"Leo has his own private jet," Truman said.
"The pilot and co-pilot are already under our control. That plane isn't going anywhere! This time, we've set up a perfect net — there's no way he's escaping Washington!"
Alfred snarled through clenched teeth.
This time, their plan was indeed airtight. On the outskirts of the capital, the army had already sealed off every exit, checking every passing vehicle in detail.
At one of the roadblocks, soldiers were meticulously inspecting a convoy of refrigerated trucks.
The drivers grumbled in frustration but cooperated obediently.
The soldiers opened the cargo boxes one by one, a burst of icy air rushing out. Three of the trucks had compartments so thickly frozen that even using the butt of a rifle couldn't break through the ice.
"What's frozen inside?"
A soldier asked.
"Seafood," the driver replied honestly.
"Where's it headed?" the soldier pressed.
"Chicago," the driver answered.
Just as the soldier was about to wave them through, his commanding officer approached, squinting suspiciously at the driver.
"Why's it frozen so solid?"
"The machine's busted. These cold-chain trucks are always breaking down," the driver explained meekly.
A flash of ruthlessness flickered in the officer's eyes. He grabbed the soldier's rifle and fired a burst straight into the ice.
The 5.56mm bullets punched through the frozen layer, stopping only after burrowing twenty or thirty centimeters deep. The officer leaned in to inspect, peering through the bullet holes — all he saw was more ice and some frozen seafood.
Seeing nothing unusual, the officer waved his hand.
"Go on!"
The army knew how to fight wars, but when it came to inspections, they were amateurs compared to the police. None of them noticed that the rear tires of three trucks were slightly more compressed than the others.
After the convoy passed through the checkpoint, one of the refrigerated trucks quietly broke away, turning into a dense patch of forest.
Inside the woods, seven or eight vehicles were already waiting. A heavily armed squad immediately surrounded the two trucks.
A few bodyguards from Valentino Security Company pulled out a cutting tool, sliced open the front part of the refrigerated container, and out leapt Leo — wrapped in heat packs — who went straight into one of the waiting cars.
In the driver's seat sat Joseph. He turned to Leo and asked,
"Boss, back to California?"
"Yes. But once we're back, start moving our relatives in California out to sea from Los Angeles. Have them stay at Refuge No. 3 for now," Leo ordered.
"Boss, we're heading to the shelter already? California's our turf," Joseph said, frowning.
"Naïve," Leo replied coldly. "As long as it's in America, every inch of land belongs to capital. California isn't safe. This time, they've ignored the Constitution, broken every unspoken rule just to get to me. Once they realize I've escaped Washington, the intensity of this war will only escalate."
Leo's convoy sped westward across the heartland of America. By the time they reached Route 66 near San Bernardino, California, it was already the next morning.
Everyone was starving.
"Boss, there's a long line up ahead. Must be good food. I'll grab something for the guys," Joseph said.
Leo nodded, glancing briefly at the queue. In America, good food was rare — long lines even rarer.
Thinking Joseph would be gone for a while, Leo leaned back to rest. Though his body was still in peak condition, the constant tension had exhausted his mind.
But he had barely closed his eyes when the car door opened again. Joseph climbed in and handed Leo the food — a burger, a piece of fried chicken, and a cup of coffee.
Leo looked at the familiar combo. The smell instantly brought him back to his past life, lounging at home with a takeout delivery.
Then his eyes froze on the burger wrapper — the big yellow "M."
"Haha, boss, surprised, huh? The speed's insane! I checked — the owner's a genius. He runs the burger shop like a car factory — full assembly line!"
Joseph laughed, mistaking Leo's reaction for surprise at how quickly he'd returned.
"But man, food made this way? No soul at all. Still, not bad taste-wise," he added between bites.
Leo came back to himself, took a bite of the burger — not as good as the ones from his previous life, but for this era, far better than the fried chicken he used to bring home to his siblings in Lynchburg.
He set the food down and opened the car door.
"Boss? What's wrong?" Joseph asked immediately.
Leo looked at the long queue again, then raised his gaze to the massive yellow "M" sign above the roadside restaurant.
"This food may lack soul," he said evenly, "but it can buy me Franklins."
Since Leo had made his fortune, fried chicken — once a staple among the poor and Black communities — had all but disappeared from his diet. As a result, even in his lucid dreams, fried chicken seldom appeared anymore.
But right after the Pacific War ended, fried chicken had been his main source of food. Naturally, he had often dreamed of KFC and McDonald's.
One of those dreams was of a movie from his past life — the story of failed entrepreneur Ray Kroc, who, after seeing the McDonald brothers' efficient operation, expanded it nationwide and ultimately took over, turning McDonald's into an icon of American capitalism.
Back then, Leo hadn't thought much of the film. After all, when Kroc founded McDonald's in 1955, America had already broken free of postwar constraints, digested Europe's wealth, and perfected its global extraction system.
The economy skyrocketed, urbanization boomed — a worker's wage could support a family of five.
It was a golden age.
With car ownership soaring, highway travel became the norm.
In that context, McDonald's spread rapidly and became a symbol of American life.
But in 1945 — the year Leo was discharged — resources were scarce, the economy rigid under government control, and millions of veterans were flooding home. Starting a fast-food business then was suicide.
So Leo had ignored the movie completely.
Now, though, time was edging closer to the fast-food boom — and McDonald's appealed to him not just for burgers or assembly lines, but for something deeper: the business model.
It could solve the very crisis his real estate empire was about to face.
Just as oil was the Rockefeller family's core, real estate was Leo's.
With postwar reconstruction and veterans eager for homes, Leo had ridden the wave to become the era's biggest winner.
But business tides shift fast. According to his projections, within five years, the property boom would end.
The reason was simple: the pent-up housing demand from the Great Depression and World War II was nearly exhausted. Infrastructure projects were winding down. The era of massive state-funded development was over.
His real estate projects were losing momentum. Within two years, housing prices might even fall.
The next real boom wouldn't arrive until the late 1960s, driven by the baby boom generation.
Leo had to plan ahead. His two main development directions were now urban core communities and hotels.
He was also expanding retail, leveraging Valentino's stores to maintain land value, and building Las Vegas into a glittering city of celebrities and sky-high property prices.
But even these could only sustain about 60% of his property portfolio's value.
He needed a new asset — one that could stabilize or appreciate his real estate.
The fast-food model Ray Kroc pioneered could help him retain another 20%.
Leo's plan was simple:
sell off properties destined to depreciate and use the funds to buy land ideal for fast-food restaurants — mainly highway intersections and suburban roadsides.
He would build flagship McDonald's stores on them, lease them to franchisees, and use his media empire to boost the brand's popularity — thereby increasing the land's value.
The steady cash flow from these restaurants would reinforce his real estate business, allowing him to buy even better sites — a self-sustaining cycle.
And thanks to his retail network and supplier dominance, his McDonald's costs would be the lowest in the country.
Fast food, real estate, retail — all tightly connected, strengthening Leo's control across industries.
It was, in every sense, a perfect business.
Of course, Leo wouldn't personally negotiate with the McDonald brothers — that was beneath him.
Back at his Beverly Hills mansion, he began preparing for the media battle with the East Coast's old-money elites. There was no better stage than Hollywood to win public favor.
After securing his safety detail, Joseph drove back to Menlo Park to relocate vulnerable personnel.
Then Leo summoned Tucson.
In the movie, Ray Kroc had partnered with the McDonald brothers because he lacked capital.
Leo, however, had no such limitations.
"Tucson," he said calmly, "just buy them out. I think a hundred thousand dollars will be enough to convince the brothers."
"And if they're not satisfied?" Tucson asked.
"A hundred grand is a fortune in this era — enough to buy them three or four stores and their patents. If they don't take the deal, make them understand."
Leo was, after all, the Godfather of Godfathers. When he wanted to talk business, people had better be reasonable — because when he didn't want to talk, things got ugly.
Tucson was a man of action. Soon, he returned with the signed contracts and patent transfer papers. The McDonald brothers, fortunately, hadn't resisted the temptation of a hundred grand — sparing themselves from becoming fish food in the Pacific.
After hearing Leo's full plan for McDonald's, Tucson couldn't help but sigh once more:
"No wonder you're rich, Leo. You always come up with something new."
"So who's going to run this business? Real estate division or retail?" Tucson asked.
"Retail's a no-go — too much corruption risk. Real estate…"
Leo frowned. His company had grown so large it resembled a mid-sized nation, and the problems were piling up — especially in real estate, where managers bullied competitors, manipulated deals, and took kickbacks.
During the property boom, incompetence didn't matter — profits covered everything. But if left unchecked, the rot would spread fast.
If not for the wars keeping him occupied, Leo would've cleaned house long ago. But now wasn't the right time.
"Real estate's out too," he said finally. "We'll run it like a real estate business, but it's fundamentally food service. We need new blood. Go to Illinois and find a man named Ray Kroc. He'll head this operation."
Tucson blinked. "A newcomer?"
Leo nodded. "Yes. A newcomer. I recall he's in the milkshake machine business. Tell him there's a good opportunity waiting. Don't mention my name. Let him take his time — I'm not in a rush."
Leo chose Ray Kroc not only because he knew the man's future potential, but because he was new — an outsider to Leo's empire.
A great organization must constantly absorb new blood.
Tucson didn't quite understand but was used to obeying orders. He assumed Leo must've noticed Kroc's potential during the Chicago gang cleanup.
"Oh, and Tucson — take this notebook. Give it to him a year from now. Ignore any early losses; they don't matter. And one more thing — stay out of this business. Focus on the law firm."
As he spoke, Leo handed Tucson a small notebook. Inside were detailed plans linking fast food and real estate, along with the expansion strategies McDonald's would later use — franchising, standardization, and scale.
But Tucson's attention was already elsewhere. He had caught the warning in Leo's tone:
He was not to get involved in this deal.