Richmond Company Headquarters.
Inside Leo's office hung a large map of the city, dotted with red pins marking every major street and alley in Richmond.
Each pin represented a business venture.
At the sofa below the map, Leo was entertaining two bank managers.
Benjamin Garrett, the credit manager from Virginia First Bank, was speaking with exaggerated gestures and tone:
"Mr. Valentino, our bank has funded nearly all of your business in Lynchburg. We've built a strong foundation of cooperation.
Now that your enterprise is booming in Richmond, we sincerely invite you to shift your capital flows and loan services to Virginia First Bank.
We are committed to providing you with consistent, enthusiastic service."
Leo nodded but felt dissatisfied—not because of the flamboyance, but because the man offered no real substance.
Leo then turned his gaze to the other man: Hubert Stone, the loan manager from J.P. Morgan Bank.
Unlike Benjamin's fitted suit, Hubert wore an early 20th-century boxy style.
Seeing Leo's attention, Hubert took a stack of documents from an old-fashioned leather briefcase and said seriously:
"Mr. Valentino, J.P. Morgan is one of the largest commercial banks in America.
We operate with rigorous systems and tradition.
If you choose us, we will establish a dedicated service team for your company, prioritizing your fund settlement and clearance to ensure timely and accurate cash flows.
Given your current scale, I can also apply for interbank deposits and lending privileges for you, offering low interest rates and flexible terms to optimize your liquidity and capital allocation.
As your business grows, we'll provide syndicated loan services and risk management support.
We'll also open access to our client database to create more resource-sharing opportunities for you."
With every point Hubert made, Benjamin's face grew darker.
He despised these old-school Morgan men who followed the rules so rigidly that people like him couldn't skim any profits.
Benjamin interrupted:
"Mr. Valentino, everything he mentioned—we can do that too.
And unlike him, we can offer you direct access to our client database."
As Leo looked at him, Hubert simply went silent.
Proud Morgan bankers never begged for clients.
Just then, Toussaint rushed in with a worried look. Seeing Leo, he blurted out:
"Leo, something's wrong. Our projects in Jackson Ward, Monroe Park, and the Southern District have all been halted."
Realizing there were guests present, he noticed Leo's displeased gaze and the changing expressions on the two managers' faces.
Leo sighed and said,
"Go ahead, say it. This may help our guests reassess us."
Toussaint hesitated, then said,
"Well, we haven't confirmed the exact reason yet, but there's been a wave of order cancellations, and municipal projects are also suspended."
"You didn't see this coming at all?" Leo asked.
"None. I had dinner yesterday with several Jackson Ward officials, and they assured me the construction permits would be issued today."
Leo rubbed his temples, ready to send off the two guests before digging deeper. But when he looked up, Benjamin from First Bank was already gone.
Surprised, Leo asked Hubert, "When did he leave?"
"When this gentleman mentioned the cancellations," Hubert replied. "Not surprising. He's known in the industry as 'The Silent One.'"
Hubert continued expressionlessly:
"Mr. Valentino, J.P. Morgan does not invest in companies—we invest in people.
So while your recent setbacks might slow our internal processes, the overall plan remains unchanged."
"Toussaint, get a pen.
I promise—you'll be rewarded for your loyalty."
Leo signed the contract on the spot, establishing an exclusive cooperation between his company and J.P. Morgan Bank.
After Hubert left, Leo turned to Toussaint and asked:
"Now, tell me the truth—you must have heard something."
"It's the State Assembly. Governor Clinton proposed a new bill today: 'The Large-Scale Residential Construction Support Act.'
And Eddie from Londo Construction did a presentation, with a design explanation by renowned architect Wallace Neff."
Toussaint added,
"My contacts said the audience went wild—people were shouting things like 'Paradise on Earth!' and 'Long live America!'"
"What could've triggered such a reaction?" Leo asked, puzzled.
"Wallace Neff has designed houses that can be built in just two days.
That news spread across the city, and that's why we're losing our orders," Toussaint explained.
"Two days? Have those lawmakers gone insane?
How can they cheer for something that makes no engineering sense?"
Leo was shocked. Even in the 21st century, houses built in two days were never durable or suitable for long-term living.
"Wait… which company presented the report?"
"Londo Construction," Toussaint replied.
"So it's our old friends again," Leo muttered, just as the phone rang.
He picked it up to hear Senator Thomas's grim voice:
"Something's happened. Come to my house."
At Morton Manor in the Sector District, Leo entered a private meeting room filled with familiar faces—trusted aides of Thomas and Lieutenant Governor Harry.
All wore the same expression: gloom.
"You're here? Take a look."
Thomas weakly handed Leo a document.
Leo glanced at it—it was the exact proposal Toussaint had mentioned.
The first page showed a picture of a bubble-shaped house, like an inflated balloon on the ground, looking like an Eskimo igloo but futuristic.
Below was a message from Eddie of Londo Construction, forecasting a "new architectural era."
Leo skipped that and flipped to Wallace Neff's technical breakdown.
As he read the blueprints, construction methods, and workflows, Leo's face finally changed.
The method: pour a concrete base, place a large hemispherical balloon on top, then spray concrete over it to form the structure.
"A bold idea," Leo muttered.
Seeing Leo's reaction, Harry said to Thomas,
"See? Even he's shocked. I told you—no matter how cunning, no one can argue with a design this revolutionary."
Thomas's already darkened face turned even grimmer.
Leo composed himself and kept reading.
Something felt… off. This technology seemed almost too futuristic.
At the bottom was Wallace Neff's bio—he'd designed many lavish homes for Hollywood stars.
Clearly a serious designer, not some con artist.
But if the design was truly so efficient, why didn't it spread in future generations?
It must have a fatal flaw that led people to abandon it.