At first glance, the House of Lords seemed far more powerful than the House of Commons, yet every true statesman in Britain knew the truth — the Commons was the real barometer of stability.
For the King, the great nobles, and the Prime Minister alike, what mattered most was not the aristocratic upper chamber, but the unpredictable pulse of the Commons below.
Whenever the Commons reached a rare moment of unity, the entire establishment would immediately grow alert — and the first question they asked was always why.
So when the Duke of Westminster asked Leo Valentino that same question, his tone carried more than curiosity.
If he disliked Leo's answer, he was ready to turn against him at once — to remind the world's richest man that Britain's true inner circle was not to be trifled with.
Leo smiled faintly.
"His Majesty's concern is unnecessary. If I truly controlled the Commons, that second proposal would never have passed.
The truth is simple: none of you understand how the tax haven network really works.
That network allowed thousands of British companies — once on the brink of collapse — to survive the empire's decline.
It helped countless middle-class families preserve their wealth.
From that perspective, you should be thanking me.
The reason Britain hasn't collapsed into full-blown social unrest is largely because of me."
The Duke blinked, momentarily stunned, before asking,
"Then why is Clement's approval still falling? If people are doing better, why are they turning on him?"
Leo answered calmly,
"When colonies remain intact, they can still be exploited. When people can grow rich, they don't care about stability.
But when they can no longer get rich — stability means nothing to them.
Clement can't make them richer. That's why they hate him."
"You have a point," the Duke said. "And what about that troublemaker Robert — shall I make him… disappear?"
"No," Leo replied coldly. "This one I'll handle myself. Otherwise, it won't send the right message."
The Duke frowned. "If you act personally, you'll expose yourself. Wouldn't it be safer if we took care of it quietly?"
Leo's voice turned steely.
"When a dog bites me, I don't bite back.
I cook the dog — and its master with it.
They started this war.
How it ends, and how many die before it does — that's my decision."
The Duke was momentarily speechless. Then, to ease the tension, he changed the subject.
"What about the colonies? Is there really no room for negotiation with the Americans?"
"None," Leo replied. "This is a matter of national policy, not personal choice. Even if the U.S. turned around, the Soviets would never allow it.
Like I told you last time — find proxies in those countries. That way your losses will be smaller."
"Without force, proxy groups will just be crushed by local powers," said the Duke.
"Then arm the opposition, support the rebels," Leo said.
"You think I haven't considered that?" The Duke sighed. "The situation's moving too fast.
We're still debating strategy, haven't even chosen who to back — and already those colonies are declaring independence."
Leo thought for a moment, then said,
"Go find Desmond. He'll have something that surprises you."
The Duke's eyes lit up.
If Leo dared to mention a name, it meant he'd already arranged local partners.
"And how should we thank you?" the Duke asked, knowing Leo never worked for free.
"When the time comes and both sides need a war," Leo said quietly,
"I want you to give me one.
And when I need Britain's support — both privately and at the United Nations — you'll back me."
"Deal," the Duke said, ending the call.
After hanging up, Leo pulled out a small red notebook — his private record of lucid dreams.
He tapped one particular entry, reading it again and again: "Venezuela and Libya — vast oil reserves discovered."
He tore out the page and watched it burn to ash.
Then he called Edward.
"How many shares do I hold in Gulf Oil?"
"Boss, after the real estate transaction in the U.S., you received a small stake.
With our later acquisitions, we now own about 3% of Gulf Oil.
But your friends — the Bush and Harriman families — are major shareholders.
Should I contact them about exchanging shares?"
"No need," Leo said. "Use cash to buy off two of their exploration teams.
Send them to Syria and Venezuela for oil surveys."
Edward didn't ask how Leo knew.
As an intelligence officer, he had long realized his employer possessed sources beyond his reach.
Years ago, Edward had tried to trace them — and found nothing.
Whoever provided Leo with information was far beyond any normal intelligence network.
So Edward obeyed orders without question. Leo never fought an unwinnable battle.
As Leo's plans advanced, his power and influence grew exponentially.
But success brought danger.
Thomas reported that the Wall Street auditors' involvement had accelerated the review of war budgets for the Far East conflict.
Meanwhile, David Rockefeller had returned from the Middle East to New York. Within hours of arrival, he met John Stillman, then Roland Morgan.
Leo's most dangerous enemies were once again gathering.
But Leo's attention was elsewhere — because the war had truly begun.
September 20, 1950 — American forces landed at Inchon.
Five days later than in recorded history, delayed by Leo's interference.
But the result was the same: MacArthur's army advanced rapidly, victory after victory.
It was obvious — North Korea was no match for the UN forces.
Intelligence reports suggested the Soviets would not intervene directly.
Investors who had bet on the war now saw victory on the horizon — and began carving up the spoils in advance.
By October, American newspapers, almost in unison, began attacking Leo's New Times and World News, accusing them of bias and "unpatriotic reporting."
The funding behind these papers was a toxic web of military-industrial money, Wall Street capital, real estate tycoons, and agricultural giants.
MacArthur's plan had succeeded — he had, in effect, hijacked America.
Recently reinstated as head of the Military Industry Association, Maxim resumed his public tours.
At each event, he subtly hinted that Leo Valentino had angered General Douglas MacArthur — and that the MacArthur family considered Leo an enemy.
He also proclaimed that MacArthur would "end the war by Easter" and then run for President.
America's state elites understood the hidden meaning.
First — MacArthur and Leo were enemies.
Second — MacArthur's victory, backed by the military-industrial complex, made him a serious political force.
If MacArthur won the presidency, he would not be a mere figurehead like Truman.
He could become the next Roosevelt — powerful, independent, unstoppable.
Soon, previously neutral elites began reaching out privately to Maxim, to the DuPonts, and to John Stillman.
Within weeks, a new saying spread among America's upper circles:
"Anything that hurts MacArthur hurts America."
And nothing angered the five-star general more than Leo Valentino.
In his office at Citibank, John Stillman stared at a report from his subordinates.
"You're telling me," he said in disbelief, "there isn't a single quality problem?"
"Yes, sir," his aide replied. "After your instructions in April, we investigated nearly all of Valentino's real estate holdings — residential and hotel.
Maintenance is excellent. Quality is impeccable. Ordinary Americans prefer his properties precisely because they're safe and reliable."
Stillman rubbed his temples in frustration.
"Should we proceed as planned?" the aide asked cautiously.
"Proceed," Stillman said, his eyes bloodshot.
"But sir, he controls media outlets. He can easily defend himself."
"Truth is what people believe," Stillman snapped.
"When everyone says his buildings are poor quality — then they are poor quality."
Just as Stillman predicted, the Wall Street Journal, under his influence, launched a ferocious campaign against Leo's four major real estate firms.
Other papers followed, triggering another nationwide wave of criticism.
Soon, attacks shifted from property quality to the man himself —
How did a man so young become so rich?
Surely not through honest means.
Though Leo's media quickly issued clarifications, they were dismissed as biased.
His newspapers had long been accused of serving the interests of the rich — and now, with the entire press turning against him, even loyal readers began to doubt.
Sales of the New Times and World News plummeted.
His real estate companies reported the worst day in their history.
But the storm wasn't over.
Jesse, whom Samuel had once rescued at great cost, had now infiltrated Samuel's inner circle.
From him came chilling news:
Samuel had ordered Jesse to lead a purge of Leo's influence in Virginia — to identify loyalists, intimidate moderates, and use the state's legislature to impeach Thomas, Leo's key ally in Washington.
Jesse wanted to ignore the order, but Leo stopped him.
He had already foreseen this move — and had a plan of his own.
"Stay where you are," Leo told him. "You'll be more useful later."
Indeed, Virginia had been under Leo's quiet control for over three years.
Many politicians owed their careers — and fortunes — to him.
Samuel's confidence in toppling that network must have come from deeper pockets — the old Eastern money that had long stayed hidden.
Leo decided to let them make their move — and see who dared to show their hand.
That evening, a call came from J. Edgar Hoover.
"Edwin Hutchinson and Bertram Jefferson," Hoover said quietly.
The names startled Leo — old acquaintances from another era.
"It's been a long time," he murmured. "I can understand the Hutchinsons. I embarrassed them often enough.
Evelyn chose me instead of Edwin Hutchinson — that wound never healed.
But the Jeffersons? They own shares in half my Virginia projects. Why would they turn on me?"
Hoover's tone was calm.
"Partly personal grudges, yes — but that's not the main reason.
First, they think now is the perfect moment.
Second, they want your wealth. They know if they wait until you fall, it'll be out of reach.
Third, by seizing your assets in Virginia, they can reclaim their old power — return to the table.
And finally — they've spent generations stepping on others. They simply can't tolerate someone standing above them."
Leo listened silently. He understood perfectly.
This was the essence of Western power — not coexistence, but domination.
Peace was tolerated only under overwhelming force.
The moment that force faltered, the elite would devour one another.
At last, Leo sighed.
"So that's the root of it — the incurable flaw of capitalism. Endless greed, consuming itself."
Hoover waited, then asked,
"What do you want me to do?"
"Nothing," Leo said. "You're being watched.
Leaking me the occasional tip is help enough.
If you move the FBI openly, they'll destroy you first.
As for their political strike against my allies — I'm ready.
If the Democrats don't want me, I'll switch sides.
Let's see how they govern without me."
He ended the call, his voice calm — but his eyes cold.
A new phase had begun.