"Agreed."
Roland Morgan was the first to speak, and soon the rest followed one after another.
They spent the entire afternoon discussing how to force Marshal to resign from his position as Secretary of Defense.
By dinner time, they had come up with a rough plan.
"This time, we must act quickly. We move tonight—Leo must not have even a sliver of chance to turn things around."
Before dinner began, Alfred DuPont addressed the group.
Everyone nodded in agreement.
Just then, their assistants suddenly rushed into the meeting room, each holding a small-sized newspaper.
It was the New Post Express, a newly launched bulletin by The New Post, designed for breaking news—cheap, fast, and sold at only one cent a copy.
When the attendees saw the front-page headline, their pupils contracted.
Former Secretary of State and current Secretary of Defense, Mr. Marshall, has resigned this afternoon due to health reasons.
As soon as his identity as a supplier was confirmed, Marshall immediately resigned to protect himself.
That kind of maneuver—they knew it too well. It was unmistakably Leo's work.
Especially for Alfred DuPont, the one who had proposed this entire scheme.
His face turned purple with rage, his chest heaving with helpless fury.
It felt like he had been preparing a lethal blow for months, only to punch into cotton.
Alfred's eyes reddened as he glared at everyone and said,
"So, in the end, none of us here can actually deal with that man, can we?
He always seems one step ahead. Every flaw of his might just be another trap waiting for us to fall into.
I must admit… I'm not his match. Does anyone here have a better idea?"
At the far end of the table, Truman watched with quiet satisfaction.
The dozen or so men here—normally arrogant, always bossing him around—now sat in silence, unable to even raise their heads against Leo.
For once, Truman felt comforted. It wasn't just him who couldn't handle Leo; even these powerful families who could shape America had no real solution.
Still, beneath that relief was a sting of regret.
If only he hadn't broken with Leo, he thought bitterly—
right now, he might be the one beating these jackals while they were down.
Alfred finally broke the silence again.
"Well, it's not like we have no options.
If we can get Leo thrown in jail—even for a month—everything will change."
"He hasn't committed any crime," Samuel objected.
"Crime isn't necessary," Alfred said coolly. "Sometimes, 'investigation' or 'security reasons' are enough to restrict someone's freedom.
If the matter's serious enough, it can justify keeping a man behind bars for quite a while."
Maxim's eyes gleamed. "He's right. At this point, Leo's only weakness is that he rose too fast—his roots aren't deep enough.
All of his influence depends on him personally.
If he disappears, even for a short time—if he can't issue orders or communicate—his network will falter, his allies will start doubting him.
And that's our chance. The best one we'll ever get."
"But Leo controls both parties," Samuel argued. "You can't open an investigation with just Truman's power.
And besides—everyone knows Hoover of the FBI is Leo's man. The CIA we control doesn't have domestic enforcement authority!"
Roland Morgan smiled faintly. "I understand Alfred's thinking. True, the government is under Leo's influence—but we still have one sword left.
The same sword that cut down that arrogant fat man in Chicago."
Samuel instantly understood—they were referring to the IRS, the Internal Revenue Service.
Back then, it was the IRS that took down Al Capone when even the government and the FBI were powerless.
"Leo's taxes are clean," Samuel protested. "John Stillman already tried that route. IRS agents went through James River Asset Management and found nothing."
"Sometimes the truth doesn't matter, Samuel," Alfred said coldly. "All we need is to hold him for a month. Once that happens, the tides will turn on their own."
The Jewish magnates in the room frowned deeply.
To rob what you can't outcompete—that was pure Anglo-Saxon logic.
If they could rob the Italians today, what was to stop them from robbing Wall Street tomorrow?
Samuel was about to object again when Roland interrupted him:
"Do you have a better idea, Samuel? We're already past the point of no return.
Even if you plan to surrender now, have you considered what it would cost you to earn Leo's forgiveness? You think he'll let you walk after the damage you've caused?"
Samuel froze. He hated losing money more than losing his life.
Alfred seized the moment. "Samuel, all thirty families here can testify—this time we're targeting Leo only.
Never again will we resort to such means. Besides, this plan requires everyone's cooperation; no single family can pull it off alone."
Faced with no alternatives, Samuel reluctantly nodded in agreement.
Having learned from their past mistakes, the group moved fast—very fast. That same night, they began making arrangements.
By the next morning, when The World News and The New Post reported Leo's latest triumph—winning Ford Motor Company's IPO—every other paper in America turned its guns on him again, accusing him of tax evasion.
Even President Truman, during a morning interview, publicly said:
"As Leo's former friend, I can say that it's possible he has, indeed, been involved in tax evasion."
Although insiders knew Leo and Truman had long since split after the war, the American public still thought of them as bound together.
Now, with one friend accusing the other, suspicion spread like wildfire.
The press went further, claiming Leo had interfered with previous investigations using bribes.
Soon after, IRS Commissioner Coleman Andrews went public, declaring:
"No one, regardless of who they are, is above taxation. If taxes are unpaid, the IRS will not let it go."
The IRS then announced a reopened investigation into Leo and even displayed the warrant to the media.
Leo's brow furrowed. He could tell—the enemy had exhausted their options and was now choosing a desperate, all-or-nothing strategy.
As he pondered his next move, Edgar Hoover called. His tone was urgent:
"They're moving fast, and deliberately avoiding my informants.
You must return to your western estate immediately and prepare defenses. Move quickly—if I'm right, they're already at the Valentino Hot Springs Hotel.
Remember—whatever happens, do not let them arrest you. And don't harm any investigators either, or public outrage will explode into something worse."
As Leo hung up, Tony Lip entered.
"Sir," he said, "the hotel gatekeeper called. IRS agents are asking to see you."
Leo froze. Just as Hoover had said—their move came fast, leaving no time to react.
But Leo had always been cautious. He had multiple escape plans ready.
"Tell the gatekeeper and the hotel's lawyer to stall them—whatever it takes.
Tony, take my car. Bring someone with a similar build to me, and leave through the rear gate—use the most secluded exit."
Tony nodded, understanding instantly. "Yes, sir."
After Tony left, Leo picked up the phone again.
"Joseph," he said when the line connected, "ready the car. Route Three tunnel."
"Got it," came the reply.
Hanging up, Leo opened the bottom drawer of his desk, felt underneath, and pressed a hidden switch.
A section of the decorative wall behind him slid open, revealing a narrow elevator.
Leo stepped in, and the door sealed shut behind him. Moments later, he emerged in the underground drainage tunnels beneath the estate.
Three exits lay ahead, marked 1, 2, and 3.
But Leo didn't take exit 3. Instead, he went to the wall between 1 and 2, pressed the second brick from the left, and another hidden passage opened behind him.
As he slipped inside, the wall closed just as IRS agents burst into his study upstairs—finding it completely empty.
IRS elite agent Finch Stinson glared at the gatekeeper.
"You said Valentino was in his study!"
The guard shrugged. "He was—just now. But hey, he's the boss. How should I know where he goes?"
"You—!" Finch wanted to punch the man, but he held back.
He knew if he laid a hand on him, the hotel's lawyer—already watching closely—would sue him on the spot.
Swallowing his anger, Finch took a deep breath.
At that moment, one of his men ran in, panting. "Captain! I saw Valentino's car leaving!"
"Do we have anyone at that exit?" Finch asked.
"Yes, sir. Exit 5 of the hotel—we've got men stationed there."
"Good. If he's there, he won't get away. But my gut says it's a decoy. A man like Leo wouldn't make such a rookie mistake. The real secret must be in this study. Search it—thoroughly."
The lawyer stepped in again. "I haven't seen a warrant. Without one, you have no right to search."
Finch's face darkened. "Where's our warrant?" he barked.
"Here," a voice said. IRS Commissioner Coleman Andrews himself entered, holding the document.
The lawyer glanced at it and frowned. "This warrant's invalid—the procedure's all wrong."
"Then sue the person who issued it," Andrews said coldly. "We recognize this."
He gave Finch a look. Finch shoved the lawyer aside and stormed into Leo's study.
But this was only a temporary residence, and Leo's memory was perfect—nothing valuable was left behind.
After interrogating staff and confirming that Leo hadn't been seen leaving, Finch was certain—there had to be a secret passage.
Soon, he found the entrance to the underground sewer system.
Three exits: 1, 2, 3. He sent men through each.
The IRS had full backing now. Andrews had told him flatly:
"Whatever you need, you'll get it. But if you fail to catch Leo—don't bother coming back."
Still, Finch's instincts told him the escape route was too simple.
Then his flashlight caught something—a brick with a fresh handprint.
He grinned. "Billionaire or not, no one escapes me."
He pressed it. The brick sank in—but nothing happened.
His face fell. A one-time mechanism!
Realizing he'd wasted too much time, Finch gave up on the hotel and raced back upstairs.
"Director," he said to Andrews, "Plan A's failed. We can't catch Leo here. Initiate Plan B—seal the airports and highways. Don't let Leo leave Washington."
Andrews nodded gravely and picked up the phone—only to find the line dead.
He and Finch both turned to the lawyer, who shrugged. "The phone lines just went out. Technicians are fixing it."
Neither man bothered to argue. Catching Leo came first; the lawyer could be dealt with later—quietly.
Meanwhile, in the White House, Truman hung up after speaking with Andrews and turned to Alfred and Roland.
Roland said calmly, "There's no turning back now. We'll do as planned—announce that critical White House documents have gone missing, suspected of being stolen by Soviet spies.
Declare martial law and launch a citywide search, led by the Secret Service and the Army garrisoned in D.C."
"But catching spies is the FBI's job," Truman objected. "I can't just shut Hoover out."
"Samuel's already gone to talk to Hoover," Roland replied. "He'll keep him busy. That should be enough time—for us to catch Leo."