The American military-industrial complex was in turmoil.
The acquisition of France's arms manufacturers by U.S. defense companies had sent shockwaves through the establishment.
And at the center of it all stood Fanson Colt, Leo's chosen proxy.
In an instant, this once insignificant figure within the defense circle had become one of the most sought-after men in Washington.
Although America was the heart of global manufacturing,
Europe's industrial foundations ran deep.
Even weakened, it remained a formidable force.
The so-called "military-industrial complex" was not a single, unified body—it was a loose term referring to the American entrepreneurs who rose to prominence through wartime production in the World Wars.
But many of these magnates held multiple identities beyond defense—
as Wall Street financiers, as real estate barons, or as members of old-money dynasties.
They united for profit—and divided for the same reason.
In the world of American business, the law of the jungle reigned supreme.
When an opportunity to devour smaller fish arose,
who could resist?
Even several firms orbiting the powerful DuPont family secretly reached out to Fanson Colt.
But when they learned that Leo's entry condition required neutrality once the coming war began,
those already too deep in the game backed off.
Others, however—ambitious, expanding defense firms—flocked to Leo's side.
After careful consideration, many accepted his offer of investment.
After all, having the world's richest man as a shareholder was rarely a bad thing.
What's more, Leo's track record spoke for itself.
His past battles with Wall Street's elites—his ability to turn crises into opportunity—had made him a legend.
And now, as he prepared to ignite a war in Southeast Asia,
those who had doubted him after the MacArthur conflict
saw in him a terrifying new potential.
To most observers, Leo Valentino had always appeared a legitimate businessman.
Even though he now owned stakes in defense companies,
he seemed far too elegant, too refined, to ever start a war.
After all, most veterans of World War II leaned toward pacifism.
But now—Leo had proven otherwise.
He could independently orchestrate a war.
And Americans loved to gamble.
Especially Mr. Valentino, who was famous not only for ruthless vengeance,
but also for treating his allies with extraordinary generosity.
If you bet on him and won, he would make you rich beyond imagination.
While Leo was busy weaving alliances and closing his circle of influence,
in a grand mansion in Kansas City,
Alfred Irenee du Pont sat in silence, his face dark with rage.
He already knew that some of the men gathered before him
had secretly contacted Leo.
Yet he couldn't afford to chastise them harshly—
they were the foundation of his control over the military-industrial complex.
Suppressing his anger, Alfred spoke coldly:
"Let's hear it. What should we do now?"
"Leo's like a rabid dog,"
snapped Jack Northrop of Northrop Grumman.
"We just turned up the pressure a bit in the media, and he's already biting back this hard."
"Yeah," several others murmured in agreement.
Then John Jay Hopkins of General Dynamics—known as the perennial troublemaker—laughed mockingly.
"You fools don't get it.
You only strike back after your opponent hits you when he's still weak.
But now he's strong enough to manipulate national politics.
Of course he can make us suffer.
What did you expect, Jack?
That the world's richest man would stand there politely
while you slipped a noose around his neck?"
"You bastard—!"
Jack Northrop exploded in fury, hurling curses across the table.
Soon the room devolved into shouting,
the only one not joining the chaos was DuPont himself.
"Silence!"
Alfred roared, slamming a fist on the table.
"I asked you to find a solution, not to bicker like children!"
He turned his glare toward Hopkins.
"Your boss already got you a new ticket. You're leaving."
The DuPont family's intelligence network was second to none.
Alfred knew that Hopkins' backers—the Morgan family—
had already made contact with Leo.
Leo had agreed that even without direct investment,
General Dynamics would be allowed to participate in the French arms acquisitions.
A traitor, and still sitting in his meeting?
Unacceptable.
Hopkins merely shrugged, unbothered.
"All right, I'll bow out of this meeting.
But let's be honest—
I don't think the world's richest man will win this time.
He's clever, yes, but he's made too many enemies.
When too many ants bite, even an elephant bleeds.
And his enemies are far more than ants.
Still, it's the Morgan family's call, not mine.
When Leo falls, I'll be back—
unless, of course, you no longer need steel."
With that, Hopkins left gracefully,
leaving the others red-faced in humiliation.
An awkward silence filled the room.
At last, Robert, head of Lockheed, muttered,
"He used to be so humble.
Now that he's backed by Morgan, he's a different man."
DuPont sighed.
"Who can blame him? Morgan controls most of America's steel.
And what he just said—
that means neither General Dynamics nor the Morgans will intervene.
So we must focus on stopping Leo from launching his war."
"The best way to stop him," Northrop said,
"is to make sure Congress doesn't approve it—and Truman refuses to sign."
"No," DuPont snapped instantly.
"Sir," Northrop protested,
"we have enough people in Congress and the administration. We can make it happen."
DuPont glared at him, furious.
"Do you think I don't know that?
If you block Leo's war,
you're giving him the perfect excuse to block ours, you fool!"
Once again called an idiot,
Northrop looked helplessly at Robert beside him.
Robert sighed and explained:
"Mr. DuPont is right.
If we veto Leo's war,
he'll have justification to veto the large-scale conflict we've been pushing through Congress under MacArthur.
Leo's operation is small for now,
but ours has cost us tremendous time and resources.
If he retaliates and blocks it,
our investments will vanish—and we'll be pariahs in the entire defense community."
Understanding finally dawned on Northrop.
"That Valentino… what a cunning snake!"
"This isn't cunning—it's brilliance," DuPont said gravely.
"In the East, they call it a 'yangmou'—an open conspiracy.
And here's the twist:
Leo's goals align with ours.
He wants war. We want war.
So instead of opposing him,
we'll join forces to pressure President Truman
to sign both war resolutions in Congress."
For the first time, DuPont sighed in genuine admiration.
In all his years navigating America's corporate wars,
he had never encountered such a formidable opponent.
Lockheed's Robert, the group's strategist, spoke thoughtfully:
"If we want to slow him down,
the more pressure we apply directly, the more mistakes we'll make.
We should strike from two directions instead.
First, financially—France needs money to sustain its war and to request our military aid.
We can support Leo's rivals on Wall Street,
helping them seize control of the congressional finance committee.
As long as the funds aren't released, Leo's war remains talk and paper."
"Second, we intensify support for the Far East front.
The sooner that war breaks out, the better.
That way, Leo won't get the attention of America's first postwar conflict.
His 'open conspiracy' will lose most of its effect."
"Excellent!" DuPont exclaimed, eyes gleaming.
"As expected of you, Robert.
Once the wars begin, your company's orders will skyrocket!
You'll represent me on Wall Street.
As for me—I'll head to Washington,
apply pressure on Truman,
and pay a visit to our dear world's richest man, Leo Valentino."
DuPont moved swiftly.
The meeting barely ended before he was already en route to Washington.
And naturally, he checked in at the Valentino Hot Springs Hotel—Leo's own property on the city's outskirts.
But he didn't go to see Leo immediately.
He had another stop first: the White House.
In DuPont's philosophy, always handle the easy tasks before the hard ones.
When Louis informed President Harry Truman of DuPont's arrival,
Truman rubbed his temples wearily.
His head throbbed.
Ever since his fallout with Leo,
his presidency had been in steady decline.
Most of his "fair governance" bills had been struck down by Congress.
Even his own Democratic Party had turned against him—
after all, breaking ties with your biggest benefactor was political suicide.
It was Leo who had put him in the Oval Office.
Now, every Democratic politician found it harder to court donors.
Without financial backing, their careers were crippled—
and they blamed Truman.
If his own party was disobedient,
the opposition Republicans, who still resented him for "stealing their presidency,"
were far worse.
Without congressional support, Truman's authority had eroded to nothing.
Ironically, the man Truman hated most now
wasn't Leo Valentino—but Douglas MacArthur.
With his dwindling power, Truman could no longer restrain MacArthur's war ambitions.
Their relationship had always been strained—
MacArthur had once dismissed Truman as "a country farm boy,"
even when he became President.
Truman had long dreamed of reuniting with Leo to counterbalance MacArthur,
but Leo had refused—
leaving him cornered and humiliated.
The pro-war faction in Congress surged ahead,
even rejecting Truman's proposal to drop atomic bombs on the peninsula.
"Where's the profit in ending the war early?" they'd said.
After exhausting every option, Truman made a desperate decision:
Even if Congress passed the resolutions,
he, as Commander-in-Chief, would simply refuse to sign.
Without his signature, no war could begin.
In recent weeks, he had stopped answering calls from powerful figures altogether.
If I don't pick up, I can't be blamed, he told himself.
But the recent attempt on Leo's life had shaken him deeply.
He hadn't expected Leo to "join the game" so completely—
to embed himself within the military-industrial complex,
even more aggressively than MacArthur,
and to push for immediate U.S. intervention in Vietnam.
As a seasoned politician, Truman instantly recognized the brilliance of Leo's move.
But it terrified him.
If two wars broke out simultaneously,
and anything went wrong,
he wouldn't just lose his legacy—he'd be reviled forever.
He might not even survive his term.
Though most people were confident America would win,
Truman, with a farmer's realism, knew that nothing in this world was ever certain.
The pressure was unbearable.
He had clawed his way from poverty to the presidency—
he couldn't bear the thought of destroying his life's work.
And now, the powerful men of America no longer called him—
they simply came in person.
He had the courage to ignore their calls—
but not to refuse them face to face.
"Harry,"
DuPont said cheerfully as he strolled into the Oval Office,
patting the President's shoulder as though visiting an old friend.
"I've known many presidents,
but you're the only one with the guts not to answer my calls.
You know, even President Lincoln never ignored the DuPont family's calls."
He walked in as though the White House were his own home.
Truman stared blankly after him,
feeling his presidential dignity crumble to dust.
And that was precisely why he hadn't dared to refuse the meeting—
not because he feared death,
but because he feared public execution.
DuPont sat comfortably on the guest sofa.
Truman instinctively moved toward his desk,
but DuPont coughed twice—
and Truman flinched.
He hesitated, then obediently sat across from DuPont, forcing a smile.
"I don't suppose you dropped by just to chat, Mr. DuPont?"
"The Far East bill has already passed the House," DuPont said coolly.
"The Senate will follow soon.
We just hope, Mr. President,
that when it does,
you'll sign it."
Though seated, his chin was lifted high,
his gaze sharp and commanding.
Faced with such a man—a man who could end lives with a word—
what could Truman do but nod?
When DuPont saw that nod, he gave a contemptuous laugh,
rose to his feet, and left without another glance.
To him, President Truman was a weak man—
unworthy of respect,
and not worth another second of his time.
Now, it was time to face his true opponent—
the world's richest man, Leo Valentino.