Leo and Emily's child was only a month away from being born. Originally, Leo had planned to wait until after the birth before returning East.
But plans never keep up with change. A phone call from Thomas forced Leo to rush back overnight to Richmond.
Virginia could now be considered Leo's old stronghold. Though Governor Jesse was far from friendly with him, Leo's reputation here—after having dealt with three successive governors—was nothing short of legendary. No one dared to challenge his authority in this state. That in itself represented absolute security.
At the old Cotton family estate, the manor where Leo had once held his grand wedding, Thomas greeted him with a grim expression.
"You've made far too big a splash in the West. You've drawn the ire of many powerful figures in both parties.
A lot of them are saying that America cannot allow someone so arrogant to exist!
What are you in such a rush for, Leo? Your situation couldn't be better right now. You weren't like this before!"
Faced with Thomas's reproach, Leo gave no explanation. Everything he had done was in preparation for the Eastern war that was bound to come, and the massive impact it could unleash.
As for why he didn't explain, it was simple—at this point in American politics, no one would believe that MacArthur would dare launch a war on his own initiative.
"Aren't we the powerful figures of both parties? Tell me, who exactly are they?"
Leo's words only deepened the furrows on Thomas's brow.
"Leo, you're being reckless. Yes, we're major figures in our parties, but we're not the only ones. What then? You find out their names and plan to kill them all?
This is America—not the Valentino Empire!"
Thomas's anger made Leo realize the situation might be even worse than he thought.
"What do they plan to do?" Leo asked.
Seeing Leo ask calmly, Thomas let out a long breath of relief. His greatest fear was Leo losing his reason. Many wanted him to go mad—so they could ride the tide of his destruction.
Evelyn was already pregnant. If Leo collapsed now, his granddaughter's future would be doomed.
"Truman must have already told you. The National Housing Act is about to pass.
From your original proposal of twelve billion in subsidies, the number has ballooned to thirty-five billion after all the add-ons.
Do you realize what that means? It means at least thirty billion of that will fall into the hands of the American Real Estate Group.
Thirty billion, Leo—not three. That's a fortune that makes everyone drool!
Once the bill passes, they'll launch an antitrust investigation against the group—and they'll move fast."
Leo exhaled heavily. "So, it couldn't be avoided after all. Even without you telling me, I already know who's behind this. The power of banking and real estate combined is immense. They won't allow Bank of America to give unchecked support to my real estate group. I only want to know—who's leading the charge?"
"McKay," Thomas said flatly.
Leo drew in a sharp breath. Truth be told, there weren't many people left in America who could truly unsettle him. But Federal Reserve Chairman McKay was one of the few.
"What's your advice, Thomas?"
"You have no choice but to accept it. That's the consensus. You can't resist.
Even the mighty Morgans couldn't stop it back then.
Right now, the best course for you is to select valuable assets from the American Real Estate Group and place them into a newly split company that will remain under your control.
You need to remember—enduring this is for the sake of the future. You're still young and have already reached this height. You have time to wait for your chance, to surpass everyone.
One day, you'll be greater than Pierpont himself—the true uncrowned king of America."
Thomas spoke with rare sincerity. He was genuinely afraid Leo would act rashly. He kept urging him: as long as the green hills remain, there will always be wood for the fire.
Leo wasn't ungrateful. Having lived two lives, he was long past the age of prideful defiance. He could hear the care in Thomas's words.
After some thought, Leo asked, "When will the bill pass?"
"One week. That's all. They're even watching me and Marshall. I only found out through a coincidence—that's why I called you here in such a rush."
Time was too short for any elaborate maneuvering. That was why Thomas had advised surrender.
Leo rubbed his head and chuckled.
His laugh made Thomas's heart seize up again. He knew—Leo only laughed when he already had an idea. Thomas used to like this habit of his. But now, with a net tightening around them, he thought any "extra moves" could only make things worse.
"Relax, Thomas. I won't fight them head-on. Besides, you've known me long enough. How do you know I wasn't already prepared? How are Desmond and Daniel doing?"
"With your support, they're doing fine. And Frank—the FHA director you told me to keep an eye on—he's doing well too," Thomas replied, still half doubtful.
"Who's initiating the antitrust probe—Senate or House?"
"The Senate."
"Good." Leo clapped his hands. "I should thank my enemies—they've left me a tiny loophole. Tell me, Thomas, has anyone ever initiated an antitrust investigation against themselves?"
"Who would complain about having too much money?" Thomas snorted.
"Someone has. The Rockefellers. And now I'll be the second.
Thomas, we'll form a Joint Congressional Antitrust Committee on the American Real Estate Group.
You'll oversee from behind. Gerard, the freshman senator this year, will chair the committee. Frank will serve as executive director. Desmond and Daniel will join as members to build their credentials."
Thomas was stunned. "They already have a complete dissection plan for your group. You can't possibly move faster than them."
"No, Thomas. I've had my self-dissection plan ready for a long time."
Thomas stared deeply at Leo. By now, Leo's monstrous brilliance no longer surprised him.
"Frank's sly as a fox. In this situation, he may not follow your intent," Thomas warned.
"Frank's hometown is South Carolina. Tell him if he helps me push this through, I'll support him for senator there. And if he refuses—well, he won't refuse."
Thomas frowned. "Why not?"
"I won't mention the unspeakable things he did to crawl out of South Carolina. But right now, his bodyguards and driver are all my men. And he knows it."
Thomas suddenly understood. If Frank ever crossed Leo, he wouldn't live to see the next morning.
He couldn't help but sigh—his grandson-in-law truly knew how to wield both stick and carrot.
"I understand. I'll see to it at once. What's the budget?"
"Unlimited."
Leo's meaning was clear: any problem solvable with money wasn't really a problem.
Thomas went off to handle the politics. Leo, meanwhile, turned to prepare for the corporate split.
Out at sea near New York, Lawrence—half-asleep—perked up instantly when he heard Leo's plan. Tucson and Edward, fresh off a plane, looked equally stunned.
"It's really come to this?" Tucson asked gravely. A split would inevitably shrink assets. The only benefit of self-dissection was minimizing the loss—but it was still a loss.
"Ha! Long overdue. Especially with him being so flashy out West," Lawrence chuckled.
For a Rockefeller, wealth mattered, but so did fun. His father had orchestrated the breakup of Standard Oil, and Lawrence had always admired the genius of it. Now, finally, it was his turn to play. Opportunities to dismantle a mega-corporation were rare—and such fun was worth bragging about for a lifetime.
"Want me to connect you to Swiss trusts? Don't worry, they handled the tricky parts for us back in the day."
Indeed, when Standard Oil disintegrated, Swiss banking had pioneered its "packaged service."
The breakup plan for the American Real Estate Group was Lawrence's own handiwork, modeled after that history.
At the time, he hadn't thought Leo would ever need it—the splits were too fragmented.
Who would willingly see a sixty-billion-dollar company turn into four firms worth forty billion total, losing twenty billion in the process?
After all, America's entire Marshall Plan investment in Europe was only ten billion.
But Leo's audacity made Lawrence recall his father John Jr.'s words: This young man reminds me of your grandfather.
"No need, Lawrence. I already have my own transfer platforms and enough shell companies," Leo said calmly.
Lawrence straightened at once, face darkening. Wealth never disappeared—it only shifted. A twenty-billion loss was just inflated value evaporating. With some clever handling, at least two billion in real profits could be squeezed out during delisting.
As the middleman, Lawrence could pocket fifty million easily.
Now Leo was cutting him out. Of course he was upset.
"Leo, you planning to burn the bridge after crossing it?" Lawrence snapped. Leo's willingness to self-disassemble only proved he was beset by crises. Lawrence tried to pressure him for maximum gain.
Fifty million was nothing to a Rockefeller. But the family creed was simple: if there was money to be made, they'd make it. Loving the game was the essence.
Leo set down his cigar, walked to the yacht's window—directly behind Lawrence. He flung it open. The icy Atlantic wind gusted in. Lawrence shivered violently, instinctively rising to his feet—only to meet Leo's deathlike stare.
That aura, forged in mountains of corpses and seas of blood during the Pacific War, froze the greed in his heart. Cold sweat drenched his back.
"I recall—the breakup plan was your entry ticket into the American Real Estate Group. So tell me, Lawrence, where's this talk of betrayal coming from?"
Leo's icy tone made the sweat drip harder from Lawrence's brow.
Just then, a huge wave slammed the yacht. The boat lurched violently. Lawrence's weak knees buckled, and he collapsed in front of Leo.
Adrift on the open ocean, he couldn't be sure Leo wouldn't toss him overboard.
"I—I forgot. You… you call the shots," Lawrence stammered.
"I knew you were reasonable. So, Lawrence, be even more reasonable. Until the breakup is done, you'll stay on this yacht. You're the only outsider who knows the plan. Surely you understand."
Leo's meaningful gaze bored into him, awaiting his reply.
What could Lawrence say? Man was knife, he was fish. He swallowed the loss. Still, as a shrewd businessman, he didn't forget to haggle even now.
"I want ten percent of Pacific Real Estate," he demanded.
"No chance. Two at most."
"Five."
"Deal."
Inside the cabin, Tucson and Edward froze when they heard the unfamiliar name "Pacific Real Estate." They quickly snatched up the documents Leo had left on the table.
On the first page of the breakup plan, bold letters spelled out the four new entities to be carved from the American Real Estate Group:
Atlantic Real Estate Group: Taking over all business in the East.
Major shareholders: Lawrence Rockefeller Investment Company, Brown Brothers Harriman, European United Finance, and numerous obscure firms.
Pacific Real Estate Group: Taking over all business in the West.
Major shareholders: Merlin Properties, Corleone Investments, and various overseas firms.
International Real Estate Group: Taking over business in the Commonwealth, Netherlands, and Italy.
Registered in the UK, wholly owned by Valentino Investments UK.
Southern Real Estate Group: Taking over business in the South.
Major shareholders: Altria Investments, Southern Railways, Gospel Corp., and countless small firms.
Tucson frowned. Pointing to the maze of small companies scattered across three of the four groups, he asked Edward:
"Do you know where these came from? By my count, they hold seventy-five percent of Southern, seventy percent of Atlantic, and fifty-five percent of Pacific. That's absolute control!"
He was right. These additions had been arranged by Leo and Edward later. Even Lawrence, who had drafted the original breakup plan, didn't know.
Edward knew the share distribution but not the number of companies. That was Leo's way—until the last moment, only he knew the full plan.
After a pause, Edward explained:
"Let's start with Southern Real Estate. Its largest shareholder is Altria with fifteen percent, second is Southern Railways with ten. Everyone knows both are really controlled by the boss. But thanks to complex equity structures, legally, he avoids antitrust issues.
Most of the other small firms are registered in Central America. They share a common shareholder: Central American Bank.
A deeper probe reveals that bank is structured just like the old Bank of America—a federation of local banks and trading firms. Normally, U.S. investigators stop there. Once the trail crosses borders, that's already enough to 'explain.'
But in reality, the big shareholders behind those firms are three London-based investment companies—L, D, and N.
On paper, they're British. But their funds come from Blackstone Asset Management, based in the Cayman Islands.
And Blackstone itself is wholly owned by the Leo Trust Fund—also Cayman-registered.
The Trust, in turn, is controlled by the James River Foundation. Full control lies with the boss. Members only share dividends—they'll never touch control."
Edward's whispered explanation left Tucson gaping. He glanced at a shaken Lawrence, then muttered:
"You finance people… really know how to play the game."
Edward only shook his head, eyes filled with admiration for Leo. Such dazzling moves had shocked him too, the first time he heard them.
Leo, meanwhile, was still consoling the soon-to-be "confined" Lawrence. Even if he'd heard Edward's words, he would only have smiled faintly. To the titans of finance, such operations were nothing but standard practice.