When Tucson set out for Illinois, he had no idea that his family had already arrived at the Port of Los Angeles.
Of course, not only Tucson's relatives were among them — the families of all of Leo's core subordinates were also there, including Leo's own kin.
For those who had been relocated countless times over the years, Leo's sudden arrangement for them to "go on a trip" was nothing new.
As for complaints? There were none. If it weren't for Leo, most of them would still be toiling in the farmlands of Lynchburg.
At their final farewell, Leo embraced Evelyn and whispered quietly,
"Watch over them for me."
Evelyn nodded, replying softly,
"No problem, my Lion King."
Leo's third refuge was located on a small, inconspicuous island in the Pacific Ocean — Nauru.
Nauru was a peculiar little island. Within a 300-square-kilometer radius, there were almost no other islands, making it a perfect haven for seabirds.
For centuries, countless seabirds had nested there. Their droppings, combined with coral calcium carbonate and the island's tropical rains and heat, had formed thick layers of high-purity phosphate deposits, several meters deep.
In 1888, Germany colonized the island. After the war, when America inherited part of Europe's colonial assets, Leo — who vaguely remembered hearing about this island in his previous life — managed through certain means to acquire its administrative rights.
He quietly began developing it, intending to turn it into a private luxury sanctuary under the Valentino Group — a paradise for tourism, wellness, and birdwatching.
The island had not yet opened to the public, so Leo used it as his Refuge No. 3. In critical moments, he would move family members who might become liabilities in a crisis to Nauru for safety.
Naturally, where there was a Refuge No. 3, there were also a No. 1 and No. 2.
Refuge No. 1 was in Sicily — effectively Leo's own territory by now — while Refuge No. 2 was in Cuba.
As the cruise ship carrying Leo's dearest ones slowly sailed away, Leo could finally devote himself entirely to his next mission — shaking the old-money elites of the East Coast to their core.
Back at his villa, Leo made a few phone calls in quick succession.
Washington, D.C. — FBI Director's Office.
"This chair's uncomfortable, the food's terrible, and now a Wall Street titan's babysitting me at work. You must be suffering,"
J. Edgar Hoover sneered at Samuel, who sat calmly across from him.
For an ordinary American, the FBI Director's office was a place they'd never set foot in during their entire lifetime. Even most politicians in Washington didn't know which way its doors opened.
But for a financial mastermind like Samuel, this room was practically open access.
"It's fine," Samuel said flatly. "I'm here to make sure you don't do anything rash — or help the wrong people. You've done everyone plenty of favors over the years, and we remember that. Don't throw it all away for some arrogant kid."
Hoover chuckled, pacing toward the window.
"Hah! Classic Samuel. You're not just watching me — you're also setting me up to owe you a favor. You people really know how to play the game. If you don't want me helping Leo, just say so. Look, I've been cooperative, haven't I? You've been here thirty-six hours, and I haven't done a thing."
He turned to gaze out the window at the army units stationed outside.
"It's been a full day and night. Washington doesn't belong to your kind alone. If we still can't find him, the embarrassment won't just be yours — it'll be America's. This is about our legitimacy, our image before the world."
Hoover's tone dripped with schadenfreude.
Samuel didn't answer. His brows furrowed deeply. Inside, he cursed Alfred for hiring such incompetents.
They had cast an iron net around the city — yet Leo had still slipped away.
Meanwhile, Alfred was hurling his own tirade at the IRS Director, calling him a useless idiot!
"Yesterday, before the operation began, you told me Leo couldn't possibly escape the Valentino Hot Springs Hotel. But he slipped out like a ghost!
After finding the secret passage, you swore he couldn't have gone far — that within a five-mile radius, he'd be caught. To be safe, I ordered the entire city of Washington sealed off.
Now it's been thirty-six hours — and you still haven't found him! Where is he?"
Alfred's furious roar echoed through the room.
IRS Commissioner Coleman Andrews stood drenched in sweat, trembling under the onslaught, too humiliated to speak.
Roland Morgan, sitting on the couch, rubbed his temples hard, his mind bleeding metaphorically.
Washington! They had sealed off the U.S. capital — the political heart of the Western world. Even an hour of lockdown here came at an astronomical cost, let alone a full day.
Roland had exhausted every ounce of credit and influence the Morgan family name afforded him, spent years of carefully built connections, and owed favors he could never repay.
He had gone all in — and if Leo wasn't caught, Roland would lose not only his heir status but likely his life.
He glanced at Alfred and saw the same desperation.
"Two more hours," Roland said coldly to Coleman. "If Leo isn't found by then, what you lose won't just be your job."
Coleman shuddered, wiped his sweat, and stammered,
"I'll… I'll press Finch harder. We'll find him."
Before he could finish, Roland's secretary burst in, pale-faced, and switched on the television.
On the screen appeared a stage — and there, walking up to the podium, was Leo himself.
The broadcast label in the corner read: WL Television — Live from Los Angeles!
Crash!
Alfred's teacup smashed across the room and hit Coleman squarely on the head.
"Catch him? Catch him with what?! He's already gone! Get out!"
Coleman, clutching his bleeding forehead, stumbled out.
"Wait." Roland's eyes glinted with malice. "We need a Russian spy's corpse. Finch — the one who screwed this up — sounds perfect."
Coleman froze, instinctively wanting to protest.
Roland's voice turned to ice.
"Either he dies, or you do."
The door closed behind Coleman. Silence fell, broken only by Alfred's heavy breathing and Leo's fiery speech blaring from the TV.
"In 1941, for the glory of America and the cause of humanity against fascism, I enlisted in the army.
In three years of war, I fought in over three hundred battles — each a deadly mission behind enemy lines.
I was hospitalized nine times, and bear more than twenty scars across my body.
But when I pointed out one mistake by General MacArthur, I was accused of treason, stripped of my rank, and sent home with a meager pension.
That's why, my friends, the good General seems to hold such a grudge against me!
Still, I don't regret it. Compared to my brothers who now rest forever beneath the Pacific, I am the lucky one.
When I returned home, I found warmth again — but I couldn't forget those wounded comrades, nor the families who had lost their breadwinners.
So, when my business began to prosper, I founded the Veterans' Committee of Lynchburg, Virginia, to help disabled soldiers reintegrate into society and support the families of the fallen."
Behind Leo, a screen lit up with a massive number: 1,000,000,000.
Gasps rippled through living rooms across the nation.
"This," Leo declared, "is the total sum I've donated to veterans' causes over the years.
Ask any World War II veteran — every one of them has received help from me, every one is a member of the American Veterans Committee.
I've tried to live the American Dream, to prove that our nation is the beacon of the world, guiding humanity's future.
But now, certain malicious forces accuse me of tax evasion — and the IRS, with a baseless arrest warrant, tries to take me by force!
Why? Because last time they investigated, they found nothing. This time, they have no choice but to fabricate.
In 1945, I bowed to MacArthur's authority — because not bowing meant death.
When the IRS came after me before, I bowed again — humiliated, though they never proved my innocence.
But this time, I will not bow. Because their actions violate the very Constitution written by our Founding Fathers!
For America. For our freedom. For the day when none of you are dragged away by a baseless warrant — I must resist!"
Leo's voice rang with righteous fury.
He knew well the power of "the underdog narrative" — the secret weapon of mass persuasion.
He placed himself squarely as the oppressed, logical, righteous figure — and the people watching across the nation were spellbound.
Not just WL Television, but also ABC — the largest network in the East and Midwest that Leo had just acquired — broadcast his speech simultaneously.
Every media outlet under Leo's control went into overdrive, printing his full speech in newspapers and distributing them nationwide — even across Europe.
At the same time, James, Leo's old wartime comrade, compiled every story of Leo's battlefield heroism into a magazine titled:
"A Buried War Hero — The Pacific War Chronicles of the World's Richest Man, Valentino."
By the time Leo's speech went live, his newspapers and magazines were already flooding the streets.
So when Samuel arrived, holding a fresh copy of the newspaper and magazine, he was met with the sight of Roland and Alfred — both pale with rage — snapping at him in unison:
"Samuel, do you have any bright ideas now?"
Samuel, who had suffered losses of his own, replied grimly,
"Leo's cards are on the table. The initiative's no longer ours.
Even though we've taken heavy losses, if we don't want to lose everything, we have to grit our teeth and fight.
Our top priority is a counteroffensive in public opinion. We rally every voice we can influence — to attack him.
And yes, Leo will do the same. This battle now comes down to who can sway the most people.
If our side appears stronger, if we can pull enough of his supporters away, that so-called 'invalid warrant' will still be enough to arrest him!"
Samuel had already planned his next move on the way over. This was no longer about dividing Leo's fortune — it was about survival.
If they lost, they wouldn't just lose the Far Eastern assets — they'd lose America itself.
From the moment Alfred flipped the table, only one side could live.
The Eastern old money struck back swiftly and viciously.
Within hours, articles refuting Leo's speech began to flood the press.
They downplayed Leo's heroism, listing other war heroes to make him seem arrogant — a man claiming credit for victories that belonged to many.
They painted him as an egotist standing against the legacy of every American soldier.
Leo retaliated immediately. He invited all those "war heroes" to a live talk show he hosted himself — a grand, heartwarming reunion broadcast nationwide.
Many of these veterans owed him personally, and every one of them admired him far more than they did the bankers.
Seeing this, Samuel's media changed tactics again — pivoting to defend General MacArthur.
They published long essays glorifying the general's achievements, subtly implying that Leo had insulted a national hero.
They lauded MacArthur's leadership in saving the Korean Peninsula from communist control, reminding readers of its strategic value to the "Free World."
The deeper message was clear — forcing Americans to choose:
Who matters more — Valentino or MacArthur?
A single man's fortune, or the fate of the Free World?