Roland Morgan knew David Rockefeller was always punctual. He waved his hand dismissively and said,
"Forget it. Maybe he's got other business. I'll go ahead and announce the second piece of good news."
He took out a telegram and continued addressing the crowd:
"This is the latest report from the front line, sent just now by Maxim. The United Nations forces are advancing smoothly; the North Korean army hasn't posed any resistance.
Douglas made it clear in his telegram—within a week, they'll reach the banks of the Yalu River.
His reconnaissance aircraft have already crossed the river and begun their missions.
Gentlemen, you all know what this means.
We've cultivated our interests in that land for years, and just as we're about to harvest the rewards, that fool hiding on his little island ruined everything.
Now, it's time to take back what belongs to us. Soon, we'll once again set foot on that mysterious land and reap its riches!"
The applause this time was even more enthusiastic.
Roland cleared his throat and concluded,
"But before we head east, why not enjoy a little appetizer? Let's discuss how to deal with that annoying upstart."
Just as everyone was preparing to offer their opinions, the secretary who had gone to contact David Rockefeller rushed back in, panic on his face.
"Sir, bad news. Our people in the Pentagon just reported—the sanctions against Valentino's military enterprises have been overturned by the latest meeting!"
Roland was sharp as ever. He immediately turned his eyes toward the empty chair on his left—instantly guessing the reason for the failure.
The others at the table weren't fools either. Following Roland's gaze, they all figured it out within seconds.
Standing beside Roland, Sidney noticed everyone's faces darken. It was clear they were all wondering just how much Leo had paid to convince the Rockefeller family to drop their opposition.
"Is there a way to fix this?" Samuel asked.
Alfred du Pont, who had invested great effort in this operation, looked grim.
"Hardly. The Rockefellers' influence in the Pentagon was the key to our campaign against Leo.
Even without an explicit objection from them, just their refusal to back us is enough. Those generals who never wanted to move against Valentino in the first place will simply let it slide."
"Let's just be blunt," Samuel said. "See if there's anything we can do to salvage this."
"Salvage? How?" Alfred retorted sharply. "Does Wall Street even have pull in the Navy anymore?
Don't forget—Leo was Navy himself. His companies have deep cooperation with them. With that many opponents, how do you plan to sway them?"
Samuel pursed his lips. He had no real answer. He also knew his words were meant to force Alfred to admit defeat.
Indeed, Samuel didn't want Alfred to succeed. If he did, it would only prove that Wall Street's earlier failure was due to incompetence. When the spoils were divided, Samuel's faction—the Jewish financial group on Wall Street—would get a much smaller share.
But now, things had changed. Sidney, representing Wall Street, had scored a victory.
The military-industrial complex had failed, which meant when it came time to divide the profits, his side would get the bigger slice.
Samuel cast a covertly envious glance at Roland Morgan, thinking how great it must be to belong to such a family—vast industries on one hand, dominance in finance on the other.
No matter who ultimately contributed most, the Morgans would always get the largest piece of the pie.
The sudden bad news caused the meeting to end hastily.
After everyone left, Sidney stayed behind. Anxious, he turned to Roland Morgan and said,
"Mr. Morgan, I don't quite understand how we lost the Pentagon, but I do know Leo. That vindictive bastard won't let a traitor like me go.
I have a feeling, for Goldman Sachs, a storm is coming."
Sidney's premonition was spot-on. That night, when he returned home, his phone rang—it was Leo.
"I thought we were friends," Leo said evenly, as if discussing something trivial.
"Goldman Sachs is simply too small to take sides in this war," Sidney explained.
"You made the wrong choice," Leo replied.
If the Pentagon hadn't failed today—if those powerful men hadn't turned pale at the news—Sidney would have laughed off Leo's words.
But now, he realized something shocking: while it looked like all the power of the Eastern establishment was closing in on Leo, it was actually Leo crushing them!
Sidney also understood why Leo had called—it was his final chance to change sides.
But for Sidney, there was no turning back. The only thing worse than a traitor was a man who couldn't decide which side he was on.
"I'm disappointed, Sidney. I gave you one last chance, and again, you've chosen to displease me.
So be it. Take care of yourself."
After Leo hung up, Sidney rushed to his office—determined to contain any fallout.
But he overestimated himself. Leo's retaliation was far beyond his reach.
As Sidney sat half-asleep in his chair, the office phone suddenly rang. A deep voice spoke on the other end—it was Orland, head of the Roosevelt family.
"I'm sorry, Sidney," Orland said. "The Roosevelts have no interest in this war. Therefore, all the IPOs and mergers we recommended to Goldman Sachs will be suspended.
I hope this won't harm our friendship."
He hung up before Sidney could reply.
Sidney's face darkened like a thundercloud. Before he could think of a response, the phone rang again. This time, it was Wallace.
"I told you before—you gamble too much. Now, you'll pay the price. Every company under my protection will terminate its partnership with Goldman."
"Mr. Wallace, wait—"
But the line went dead.
Bang! Sidney slammed his fist onto the desk.
If it were only the Roosevelt business collapsing, he could endure it. But Wallace's accounts represented half of Goldman's core income. Losing that would destroy him as CEO.
And still, the bad news didn't stop.
The phone rang again. This time, Sidney nearly didn't dare pick it up—but the ringing wouldn't stop. Finally, he sighed and answered.
On the other end was his true benefactor—Sam Rayburn, the congressman who had served for over thirty years.
Before Sam could speak, Sidney blurted out,
"Sam, you can't abandon me. Our interests are bound together."
Sidney wasn't exaggerating. His rise had been tied to Sam from the start. Once just a janitor at Goldman Sachs, Sidney had climbed to partner and later CEO largely due to Sam's backing.
Sam had introduced him to the Roosevelts, whose favor had elevated Sidney to one of the most trusted economic advisors to the president—and head of the government's Economic Council.
Under his leadership, Goldman rose from a modest firm to one of Wall Street's super-investment banks.
But all of that had hinged on his connection to Sam Rayburn—and through him, to the Democratic Party.
Now, with disaster at hand, even allies turn their backs.
"I'm sorry, Sidney," Sam said heavily. "You should've talked to me before making your choice.
I also bear some blame for not warning you sooner. I've been pushed out of the party's inner circle.
They told me that if I want to keep my power in the House, I must cut ties with you.
They even promised that if you accuse me or try to frame me, they'll protect me. I'm sorry, Sidney. There's nothing I can do."
The Democratic Party's internal shift had happened a week ago—right when Sidney was preparing his campaign against Leo's real estate empire. He'd read about the political shake-up in the papers but assumed it didn't concern him.
Now he understood why everyone at yesterday's meeting had looked so pleased at his "good news" and terrified at the Pentagon's failure.
He had been right—Leo wasn't merely resisting them; he was dominating them.
"They're all useless," Sidney muttered bitterly.
How he now wished he had apologized to Leo during that phone call. But it was too late—worse than too late. It was over.
Without the Democratic Party's support, Goldman Sachs would grind to a halt. The shareholders would revolt, and those who'd always despised the janitor-turned-CEO would finally have their chance.
"Sidney… Sidney, say something," Sam's voice urged, uneasy.
The call jolted Sidney back to clarity. No—he wasn't finished yet. He still had one last move.
The Ford IPO was nearing completion. If he could secure that deal, he could stabilize Goldman.
But he knew Leo would inform Henry Ford II of his predicament, and that shrewd man would hesitate.
He needed to close the deal today.
Sidney quickly realized he couldn't do it alone.
He hung up on Sam and called Roland Morgan. After briefly explaining his situation, he pleaded,
"Mr. Morgan, Goldman is taking these blows for the sake of everyone's shared interests. I urgently need my friends' support."
Roland, ever the leader, replied confidently,
"Don't worry, Sidney. Come to Morgan Stanley right now. I'll convince my uncles—Henry Sturgis Morgan and Harold Stanley—to yield part of their share and join Goldman in underwriting the Ford deal.
With Morgan Stanley backing you, Ford will agree.
I'll also contact Samuel and the others, and have them call Henry Ford II to recommend Goldman for the IPO."
Roland's assurance reignited Sidney's spirit.
It was 8 a.m. in New York. Sunlight streamed through his office windows, bathing everything in gold.
Sidney suddenly felt the weight lift from his shoulders. Crisis breeds opportunity—that was what he always told his subordinates.
Yes, Leo's assault was a crisis, but if handled well, striking back could earn him gratitude and admiration from every power Leo had subdued.
With that much influence, how could Goldman's future not thrive? And the presidency of the firm—surely, that would be his soon.
Brimming with renewed ambition, Sidney climbed into his car and headed for Morgan Stanley. Fortunately, both firms were on Wall Street—only a short drive apart.
It was still early, and the street was quiet. Only a few sanitation workers were cleaning up yesterday's trash, tossing bags into a massive garbage truck parked by the curb.
That garbage truck looks unusually large today, Sidney thought idly.
But he quickly dismissed the thought, focusing again on how to coordinate with Roland and the Morgans to win over Henry Ford II.
As the car drew near, Sidney could already see Harold Stanley standing on the steps, waiting for him.
Sidney smirked. He knew Harold had limited power—Morgan Stanley might bear his name, but the real authority still lay with the Morgans. Harold was merely a front to appease antitrust regulators.
"Sir, shall we get out?" the driver asked.
Sidney shook his head. Talking to Harold was pointless; better to wait for Roland and Henry Morgan.
Vroom… vroom… vroom!
"What's that noise?" Sidney frowned, just as the driver, exhausted from working all night, glanced in the rearview mirror. His face turned white.
He threw open his door and leapt out, shouting,
"Sir! Jump!"
But he overestimated how fast Sidney could react in his weary state. Instead of jumping, Sidney instinctively turned his head—
—just in time to see a massive truck grille fill his entire vision.
It's that garbage truck from before!
That was Sidney's last thought.
Standing on the steps, Harold Stanley watched the horrific crash unfold. He exhaled softly, then glanced across the street—to the third-floor window of a French restaurant.
He knew the room had been reserved for three men, watching everything. He knew, because he'd just come from there.
And there, behind the glass, the world's richest man—Leo—was raising his champagne glass in a silent toast.
Beside him, freshly returned from Europe, Augustus sighed.
"Funny," he said to Leo. "It was right here that Sidney stopped you once, offering to take American Real Estate public.
Some people never realize what kind of punishment awaits those who choose the wrong side."