Before launching any new move, Leo first needed to defuse Wall Street's assault against him.
At the moment, their primary targets were his business holdings — the goal was simple: strangle his cash flow, forcing him to fight on too many fronts at once.
He had to admit, the enemy was cunning. They had chosen their angle of attack with surgical precision.
But Leo intended to strike back from that same angle.
After all, the best way to end an offensive… was through counterattack.
Fighting the enemy on his own turf was the worst possible choice — even if he won, the cost would be devastating.
The wisdom of ancient strategists guided him now: "Besiege Wei to rescue Zhao."
If the enemy pressed hard against one front, strike where it hurts most — and make them turn back to defend themselves.
So what was his enemy's lifeline?
In classical warfare, the surest way to victory was to cut off the enemy's supply lines.
In this modern war, money was the supply line — the lifeblood of the opposition.
Wall Street's funds were the "grain and fodder" that sustained every hostile force against him.
Leo's objective was clear:
Turn that living river into a dead one.
Starve the beast.
And there was another matter — John Stillman had lived long enough.
It was time to cut down the enemy's general.
Of course, as long as the Stillman family still controlled Citibank, Leo couldn't simply eliminate John directly — that would violate every unwritten rule of the upper world.
But he could weaken their hold over Citibank until the bank itself rejected them.
And the surest way to make that happen was to let them keep losing.
Citibank's domestic business was vast, but it was their international operations that made them a global power.
There were three pillars supporting that empire:
The Far East — their birthplace.
But with the rise of the "Eastern Dragon" and the end of colonial dominance, they had already lost heavily.
To recover those losses, they had pushed MacArthur into starting the war.
The United Kingdom — their second pillar.
But after the war, as the world's financial center shifted from London to New York, their British business had also collapsed.
With two of its three legs broken, Citibank was already a crippled giant.
And all of this had happened under Stillman's leadership.
Leo's next move was to destroy the final pillar — South America.
Years ago, when he was still selling real estate, Leo had once met a group of overseas Chinese returning from South America.
They hadn't bought his properties, but their conversations had left him curious.
Out of courtesy, he had studied South American geography, economics, and culture.
At the time, it seemed irrelevant — useless knowledge for a real estate broker.
But now, armed with foresight and a powerful network, every bit of it became a weapon.
His little red notebook contained a dozen key events that could destabilize Citibank's influence in the region.
To execute them, Leo relied on his hundred-plus trading firms and small banks spread across Central and South America.
Through them, he would undermine Citibank's control of South American finance.
At that moment, his trusted lieutenant Edward had already set up headquarters in Brazil, ready to lead a full-scale assault on Citibank's South American network.
In Montevideo, Uruguay, Ralph, owner of a century-old British bank, stepped into the office of President Luis Beres.
It was their fifth meeting that month.
Smiling tiredly, Luis said,
"Ralph, a year ago you told me your bank was going bankrupt. You even refused my help.
Now you're miraculously back from the dead — and I'm happy for you.
But tell me honestly, isn't taking over the entire port renovation project a bit too ambitious for a small bank like yours?
As an old friend, I can give you a few smaller subcontracts.
But the main project, I still plan to hand to the big American banks."
Ralph had expected that.
He knew Luis too well.
Despite the president's cautious tone, he had already been tempted by Ralph's offer — a 20-year contract, 10% annual dividends, and a $1 million signing bonus.
Luis was only testing him — trying to see if Ralph could really deliver what he promised.
"I understand your doubts," Ralph said calmly. "That's why I brought this."
He handed Luis a contract stamped with the seal of the Bank of the Americas.
Luis opened it — his eyes widened instantly.
It was an official agency agreement.
"You're British," Luis said in surprise. "When did you start working with the Americans?"
He had assumed Ralph's backers were in London.
But this contract meant something entirely different — Washington money.
He also knew that the port renovation wasn't really his idea.
The driving hand behind it all… was Citibank.
For years, Citibank had perfected this kind of business model in South America.
Step one — manipulate local policy: quietly influence the government to propose a new "infrastructure expansion plan."
Ports, railways, refineries — anything that could be turned into collateral.
Step two — loan against sovereignty: when the government inevitably lacked funds, Citibank would "help" by offering loans secured by future port revenues.
Step three — repackage the project into "premium investment products" for U.S. investors.
Both borrowers and investors paid fees — Citibank's first profit.
Step four — control the contractors: all "recommended" companies were either Citibank partners or its own subsidiaries — the second profit.
Step five — seize the assets: even when the government could repay, Citibank would find ways to take control of the collateral — the ports — and then resell usage rights to American shipping giants — the third profit.
Step six — expand the monopoly: once ports were controlled, they'd buy into mining exports — fourth profit.
Step seven — monetize the loop: sell these investments again to South American customers as "wealth products."
U.S. clients earned small, steady returns.
South American ones often woke up one morning to find their funds "merged" and vanished — the fifth profit, pure theft hidden behind paperwork.
And when angry depositors protested, the local gangs bought by Citibank would silence them.
If that failed, Washington's diplomats would step in to "restore order."
Luis knew all of this.
He knew his presidency existed only because the Americans allowed it.
But he also knew he had been used.
For selling out his own country, all Citibank had ever paid him was $200,000 — pocket change compared to their billions in profit.
Now a new opportunity stood before him — and for the first time, he dared to gamble.
"Even with my approval, others will need to sign off," Luis said slowly.
"We'll move together," Ralph assured him. "When you need me to stand up publicly — I will."
Similar deals were unfolding all over the continent:
Brazil's agricultural airports, Peru and Chile's mining industrialization, Ecuador's railroads.
Leo's South American campaign had two main strategies — open the source and block the flow.
To "open the source" meant competing for contracts.
Where Citibank offered 5% profit margins, Leo offered 15%.
Among the continent's elites, loyalty always followed whoever paid more.
To "block the flow" meant cutting Citibank's cash channels.
Leo planned to make their entire five-layer profit chain collapse.
Of course, South America had been Citibank's playground for decades.
Some nations were almost impregnable — Peru was one of them.
But the tide was turning.
With the rise of Perón's populist movement in Argentina, left-wing sentiment was spreading rapidly across the continent.
Peru, long exploited by Citibank, was reaching its breaking point.
Discontent was boiling over.
Edward's agents began working to ignite the unrest early.
In a luxury hotel in Rio de Janeiro, one of his men reported,
"Boss, the shipment from Germany arrives tonight. Within three days, Peru will be in chaos."
Edward nodded. "And Joseph's people?"
"All in position."
Edward looked out toward the glittering lights of Rio's wealthy district.
"Then begin," he said.
Outside Rio, on a vast plantation — one of the largest in Brazil — a grim gathering was underway.
Two years earlier, the plantation had belonged to an old Spanish noble family.
Then the Cotton family, wealthy Americans, bought it at a premium, hoping to gain a foothold in Brazil's shipping industry.
But they had overplayed their hand.
Local powers resented the foreign intrusion, and their businesses struggled badly.
Now, in the mansion at the plantation's center, more than thirty members of the Cotton family sat around a long table.
At the head sat the patriarch — Harold Cotton.
Beside him, his only grandson Alfred clung to his arm, tearfully begging,
"Grandfather, please don't go back to America. I've already lost Father — I can't lose you too."
Harold stroked the boy's hair gently, eyes filled with sorrow — and then with cold determination.
His son Oswald had died in America, "officially" ruled a suicide.
But every friend whispered the same name: Leo Valentino.
Harold refused to believe it was suicide.
To him, Leo had murdered his son — and robbed their family of everything.
Two days ago, John Stillman himself had called, telling Harold that America's old-money families were preparing a joint campaign against Leo.
They wanted Harold's help — his influence in the religious community.
The two largest denominations in the East and South — the Evangelicals and the Seventh-day Adventists — were both loyal to Leo.
Their faith, combined with Leo's money, gave him enormous political leverage.
But Harold had once worked closely with many of these leaders. His credibility among them was unmatched.
If he returned to America and spoke, he could shatter Leo's hold on religion — and by extension, on politics.
Stillman's persuasion had worked.
Tonight was Harold's farewell dinner.
He had even hired Rio's finest chef for the occasion.
The meal was exquisite — though few had much appetite.
As the dinner drew to a close, Harold raised his glass to his grandson.
"Grandfather will fight for your future," he said. "We'll return to America — and reclaim our honor."
No sooner had he spoken than his nephew suddenly clutched his stomach and collapsed.
Then another.
And another.
Within moments, the room was filled with screams.
Dozens fell to the floor, writhing in agony.
Only Harold and little Alfred remained conscious.
As the boy's cries filled the air, Harold's mind went numb — and then cold clarity struck him.
He hadn't even begun his revenge.
But Leo had already struck first.
By the time the night ended, every member of the Cotton family was dead —
except Harold and Alfred.