After Norton finished speaking, he quietly left the room.
With giants clashing, it was best for a small figure like him to stay far away.
Hearing Norton's introduction, the repeated mentions of the Morgan name caused the expressions of the seated men to shift—it was clear that things had become complicated.
Leo still had much to do and wasn't planning to waste time arguing with these old bastards.
He said, "You heard it, gentlemen.
Respect is mutual. And here with me—you have none."
These men were used to flattery and hadn't been challenged like this in years.
A middle-aged man, bearing a striking resemblance to that famous president from the history books, slammed the table and stood up.
"You arrogant country bumpkin!
Do you know who we are?
This is a declaration of war against us!
Does Augustus know?!"
Leo laughed. "Gentlemen, wasn't it you who first declared war without a word?
And Mr. Roosevelt—yes, not only does Mr. Morgan know, President Truman knows too.
Guards!"
"No need, we'll leave ourselves."
A military man, bearing a resemblance to General MacArthur, stood up with steady steps, his eyes full of threats as he glanced at Leo.
But Leo remained composed, even smiling as he said,
"Please tell the General—our game has just begun."
Seeing the others dragging their feet, still trying to maintain dignity, Leo turned to the guards.
"Help these gentlemen with mobility issues. They're walking too slow—carry them out!"
As they were being escorted out of the Morgan Bank building, flashbulbs suddenly burst outside.
The powerful men panicked.
If the media captured them in this sorry state, their reputations would be in tatters!
"Don't look at me, gentlemen. I didn't invite the media," Leo said with a smile as he personally opened the bank doors.
His words reminded them of Clint's suggestion yesterday—to have the press capture Leo's defeat and broadcast it, so the public would swarm to finish him off.
At the time, everyone had agreed it was a good idea.
They never expected it would now come back to bite them.
"President, shall I begin my duties?"
Norton asked.
"Although Mr. Augustus asked me to oversee Morgan's Virginia operations, you're his trusted aide and helped me immensely today.
Plus, my main focus will be on JP&W.
So, the Virginia branch of Morgan Bank—I leave it entirely to you."
Outside the bank, reporters swarmed forward, excited and curious.
They had originally been paid to record Leo's downfall, but instead had captured countless high-profile men looking defeated.
Now, they were desperate to know what had happened inside.
"Mr. Valentino, could you tell us who those powerful men were who just left?"
"Mr. Valentino, wasn't today Morgan Bank's final ultimatum to you?"
"Mr. Valentino, is your company now on the brink of bankruptcy?"
Leo looked at the three most aggressive reporters at the front, smiled, and said:
"I'll answer your questions—but first, I need your names and your paper's name."
"I'm Carl, from the Virginia News."
"I'm Tony, from the Richmond Gazette."
The first two answered eagerly. The third hesitated slightly before saying:
"Sir, I'm Clyce, from the Virginia Post."
Looking at their expectant faces, Leo's smile vanished. He said coldly:
"Carl, you wrote the piece 'Who Is the Godfather of Richmond?' didn't you?
Tony, your 'Sinful Richmond: The Lynchburg Gang's Evil Legacy' was maddening.
And you—"
Leo stared at the third reporter.
"Clyce? Virginia Post? Ha! You sly devil—you're David, from the James River Times.
Your piece 'The Evil Embodiment of the American Dream: The Lies You Believed!'—even I was blown away. I almost wanted to tear myself apart after reading it!
Well written!
All of you are talented. I've read your work.
Honestly, you're wasting your talent as journalists—you should be novelists.
Richmond is too small for you.
Only New York twenty years ago was worthy of your kind."
"Sir, mock us if you must.
But please—tell us what happened in there.
You promised," David said.
"You're brave, I'll give you that.
As for what happened inside—they won. I lost.
Simple as that."
Even a fool could tell Leo was lying.
David frowned. "You can't do this—you're a gentleman. The public has a right to know. We deserve to know what happened!"
"Ha! I get it now—you're allowed to lie, but I'm not?
Shameless!
But I like shameless people.
Makes it easier to deal with you—no guilt at all.
Oh, and by the way, you got one thing wrong—I'm not a gentleman.
I'm Richmond's Godfather—remember?
That title came from you guys!
Now I'll show you exactly why newspapers in 1920s New York never dared name names when it came to mob bosses.
Because those guys? They really killed people!
William—take care of them!"
Leo snapped.
Today, he would truly become the godfather in name and in fact.
"Understood, Boss," William replied.
With a wave of his hand, nearly fifty vehicles screeched to a halt in front of the reporters.
From each car poured out a different number of hulking men, who immediately began dragging reporters into the vehicles without mercy.
David, always sharp, had already begun backing away the moment Leo's face changed.
But Leo had already set his eyes on this thorn in his side.
With one swift step forward, Leo kicked David to the ground.
"You're the godfather! You shouldn't dirty your hands! What about your image?!
If you touch me, the national media will come after you!
My newspaper will destroy you!"
David cried out in pain.
Leo stomped on his gut again, then grabbed him by the blood-soaked collar. Pointing toward the smoky skyline above the James River, he said:
"See that over there?"
David's face went pale from pain—but even paler when he realized Leo was pointing to the location of his newspaper office.
"You'll probably call me insane. But I'm not just the godfather—I'm a multi-millionaire capitalist.
A friend once told me—when you have enough money, there are no taboos!
Now I want to test that—to see exactly where that line lies."
"You know why I'm telling you all this?"
Leo's voice turned ice-cold.
"Because…
you won't live past today."
With that, Leo threw David at William, then said coldly:
"Finish him."
—
Fifteen minutes later, the plaza outside Morgan Bank was empty.
Only the shattered remains of cameras lay scattered around.
"Boss, we only used thirty cars. There are twenty left," William reported.
"Perfect. Let's go to the IRS."
On the way, Leo asked,
"With everything we just pulled—torching three newspapers—our new police chief hasn't responded?"
William chuckled. "Ever since the last one, Neil, was found dead on the highway, the new guy's been much more obedient.
Besides, Jesse's one of ours, isn't he?"
Leo glanced at William.
This kid was still young—getting cocky.
This whole wild ride wasn't just about flexing muscle.
It was a test of limits, not a suicide mission.
William was still too reckless. Too easy to manipulate.
He wasn't ready to handle things alone just yet.
Leo said, "After this, focus on your boxing.
I'll hand the Lynchburg Gang matter over to someone else."
"Don't look at me like that!
Think about what your father said.
And don't contact Jesse—act like you don't even know him. That piece is still on the board—but not ready to flip yet."
"…Got it, Boss," William muttered, visibly disappointed.
—
At the Virginia IRS branch, Vic was nervously calling his backer, Evan.
"Boss, those newspapers that should've been printed this morning—they're missing.
Things are going south fast.
Can you transfer me back to D.C.?"
In Washington, Evan wasn't too worried. He didn't think some hick could overturn a game set up by such powerful men.
"I'll make some calls. Don't panic.
You know why I sent you there in the first place?
The Virginia IRS chief is retiring soon."
He hung up and immediately called James Roosevelt.
Evan had only gotten involved in this matter because of James—
this "major case" was just a convenient excuse to curry favor.
Still, as Deputy Director of the IRS, he had to make it look like real work.
The first two calls went unanswered. Evan frowned and checked the time.
According to plan, James should already be at the Oswald family estate.
Finally, on the third try, the call connected—James's furious voice came through:
"It's over!
Be careful, Evan—Augustus and Truman have stepped in!
The cards are on the table now!"
James hadn't even finished speaking when—
BANG! The office door burst open.
Evan's pupils contracted as he recognized the man walking in.
"Evan, you are under investigation for dereliction of duty, corruption, rape, gang collusion, and two murders in New Mexico.
This is a presidential arrest warrant."
FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover entered with a faint smile.
Just that morning, President Truman had called Hoover and told him to pull Evan's black files from the archives.
The reason?
"Breaking the gentleman's agreement in politics."
Of course, that was just the excuse.
The real reason: Evan had pissed off the President.
Even if Truman wasn't running for re-election, he was still President—he didn't need another reason.
Targeting Roosevelt directly might spark backlash from party elders.
But Evan?
Just a disposable pawn.
James had lost.
Offering up Evan was just the cost of failure.
—
"Hello? Evan? What's going on?!"
James's anxious voice kept coming through the phone.
But Evan's office… was already empty.
Vic, completely unaware of what had just happened to Evan, was still pacing anxiously inside his office.
Suddenly, the office door opened. The fat IRS branch director, Colin, walked in and threw a transfer order onto Vic's desk.
The content was brief:
"Return to D.C. immediately. New assignment pending. Depart at once."
Reading the paper, Vic sighed in relief.
Clearly, something had gone wrong, but his boss still had his back.
What he didn't notice was the mocking look in Colin's eyes.
Vic got in his car, started it, and headed off. With years of political experience, he knew he had to leave Richmond ASAP.
But as he pulled out of the IRS building, he saw 18 cars lined up at the gate.
A group of black-clad men stood on both sides.
In the middle, leaning against a Bentley, stood a man facing the gate.
As Vic's car rolled forward, Leo smiled and nodded at him.
Nervously, Vic forced a polite smile back—until Leo's next gesture made him go cold.
Leo formed a gun shape with his hand and pointed it straight at Vic.
Vic slammed on the gas, heart pounding.
After a short distance, he looked in the rearview mirror—Leo wasn't following.
He exhaled.
But then, he saw something horrifying in the mirror.
Fat Colin had handed Hans and Daniel—the two prisoners he had interrogated for five days—back to Leo.
BANG!
A loud crash brought Vic's attention forward.
An accident?
Two cars had collided in front of him, their drivers now brawling in the street, blocking the road.
Vic got out instinctively to try and break them up.
But just as he closed the door and took a step—
A car door beside him swung open, and he was yanked inside with brute force.
At the same time, another man from the back seat slid into Vic's car and drove off naturally, as if it were his own.
—
Inside a speeding vehicle:
"His body okay?" Leo asked, looking at Hans, who lay pale-faced in the back.
"There'll be internal injuries—not noticeable now, but as he ages, rainy and snowy weather will torment him.
Otherwise, just fatigue. He'll recover with rest," the doctor replied.
"Boss, I didn't betray you," Hans said weakly. Vic's threats had shaken him, but not broken him.
"You're a real man, Hans! I'm honored to have you as a brother!
Now rest up—I'm taking you to see your first reward."
—
The car soon arrived at a rural estate. Inside the villa, Daniel looked around the empty living room and grumbled:
"No way, Boss. I haven't slept in days. A couch would be nice. Why the hell is there only a punching bag here?
Are we doing post-retirement willpower and strength training?"
Leo kicked him in the butt and laughed:
"Shut up! Let me see if you still got it—or if you spent all your energy on Pharaoh's girls!"
"Yes sir, Commander!" Daniel saluted, then launched into a flying kick at the bag.
But the moment he hit it, his soldier's instinct told him—something was off.
He glanced at Leo, then at Hans on the stretcher, and realization dawned.
Daniel began pounding the bag with all his strength.
Hans looked on enviously and said:
"Boss, is your reward just to piss me off?
We went into the IRS together—how'd he come out so fresh, and I so broken?"
Leo smiled. When it was time, he had Aldo clear the room, then signaled Daniel to stop and said:
"Of course not. My rewards aren't cruel—they're heartfelt and unforgettable."
Leo pulled out his M1911 pistol and fired at the rope above the punching bag.
SNAP. The rope broke.
The bag crashed to the floor, revealing what was hidden inside.
Hans's eyes widened in shock as he struggled upright.
Lying in front of him, bloody and bruised, was the one who had tortured him for five days: Detective Vic.
The beating had been so brutal, Vic was almost unrecognizable to anyone but Hans.
"Boss… he's an IRS detective… if we do this—"
Hans still worried about the consequences.
Leo gently patted his shoulder.
"He's not IRS anymore.
Right after you left the IRS building, he was officially dismissed."
Vic, lying on the floor, shuddered.
That was it. The "transfer order" had been a trap.
It was over. He closed his eyes.
Leo handed the M1911 to Hans and said:
"Go ahead, Hans. A man should take his own revenge."
In his heart, Leo added:
"No matter how loyal—you still need to offer your blood oath."
Hans stared at the gun… then at Vic.
His expression flickered.
Morality and future… he chose future.
Decision made, he raised the gun and emptied the magazine into Vic.
Leo smiled, satisfied, then handed Hans a folder from Aldo's bag.
"A letter of admission from Harvard Law School."
Hans gasped, clutching the letter.
That was his dream school—one he thought he'd never reach.
"But… I haven't taken the exam yet. And I haven't graduated from UVA," Hans said in disbelief.
"Look at the recommendation letters attached," Leo said, still smiling.
Hans opened the folder.
Edgar Hoover. George C. Marshall.
"Some things," Leo said, "are only complicated for the poor."
Leo handed him a key.
"To my apartment in Manhattan—it's yours now.
Also, I've ordered a new Bentley for you. When you go to college—bring back a wife.
Here's your 'romance fund.'"
Leo tossed Aldo's entire bag at Hans.
"Recover here. When you're ready, go study.
After graduation, head west.
They need you there—and the climate will help your recovery.
Aldo, stay with him."
At that moment, Hans burst into tears.
—
Great rewards bring forth great warriors.
Seeing his third brother Hans rise to glory, Daniel was burning with excitement.
He couldn't wait to fulfill Leo's orders.
Leo's reward for Daniel?
CEO and Executive Chairman of Valentino Corp.
Shares: 7% of Blue Ridge, 10% of Valentino Real Estate
(Second-largest shareholder in both companies after Leo himself)
Round-trip ticket to Hong Kong to study the pre-sale real estate system
After settling Daniel's affairs, Leo had MianTiao drive to the tallest building in Richmond.
They waited a bit until Joseph got in the car, grinning.
"All set. They should be coming down any minute now."
—
On the rooftop, four men stood in despair, sharing one final cigarette.
"You guys got driven up here too?"
Benjamin asked.
The three nodded.
"You're all reporters—did you find out who's behind this?"
They shook their heads. Especially Tony and Carl—their eyes were full of fear.
The third reporter, a bit calmer, said:
"We escaped together.
Thought we'd gotten away—but it was just the beginning of the nightmare.
I caught a glimpse of someone behind me…
Right when I got close to home."
Tony shuddered and added:
"Exactly. Every time we tried to enter a forbidden zone,
we received a photo of someone dying—
and caught glimpses of figures watching us."
He pulled a stack of photos from his pocket.
After he had escaped and approached the police station, he received the first photo:
a blurry figure with a red "X" across the face.
On the back:
"Enter the station—die."
Next, he tried going home.
As he got closer, he received a second photo:
his wife and newborn daughter, both with red Xs.
On the back:
"Go home—they all die."
"After that, I was herded here by those photos," Tony said.
"Same here," the others nodded.
"I was a cop once," the third man said. "Let me see all the photos. Maybe I can find a clue.
Damn it, I'm going insane. I need to know what they want from us!"
Desperate to live, the others handed over their photos.
As the man flipped through them, he quietly slipped them into his pocket.
"I think there might be one more on this rooftop," he said.
"They put a lot of effort into bringing us up here. There must be a purpose.
Let's search together."
The other three, their minds broken by fear, followed him mechanically.
"Found it!"
The man's exclamation drew them over.
He handed out four more photos—each one a family portrait.
But strangely, each person's head had been punched through, leaving a hole.
Flipping the photos over, they found this written in blood-red letters:
"Jump, and your family lives.
Don't jump, and you all die."
—
"We don't want to die!"
Tony finally cracked. He burst into tears.
"All I did was write two good articles…
Why should I die for writing too well?"
Carl groaned beside him.
Now he understood why New York's veteran journalists never named gangsters directly.
Too bad he realized it too late.
Benjamin's face turned ashen.
"It's Leo. It has to be Leo.
Only he could do this in Richmond.
Only he would make sure our deaths have value."
"I thought I escaped… but I just stepped into a death trap."
Tony sobbed louder.
"My son is only five. He needs a future.
I'll go first.
No one else to blame—just myself."
With that, Carl jumped off the rooftop.
"AAAHHHHH!"
The others screamed as Carl vanished over the edge.
Tony turned and bolted toward the door, the others close behind—
but the metal door that had opened earlier was now completely jammed.
"It's over… it's over!
At least they'll survive!"
Tony took a running leap and jumped after Carl.
Just moments ago, they were four.
Now, only two remained.
The other reporter headed to the edge.
Benjamin grabbed him, yelling hysterically:
"You're insane!
You're playing into Leo's plan!
He wants this to look like suicide—to leave no evidence!
I won't let him win!"
He choked up.
"He won. He didn't lose.
All I did was humiliate him—and I was just following orders!
He's a big boss—how can he be so petty?
I earn a great salary! I'm one of the city's elite!
Beautiful women, fast cars—you can't imagine how amazing my life is!
I don't care about my family. Whether they live or die—it doesn't matter to me!"
As they struggled, they neared the edge.
Beneath the rooftop, the darkness looked like an endless abyss.
Benjamin calmed.
Even if he escaped the building, he wouldn't escape Richmond.
Leo had left him no choice.
If he didn't give himself a "dignified" end, Leo would end his entire family "gracefully."
Benjamin looked at the last man and said:
"I've always been first in everything. I hate being last.
So I'll go first."
He jumped.
As he fell, he heard the last reporter say softly:
"Mr. Valentino sends his regards."
—
On the rooftop, only the man remained.
He carefully collected all the photos, double-checking that nothing was left behind.
No evidence.
He erased his presence.
Then gently knocked on the metal door.
It opened.
His partner stood waiting on the other side.
They exchanged a knowing smile—
and left the rooftop.