Leo swallowed the champagne in his throat. As the liquid flowed down his stomach, every memory of his time with Sidney slowly faded from his mind.
Watching as the police pulled up a cordon in front of Morgan Stanley, Leo said calmly,
"This is a war. Don't just sit here—let's go see Henry Ford II. George Bush and Lehman are still there.
This deal will be handled jointly by Brown Brothers Harriman, Manhattan Bank, Lehman Brothers, and our European branch of the Morgan Investment Bank for the IPO."
When Roland Morgan and Henry Morgan arrived, they found the investment bank in complete chaos. Both of them anxiously asked Harold Stanley what had happened.
After hearing the whole story, Roland's face darkened.
"Leo's gone mad—he actually dared to kill someone in front of Morgan Stanley!"
As the head of Morgan Stanley, Henry felt no grief over the recent death of Goldman Sachs' leader. In fact, he was secretly pleased to see a rival stumble.
"We should take advantage of this and buy into Goldman," he suggested.
The moment he said that, Roland's face changed drastically.
"No good. If you've thought of it, that means Leo's already doing it. We need to get to Goldman—now!"
The two rushed off together. As they got into the car, Henry abruptly shut the door on Harold Stanley, leaving him outside.
"Someone has to stay and watch the company," Henry said coldly. "This is family business."
As the car drove away, Harold sneered and turned back toward the old stone building with the words Morgan Stanley & Co. carved above the entrance.
"My days managing this place are numbered," he muttered.
When Roland and Henry arrived at Goldman Sachs, they were stopped at the entrance by security guards.
"Sorry, gentlemen. Goldman Sachs is holding a closed board meeting. No visitors are allowed. Please make an appointment."
Henry murmured,
"A board meeting this early in the morning?"
Roland replied grimly,
"It's Leo. That's exactly how he operates—quiet one moment, relentless the next."
But then his face paled.
"What I don't understand," he added, "is how he plans to buy into Goldman. Those Eastern European Jews won't give him an easy time."
When Henry didn't respond, Roland looked up—and saw his uncle staring intently at a silver car parked in front of the building.
"What's wrong, Uncle?"
"That car… it looks like David Rockefeller's."
Roland recognized it immediately, and his expression turned even darker.
He had thought David had abandoned his plan to go after Leo. But seeing that car, he realized the situation was far worse than he had imagined. The Rockefeller family had clearly chosen to side with Valentino.
And now, Roland also understood the answer to his earlier doubt—Goldman might not care about Valentino's influence, but Rockefeller was another story entirely.
This was no longer something the Morgan family could handle alone. A full council meeting had to be called.
As he returned to the car, Roland felt uneasy, as though he'd forgotten something important.
When they stopped again at the chaotic Morgan Stanley building, realization struck him like lightning.
"No! The Ford IPO—if we let Leo handle it, Ford will fall into his camp too! We'll lose everything!"
They raced toward the Ford family's Hale Syne Estate in Southampton, a grand Victorian manor. After a long security check and drive through the sprawling grounds, Roland's face turned ashen at the sight before him.
Henry Ford II was warmly shaking hands with Valentino, Lehman, and Augustus—the very man who had betrayed the Morgan family. Judging by their cheerful expressions, it was clear that the Ford IPO had already been secured.
"Hahaha! Roland, what brings you here—ready for a polo match?"
Ford II was an avid polo player, and Roland, who had been educated in England, was quite skilled at the sport himself. The two often played together after Roland returned to the U.S.
But Roland wasn't naïve enough to think Ford really believed he had come for a casual game. The man was just pretending not to know.
Still, he refused to give up. Every ambitious man had to learn persistence, even in hopeless situations.
"Ford's IPO," Roland asked, "does Morgan Stanley still have a chance?"
"I'm afraid not," Ford replied. "We've already made our choice."
Just then, a silver luxury car rolled up—it was David Rockefeller.
Whether Roland was the true heir of the Morgan family was still uncertain, since Augustus Morgan also represented the clan. But David Rockefeller was already the recognized successor of his house, and his presence changed everything.
Ford's attitude shifted immediately. With a smile and a respectful bow, he hurried forward to greet David.
"I only agreed to that Italian's proposal because of you," Ford said warmly.
Indeed, Leo and Ford had no real personal connection. Ford agreed to let Leo's team underwrite Ford's IPO mainly because the Rockefellers' Chase Manhattan Bank was part of it.
That was the power of the Rockefeller family.
Besides, the Morgans were the largest shareholders in General Motors—Ford's main rival. Only a madman would let Morgan Stanley handle Ford's IPO.
And finally, Leo's team had used the very same IPO plan that Sidney once proposed to Ford II—a plan that promised to make Ford stock the highest-priced single share of the era, while keeping the Ford family in firm control after going public.
"Hahaha! Thank you, Ford. And here's more good news—just now, both the Rockefeller and Valentino families bought into Goldman Sachs. Goldman will rejoin the Ford IPO syndicate.
With this, Ford now has the most powerful underwriting team in Wall Street history. You must realize this will send your stock soaring once it lists."
Ford grinned widely, clearly satisfied. With Rockefeller and the world's new richest man behind him, what could possibly go wrong?
At the luncheon hosted by Ford II, Roland seized a chance to approach David Rockefeller.
"Why?" he asked bluntly.
He wanted to know why David had taken their money and still chosen betrayal—and more importantly, what Leo had offered to win him over.
Maybe, Roland thought, he could outbid Leo and bring David back to their side.
But David simply replied,
"What you gave me, I'll return in full. Roland, instead of asking me why, you'd better start preparing yourself. The Morgan family might afford to lose this war—but you, Roland Morgan, cannot."
With that, David patted his shoulder and walked away.
Of course, he would never reveal the real reason.
Leo didn't care if the Morgans found out—he merely wanted to catch a ride on the Rockefellers' grand plan to link the U.S. dollar to oil.
But if the Morgans knew, they wouldn't just want a ride—they'd fight for control.
Roland left early. Staying would only mean more humiliation.
When he returned to the Morgan family's Long Island estate, he hadn't even had time to report the day's disasters to the patriarch, Jack Morgan, before another piece of bad news arrived.
Leo's American Retail Group, thanks to its cutting-edge nationwide supply chain, had just won the Pentagon's Far East Logistics Contract.
The deal didn't involve weapons—just uniforms, rations, coffee, sugar, and Coca-Cola. But these "small" items often made as much profit as arms.
Roland froze as he read the telegram, a wave of bitterness washing over him.
He had thought that with the combined effort of the East Coast elite—DuPont, Samuel, and others—they could crush Leo alongside MacArthur's military expansion. Yet every one of their offensives had failed miserably.
It now seemed that no matter how many cards they played, Leo always had more.
Taking a deep breath, Roland decided he still had to report to Jack. But as he reached the study, Jack's secretary stopped him.
"I'm sorry, Roland. Mr. Jack refuses to see you. He says he respects your decision but will neither support nor oppose it."
Roland nodded silently, but his clenched fists betrayed his rage.
The Morgan family was declining precisely because its leader, Jack Morgan, was indecisive—always hesitating between risk and caution, never bold enough to act.
Roland thought bitterly: If I controlled our family's resources, even against Rockefeller and Valentino, I could still win.
His father, J.P. Morgan—the titan who ruled American finance for two decades—had left them an empire. But Jack, hiding behind the excuse of "protecting our legacy," had let that empire erode piece by piece.
Roland knew exactly what Jack's words meant: "neither support nor oppose" was just a way to let him act in the family's name while keeping Jack blameless if he failed—and ready to share the credit if he succeeded.
But even survival demanded risk. And since Jack was the patriarch, what choice did Roland have?
He could only fight on, or be discarded.
The very next day, less than twenty-four hours later, the Anti-Leo Conference convened again—this time at the Jefferson Hotel, to make it easier for the Jefferson and Hutchinson family heads to attend, as Leo had effectively trapped them there.
When Roland entered the meeting room, he was surprised to see Maxim MacArthur in attendance. Since the war began, the man had avoided group meetings, preferring one-on-one dealings to maximize his family's gains.
Everyone knew why. When each family negotiated separately, Maxim could squeeze out greater benefits; at a collective meeting, the rewards would be diluted. It was classic MacArthur greed.
Maxim opened harshly:
"Douglas is furious with your progress—especially that you let Valentino become the Pentagon's Far East logistics contractor!
Do you realize that if Leo decides to cut supplies, our frontline soldiers won't even have Coke to drink?
By now, Valentino should've been dead! Instead, he's gained influence over the war itself!"
His tone was cutting, almost insulting.
As the meeting's host, Alfred DuPont looked furious that Maxim had hijacked the discussion before it even began.
"Valentino was this close to being kicked out of the Pentagon," DuPont snapped.
"We were ready to take the logistics contract ourselves. But the Rockefeller betrayal ruined everything.
Tell Douglas that Leo isn't some small-time player you can just swat away. If it were that easy, he'd have been gone long ago."
DuPont's own anger was boiling. Since taking charge of his family, he'd never suffered such humiliation. Losing the Pentagon deal had shaken his position within the clan.
Maxim wanted to retort, but when he saw the cold glint in DuPont's eyes, he held back. Though both families had risen during the Civil War, the DuPonts had become masters of American destiny long before the MacArthurs earned their military fame.
Even now, Douglas MacArthur held sway over the Far East, but in the grand hierarchy of American power, he still couldn't match DuPont's influence.
Swallowing his pride, Maxim forced out,
"Arguing won't help. What's done is done. The question is—what's next?
When Douglas wins in the East, we can't let our common enemy, Valentino, take a piece of that huge cake."
Finally, something reasonable.
DuPont nodded.
"Exactly. The first thing we need to do is remove Leo's man in the Pentagon—Defense Secretary Marshall.
As long as he sits there, both wartime profits and postwar spoils will keep slipping into Leo's hands."