As the Democratic Party convention came to an end, in Columbia, South Carolina, the home of the Senate Minority Leader, Chris Manson, a quiet but explosive conversation was unfolding.
Using 0.3% of his company's shares as a bargaining chip, Robert managed to loosen the tongue of this Republican heavyweight.
"What! You're telling me Thomas is taking the core members of the Democratic Party and joining the Republicans? That's impossible!"
Chris Manson puffed on his cigar, a faint smile on his face.
"Nothing's impossible."
"Even if we've been pressuring him, the world's richest man shouldn't be so reckless. Switching parties so suddenly—and bringing so many people with him—that's a huge price to pay," Robert said gravely.
"Reckless?" Chris laughed. "You people give yourselves too much credit. This plan has been in motion for a long time. As I've heard, the reason Earl dared to offend those Wall Street titans back in California was that Mr. Valentino had offered him a deal far too tempting to refuse. Once Valentino got what he wanted, the two sides began formal talks.
Let me put it this way: Thomas's seat in Congress won't change. He'll still be the Speaker—and now he'll also become the Senate Majority Leader! He's merely switching from Democrat to Republican.
And you know what that means—the midterm elections, delayed because of the war, can finally proceed once he switches sides.
As for those he brings along, their ranks within the Republican Party will remain exactly the same as they were in the Democrats. And even if they lose a little, the world's richest man has already paid handsomely to smooth everything over."
Chris's words made Robert's scalp tingle. Suddenly, it all made sense—why Thomas had recently proposed postponing the midterm elections under the pretext of war. The real reason had been waiting right here.
The DuPont family had invested heavily in the Democrats—after all, their rise to global dominance had begun with Roosevelt leading the U.S. into World War II.
But under Truman's presidency, the DuPonts had gradually shifted to funding the Republicans, using their money to influence the party's policies and decisions.
Robert knew it was only a matter of time before they completely controlled the GOP.
But now, Valentino and Thomas's defection had thrown their long-laid plans into chaos.
"I have to report this to Mr. DuPont," Robert said.
"Once you step out that door, I'll deny everything I've said. Don't forget your shares," Chris warned him.
Robert didn't return to Kansas. That would've been far too slow. Instead, from his hotel room, he called Alfred Irenee DuPont directly and relayed everything he had learned.
Alfred was instantly wide awake. He immediately rang up John Brick, a powerful Republican leader and his close ally.
"Thomas joining the Republican Party—something this big—and you didn't tell me?" Alfred's fury was palpable.
John Brick, however, had clearly anticipated the outburst. His tone remained cold and composed.
"Alfred, you're an important supporter, yes—but that doesn't mean I owe you every piece of information."
"I thought we were friends!" Alfred snapped.
"We are," Brick replied calmly. "Haven't all the issues your DuPont family raised in Washington been passed?"
The seasoned politician's rhetorical reminder was sharp as a blade: I've taken your money, and I've delivered on your demands—but I don't owe you my secrets.
"You understand that bringing them into the Republican Party will directly affect the DuPont family's willingness to keep funding us!" Alfred shot back.
"Alfred," Brick said, his tone hardening, "your factories are mostly in the Northeast and the South. The South is about to join us now. Are you sure you want to take that kind of loss?"
Before he finished, Alfred slammed the phone down. Brick didn't care. He had no reason to answer—the point of his words was clear enough: Thomas's defection was already a done deal, and no one could stop it.
"Who was that?" asked California Governor Earl.
"Alfred Irenee DuPont. The idiot tried to threaten me." Brick shrugged.
They were sitting inside the luxurious Valentino Spa Hotel in Washington, D.C., surrounded by Republican power brokers, all eagerly awaiting tomorrow's headline.
"Alfred DuPont is a self-righteous fool who thinks he can control us," said Senator Robert Taft firmly. "The DuPonts aren't the only ones with money in this country. We brought in Mr. Valentino precisely to counterbalance the influence of the military-industrial complex."
On September 25, 1950, The World News dropped a bombshell on the American political scene:
Thomas and more than twenty core Democratic congressmen had defected to the Republican Party.
At the same time, the freeze on midterm elections was lifted—the vote would proceed.
Almost immediately, southern states that had long been discontent with Truman's civil rights policies declared their departure from the Democratic Party. The political winds of the South shifted sharply rightward.
Republican leader Robert Taft publicly welcomed the defectors.
The American South was in upheaval.
Virginia, too, saw a mass exodus: over a hundred veteran and rising politicians once aligned with Thomas and Leo left the Democrats to join the Republicans.
This instantly shattered the Jefferson and Hutchinson families' "party purge" campaign—because their enemies had just become Republicans. Worse still, with the new arrivals, the GOP now held a majority in both chambers of the state legislature.
The politicians who had joined the two families in purging Thomas and Leo's allies panicked.
They knew Valentino's ruthless nature all too well. If they failed to eliminate Leo's influence now, and the midterms went badly, retribution would be swift and merciless.
The most desperate of all were the Jeffersons and Hutchinsons themselves—their backs were against the wall.
In their adjoining estates, the two family heads gathered their core members.
"What do we do now?" asked Edwin Hutchinson—the man Leo had cuckolded and the target of endless ridicule among America's elite.
Benjamin Jefferson and Royte Hutchinson exchanged grim looks. No matter what they had anticipated, they hadn't expected Leo to play this big.
What angered them most was that several southern governors close to them had kept this whole affair secret. Now, with Virginia about to become a Republican-controlled state, they were cornered and powerless.
"To avoid Valentino's retaliation," Benjamin said, "we must ensure the Democrats win Virginia in the midterms. But we can't compete with Valentino financially. Wall Street's efforts to curb him have barely scratched the surface—only in real estate have they made minor progress.
We need outside help. Royte and I will go to Wall Street ourselves. This is everyone's war—we won't fight it alone.
In the meantime, stay inside the estates and stay alert. Valentino doesn't fight clean."
As Benjamin finished, he realized something was off. He looked around and asked,
"Where's Berent?"
Berent Jefferson—the family's heir apparent—had once been Edwin's friend. They'd even mocked Leo together at his new Pharaoh Bar, until the incident with Edwin's fiancée drove them apart.
The butler nodded and went to look—but before he could leave, the conference room doors burst open. A bloodstained man stumbled in, panic on his face.
"There's been an accident! Mr. Berent Jefferson was seriously injured in a car crash—the private doctor's treating him now!"
"What?!" The room erupted in shock. Leo had moved faster than anyone imagined.
As the men rushed to see Berent, Benjamin grabbed Royte's arm.
"We can't waste time. Leo never stops at one strike. We need to get to New York—now."
He was right. On their drive north, they read two headlines in The New Herald, their expressions hardening.
One announced that Atlantic Real Estate Company was entering the hotel industry, building luxury hotels in Richmond, New York, and Washington—each one strategically placed across from a Jefferson Hotel.
The other reported that American Steel Corporation was eyeing a takeover of East American Mining, the Hutchinson family's only source of wealth.
The two men arrived at Samuel's seaside estate on Long Island to plead their case.
"Money can be arranged," Samuel said, rubbing his temples. "But tell me—how much are we talking?"
He had planned to retire, to manipulate events from behind the scenes. Now he was being dragged into a full-scale war against a young, unpredictable rival. It drained him.
He controlled vast Wall Street and Eastern European Jewish fortunes—but even he knew this war required precision. Every dollar had to count.
Benjamin laid it out:
"To keep Jesse's reelection support, we'll need at least one million. To secure control of both chambers, another two million. But with Valentino in the mix, everything doubles—so six million minimum.
And that's just a conservative estimate. Considering his media empire and underworld ties, we'll need even more to cover every front—at least ten million total."
"Ten million, and you're still not sure you'll win?" Samuel frowned.
"Mr. Samuel, you know as well as we do—Leo is no ordinary opponent. We can't guarantee anything," Benjamin said carefully.
"Do we need to cover everything—governor, senate, and house races?" Samuel asked.
"Yes," Royte replied. "We don't know where Leo will strike. If we leave one front uncovered, that'll be his opening—and we can't even be sure the two we focus on will hold."
Samuel thought for a long moment before saying,
"Jesse's my man. I'll fully fund his polling and campaign. But as for both chambers, you'll have to get the rest elsewhere—try DuPont and his military-industrial clique."
The two left Samuel's estate and checked into the Jefferson Hotel in New York. They immediately called Alfred DuPont—confident they could persuade him.
After all, he was the main instigator of the anti-Leo coalition. Weakening Leo's control in Virginia would shake his grip on the national stage.
And with MacArthur's victories in the Far East, the tide might finally turn.
As they expected, Alfred agreed.
But just as they prepared to return to Richmond, they realized they couldn't leave. Mafia men were everywhere around the hotel.
Thinking of the injured Berent Jefferson, they began to fear for their lives.
Rationally, they knew Leo wouldn't be mad enough to have them killed in broad daylight in New York—but with him, there were no guarantees.
They decided to stay and direct operations by phone.
But when they tried to call, the lines were dead. The hotel manager informed them that the phone lines had been cut. Guests were already checking out en masse.
When a telegraph machine was brought in, Benjamin slammed his fist on the table.
"Despicable!"
He knew instantly that the same thing was happening at all three of his hotels—surrounded by mobsters, communication cut off. Leo wasn't just targeting their businesses with competing hotels; he was choking their cash flow too.
Now they faced a terrible choice: risk returning to Richmond—or rely on slow telegrams and lose control of the political war.
Meanwhile, after seeing them off, Samuel headed for Washington.
"We're going to D.C. for what, exactly?" Will asked from the car.
Samuel's eyes hardened.
"To lobby the President and the Joint Chiefs to expand the war—to let MacArthur cross the 38th parallel. The bigger the war, the more people we drag to our side. Alfred DuPont's already on his way there."