Inside the private reception room of the Lynchburg Hotel suite,
Leo met the President of the United States, Harry Truman.
Compared to his famously tough governing style, Truman in person seemed quiet and unassuming, with no intimidating aura.
But when he spoke, his direct and decisive nature was unmistakable.
"Mr. Valentino, lately the Vice President and my Chief of Staff have both been recommending the same thing to me: the Bubble House.
I hear from Harry that you're considered an imaginative young man in the construction industry.
Tell me plainly—is the Bubble House worth going big on?"
He was not a man who liked hearing a single wasted word.
Leo paused briefly before replying:
"Mr. President, with all respect, I don't think it's worth it.
But saying that alone isn't persuasive.
So why not leave the choice to time?
Just give it twenty days.
You'll see the result for yourself."
Compared to Harry's rambling phone monologue yesterday, Leo's answer was concise, specific, and—most importantly—offered a concrete and measurable timeframe.
Truman appreciated men like that.
"Very good. I understand.
I don't have much time left to serve the American people.
But twenty days? I can wait that long."
He stood up immediately to leave.
"Mr. President, I believe you'll win re-election," Leo added.
"Thanks for the flattery, kid," Truman shot back over his shoulder.
He was gone as quickly as he'd come.
At the Governor's mansion, two rooms simultaneously erupted in the sounds of things being smashed.
Dick was furious at Herbert's incompetence: after all the effort to support the Jewish gangs, their leadership had been wiped out in a single night.
Clint was equally enraged. After that major victory, everything had gone wrong.
First, Thomas and the others had used their new regulatory powers to block him at every turn.
Then, his own butler, Doug, had screwed up and let himself be photographed, costing Clint his leverage to lead the Bubble House expansion outside Virginia.
Now the Vice President had called again to say the out-of-state Bubble House plan was being put on hold—officially due to the President being "too busy with international affairs."
Clint suspected Harry's interference.
But knowing Harry, it shouldn't have been that easy for him to pull off.
The road to the presidency was growing steeper by the day.
Time to strike back.
"Don't the Jews have some sway with the media? Tell them to invest more.
And tell them that when I get to Washington, I'll support their so-called great causes.
Also, schedule a press conference for Eddie as soon as possible."
He gave the orders to Herbert and Doug.
A few days later, at a suburban housing site in Lynchburg's East District:
"So West, you really can't hold on just a little longer?"
Leo asked the contractor, West, at the partly-framed new project site.
West had called yesterday wanting to sell.
"Maybe I just don't belong here anymore.
Or maybe we're just obsolete.
I'm selling this and heading back to New York to try my luck.
Leo, these workers of mine—if you can feed them, they'll work for you even without pay.
Jobs in Richmond are scarce right now."
In the end, Leo bought the site for a rock-bottom price.
"That's the third one in two days.
Damn, Rendo's move is ruthless—selling the Bubble House design and the construction material patents at a steep discount.
It's uniting all kinds of people behind them.
Even the Richmond Builders' and Real Estate Association has had a wave of resignations.
I hear many of those quitting have joined Rendo's new 'Future of Richmond Building Association.'
And this West guy? He might not even be telling you the truth."
Toussaint frowned deeply as he spoke.
To him, Leo was in absolute crisis now.
Leo reminded him of so many clients he'd seen before—gamblers in too deep, who refused to admit they'd lost.
Buying up these collapsing projects? Completely irrational.
Leo could hear the implication in Toussaint's words but didn't bother explaining.
A few days earlier, Eddie from the Rendo Company had held a press conference announcing an aggressive, almost-free giveaway campaign.
The entire Virginia press went wild with praise.
They lauded Rendo not only for its grand futuristic designs and technical prowess but also for its sense of social responsibility.
Meanwhile, Leo's company and his suburban house design were mocked as old-fashioned, ugly medieval relics.
That shift in public sentiment led many remaining East District and Monroe Park customers to cancel their orders.
It was a death blow that shattered the entire Builders' Association.
Business is about making money. And anyone could see that the "future of construction" was Bubble Houses.
At that moment, many people simply bailed.
So it was no surprise Toussaint was thinking about surrender.
Leo knew this was too cunning a move to be Eddie's idea—it was almost certainly Clint's personal strategy.
Back at Leo's office, Golondo greeted him with a grim face.
"Boss, we sold off the last of the gold."
Leo glanced at the calendar. Only two days left until his circled target completion date.
Those extra acquisitions had been paid for by selling 400 pounds of gold from his reserves.
"Any word from Fess?" Leo asked.
"No, but he called last night. Said he got a little surprise on camera," Golondo replied.
"Good. Did it alert those officials in Falls Town?"
"Not at all. They were extremely cooperative. Especially the mayor—he genuinely believed we were Wallace's hired photography team.
Gave us total access to the community."
Golondo shook his head in disbelief.
"It's just a town of three thousand. You can't expect the mayor to be that sharp.
Anyway, tell Fess that if he's got what we need, he should come home.
The counterattack is almost here."
"Understood, Boss. Oh—one more thing. Yesterday at the Monroe Park casino, we caught someone cheating. He claimed to know you, so we didn't handle it on the spot."
"Ever since I opened Pharaoh, there's someone saying they know me every day," Leo said impatiently.
"This one mentioned your 'exclusive trial method'—the silver needle. He said you once let him go."
Leo's eyebrows went up.
He remembered someone. And he'd been wanting the right person to investigate the matter Kent's letter mentioned.
"Ah. I do know him. Turner, right? Bring him to me."
Two days later, in Jackson Ward District, just beyond Center Park, a wide expanse of cleared land was now filled with one Bubble House after another.
Luxury cars lined the roads on both sides.
Politicians and dignitaries mingled, congratulating Rendo Company director Eddie.
Eddie loved the feeling of being the center of attention.
And this time it was his own achievement, not the Governor's son getting favors.
"Eddie, the unveiling is about to start. Where's the Governor?" Herbert asked.
He remembered those politicians coming back from Leo's hotel launch and how impressed they'd been.
At first, Herbert had laughed at the idea of a "grand unveiling" as cheap theatrics.
But the moment their Bubble House project was finished, he immediately thought of doing the same.
Just look at these bigwigs! Their presence alone was free marketing.
"He should be here soon.
By the way, I hear Valentino's doing his own unveiling?"
Eddie smirked.
"Just a final act of desperation. I checked—no one's going.
Even Thomas and Harry aren't attending."
"Of course not. The Governor's already launched the party's impeachment process against them.
Charging them with sacrificing the Democratic Party's interests for personal gain.
They can barely protect themselves now."
Eddie's words made Herbert's eyes light up.
With genuine admiration in his voice, he said:
"When the Governor himself makes a move, it's just different.
We've got this in the bag!"