Leo composed himself and said:
"I don't think it's time to lose heart yet. This document says Wallace already built a bubble house in Falls Church, Northern Virginia.
Why don't we go see it for ourselves?"
Harry's reply was ice-cold, so unlike the friendly tone he'd had at breakfast in the Lynchburg Hotel:
"See it? You want us to go praise our enemy up close? Enough. You should leave. This is Democratic Party business now. Outsiders shouldn't be involved."
Typical politician: friendly when useful, heartless when not.
Thomas tried to intercede:
"At least let him share his thoughts. And since you're talking about the Democratic Party, I think now is exactly when we should be bringing in young talents like Leo to join us."
Leo was about to respond when Harry cut him off again:
"Talent?
Once this bubble house gets rolling, his company will be carved up by his enemies.
One little hotel? Hardly what we consider a real entrepreneur.
And anyway, who knows if he can even keep that hotel in the end."
Harry's words drew a chorus of mocking laughter from the room.
They all liked Leo's hotel, but they didn't like Leo.
Most people here were from families that had been Democrats for generations, or whose wealth went back three generations.
They'd paid their dues to enter the elite circle.
They instinctively resented anyone who thought climbing onto Thomas's coattails was enough to get in.
Leo felt anger burn in his chest, but he knew he wasn't in a position to argue with Harry head-on.
So he kept his tone measured:
"Governor, whether or not I join the Democratic Party can be set aside.
But at a moment of crisis like this, shouldn't a mature politician be trying to unite as much strength as possible to overcome it?"
He turned to the room:
"If your laughter alone could kill our enemies, I'd gladly play the fool to make you laugh even harder.
There's an animal in Africa called the ostrich. When a sandstorm comes, other animals fight to survive in the brutal wind and sand.
The ostrich buries its head in the ground, praying for that one-in-a-million chance that God will save it.
You gentlemen have time to laugh at me, but can't be bothered to get off your distinguished asses and go see if our enemy has a weakness right in front of us.
How is that any different from an ostrich?
The barbarians haven't even broken into Rome yet, and Rome's already ready to destroy itself!"
When he finished, the room fell silent.
Some people looked thoughtful, others covered their faces.
A few were angry, wanting to shout down this young upstart—but when they opened their mouths, they didn't know what to say.
In a side room just off the meeting hall, Evelyn, who had been listening for some time at the doorway, had shining eyes.
She thought of Leo facing these old men, calm and forceful as he rebutted them with logic and composure.
Her cheeks flushed.
She remembered watching lions with her father on the East African plains—the way the lion king stood tall and unbowed among his pride.
Clap, clap, clap!
Thomas's applause broke the silence.
Several others joined in.
They hadn't changed their fundamental snobbery about Leo, but at least in that moment, they had to acknowledge his capability.
Soon a convoy of cars roared into Falls Church and parked in front of Wallace's bubble houses.
As a professional luxury-home architect, Wallace Neff had a high standard of taste—each dreamy bubble blended seamlessly into the pines.
From far or near, they looked like exquisite works of art.
Harry turned to Leo:
"So? What faults did you find?
All I see are advantages.
Sure, these houses might not be luxurious for us, but for the poor, they're paradise.
So tell us, Mr. Silver-Tongued Leo, what do you say now?
Look there—they even have a development built for civil servants in Falls Church.
These buildings have already proven they work."
Harry's words left everyone quiet.
No one had the energy left to mock Leo for the small comfort of a laugh.
What looked like a simple debate over housing policy was really a battlefield for two rival factions.
Ever since they had pushed the GI Bill's housing provisions in 1944,
every bill with an innocuous title was actually part of a long, resource-fueled fight for dominance in America.
More than a year had passed. The struggle had reached a fever pitch.
Leo was just one of many pieces on that chessboard.
They had all bet heavily on this fight, staking their fortunes and their futures.
And the arrival of the bubble house seemed to seal their defeat—not because they hadn't fought hard enough,
but because their enemy had invented the future.
It was no longer even a fight on the same plane.
Even Harry lost his usual fire.
He could see that some people in the crowd were already looking away, their thoughts drifting.
Some who hadn't invested too much, or who could afford to lose, were already wavering in loyalty.
"Leo, Lynchburg isn't far. Let's go back to your hotel and sit for a while."
On the road back, Leo rode in a car with Thomas and Harry.
Harry said:
"When you go bankrupt, you can always join my campaign committee.
Before you're forty, I'll make sure you're in the inner circle.
With your quick mind and way with words, you'll have no trouble being the top man in the civil service ranks.
By sixty, you might even break into our circle."
For once, Thomas didn't argue with Harry.
He patted Leo's shoulder, showing his agreement with those words.
Leo frowned.
Bankrupt. Honestly, it wasn't impossible.
His companies already had contracts with factories in New Jersey and Pittsburgh for new building materials.
He'd paid the deposits. If he didn't default, he'd still be unable to pay the rest without new orders.
And Morgan Bank wasn't a charity—they wouldn't give out loans for free.
If he defaulted, the penalties alone would ruin him.
He couldn't pay them even if he sold everything.
In the car, Leo genuinely weighed Harry's offer.
His future might really mean working for the Harry family until he died.
That talk of being a top civil servant? Sure. That was a story for children.
And going full gangster? That took money too.
Without Leo feeding him, Fess wouldn't last a month.
Worse, those factories could sell Leo's debts to other gangs.
Without protection, Leo dying with eight bullets in his back would be the dignified outcome.
Just then, Leo noticed in the rearview mirror that their long convoy had thinned.
Many cars had turned off at a junction, heading elsewhere.
He opened his mouth to warn Harry and Thomas, but Thomas cut him off:
"A leader who can't offer profit or a future will find no one willing to follow."
When they reached the hotel and got out, Leo watched Harry's driver carrying a small bag of white powder into the room with him.
Tonight, Harry had made clear he wanted to "personally" complete his great anti-fascist mission.
"Want some yourself?" Leo asked Thomas dryly.
Thomas shook his head:
"I'm not as young as you. My body can't handle that anymore."
Leo offered with a small smile:
"I have a special way to unwind.
An ancient Chinese massage.
You should try it."
Thomas chuckled:
"Oh? I'd give that a shot."
After watching Thomas disappear into his room, Leo stood alone in the biting winter wind, his mood heavy.
He was certain the bubble house wouldn't last.
But he had no idea when that craze would end.
The bubble house would die.
But before it did—Leo might die first.