo offered.
She rose and slipped into the bathroom. Days on the road had left little opportunity. Tonight, she knew, Leo would take her.
The next morning, sunlight poured through the windows. Leo awoke instantly—his biological clock long trained against indulgence.
Rising, he noticed an envelope slipped under the suite's door.
Opening it, he found an invitation from the Governor of Panama: a luncheon in Leo's honor.
At noon, dressed in a white suit, with Clea in a sapphire-blue gown at his side, Leo entered the banquet hall.
As the most distinguished guest, he and Clea arrived last.
At the opening of the doors, the lively hall fell silent. Leo strode in. People bowed and shook his hand in respect.
Leo also noticed something else: many of his companions from the Central America tour now had new faces beside them.
He understood—they had brought him new friends.
Before the banquet began, Leo announced the official establishment of the Central America Company, with Phoenix as Chairman and Aldo as CEO.
When the toasts began, every guest offered congratulations. Yet most conversations had little to do with the new company.
The first to approach Leo was Owen Willard of the Altria Group, accompanied by a beautiful American socialite.
The moment she stepped forward, Clea's face lit up. She clasped the woman's hand in delight.
"Ah, dear Doris, what a surprise to see you here!"
The woman, Doris, smiled.
"Owen said there was a great business opportunity. My financial steward practically rushed me through lunch so I could get here quickly. I beg Mr. Valentino's permission to join in this venture."
Though her words were to Clea, her eyes never left Leo.
Owen quickly stepped in with the formal introduction.
"Mr. Valentino, may I present Mrs. Doris Duke."
At the name, Leo immediately understood why she was here—and why Clea knew her.
The Duke family, like the Willards, were major shareholders in American tobacco.
After the 1912 antitrust breakup of American Tobacco, the Willards had chosen to control one of the new companies. The Dukes, however, took a different path—holding 10% to 20% stakes in several spinoffs: R.J. Reynolds, Lorillard, Chesterfield, and American Tobacco itself.
That decision had been made by Doris's father. Upon his death, she inherited everything.
The process had been scandalous, with stepmothers and contested wills. Coupled with Doris's own turbulent love life—she had just gone through a divorce—she had become a darling of the American press.
As one of the nation's wealthiest women, she was a celebrity in her own right.
And in the small, tight-knit circle of female tycoons, connections were inevitable. As Giannini's heir and Bank of America's chairwoman, Clea naturally knew Doris Duke.