The Second World War had just ended. The rhetoric of saving the world and serving the greater good was still widely accepted by the public.
But Samuel's media empire overlooked one crucial fact: those who truly understood the "greater good" didn't need an article to tell them who to support. The people who couldn't grasp the underlying meaning—those were the ones the media needed to win over. Yet these folks were often of low education, unable to understand the piece at all.
Leo would never make such a mistake. He bluntly listed, in plain and simple language, all of MacArthur's major defeats during the early and middle stages of the Pacific War.
In doing so, he completely crushed Samuel's attempt to whitewash MacArthur.
When Samuel's camp realized they were losing ground, they stopped pretending altogether.
They decided to bring out the so-called "social opinion leaders" to pass public judgment.
Suddenly, the usually low-profile tycoons of the East Coast—especially senior executives from Wall Street investment banks, commercial banks, and insurance companies—began accepting media interviews one after another.
One by one, they drifted from talking about finance to talking about national security, implying that Leo's behavior had endangered the country.
And at the end of every interview, they would drop a vague but poisonous hint—suggesting that it was impossible for Leo not to be evading taxes.
Beyond Samuel's media, the Morgan-controlled General Electric group, the DuPont family, and members of the Maxim-led military–industrial complex all joined the chorus of condemnation.
Meanwhile, their pet social activists began to leverage their own influence.
Their talking points were all over the place: some echoed the tax evasion angle; others accused Leo of opposing the Far East War only because his companies didn't supply arms for that front; still others flat-out labeled him as a mobster—backed up with "evidence," of course.
In response, Leo's allies also entered the battlefield: the powerful Rockefeller family, the recently-won-over Ford, and his old friends from the Altria Group.
Through their voices, Leo revealed his enemies to the American public: Wall Street, Morgan, and DuPont.
Wall Street's name already stank after the Great Depression.
Morgan still had some credibility—Jack's approach over the years had been cautious and pragmatic, leaving little room for attack.
DuPont, however, was painted by Leo's faction as war profiteers—modern-day devils.
For a time, America was thrown into total chaos, both sides hurling accusations back and forth in an all-out information war.
But Samuel's camp had two major weaknesses.
First, after sitting in high office for so long, they had little real experience with street-level brawls.
Second, Leo—raised in the information age—had too many tricks up his sleeve. To Samuel and his old-money allies, every one of Leo's media tactics felt like a killing blow.
Though Samuel's side appeared to have great momentum, their public reputation was sinking fast.
Especially in Samuel's home turf, the East Coast. The ongoing media war dragged the painful memories of the Great Depression back into the spotlight.
Rednecks were already gathering on Wall Street, preparing to protest.
Normally, such demonstrations could be handled by hiring gangsters or labor unions.
But now? Both the gangs and the unions were in Leo's pocket.
Samuel and his partners were getting nervous.
Under pressure, Samuel hastily convened another secret meeting with Roland and Alfred.
He announced the "Final Strike Plan."
The so-called final strike—also known as the Great Vote—was meant to be the decisive act.
In Samuel's vision, the media war up to now had been the campaign phase. No matter how loud the noise, the politicians—those representing the states—had yet to step in.
But now Samuel could no longer hold out.
He decided to end the "campaign" early and move to the "election."
He ordered his political allies to publicly take a stand in the newspapers.
If they could gather more voices than Leo's side, the search warrant against him would remain in force.
This had nothing to do with law.
It was politics in its rawest form—the rule of the majority.
"Where do we start?" Roland asked.
Samuel glanced at DuPont and replied,
"From Leo's home state—Virginia. If Governor Jesse comes out condemning him, it'll send the strongest signal. People will think, 'If even his home state doesn't support him, he must have done something wrong.'
And this time, the statements can't be vague—they must be crystal clear: Leo evaded taxes, and an investigation must begin!
But my pressure alone won't be enough. Alfred, have your man John lend a hand too."
That night in Los Angeles, Leo received a call from Jesse.
Jesse warned him that Samuel wanted him to be the first to take a public stance.
He asked Leo if he should defect now—strike back at Samuel's camp.
Leo chuckled.
"Defect? No. You're just the first pawn they're moving. Even if you betray them, it won't change the game.
What helps me most is you staying in their camp. I'll remember your loyalty, Jesse. Don't worry—your day to return to my side isn't far off."
After hanging up, Leo knew the final showdown was inevitable.
His enemies had already torn off the mask—sooner or later, this was bound to happen.
He began mobilizing every resource at his disposal for the coming decisive battle.
But before war, there was rest.
Not all of Leo's women had been sent to Nauru.
At least three—his Hollywood companions—were still in his Beverly Hills mansion.
As Leo undid his robe and entered the bedroom, he heard a soft gasp.
No need to look—he knew the voice. Audrey Hepburn.
Though they'd shared moments before, this was her first threesome, and she was still shy as a schoolgirl.
Sure enough, a flash of white darted under the sheets. She hid completely, not daring to poke her head out.
"Still shy, huh?"
Marilyn Monroe, wearing nothing but her jewelry, sauntered up like a cat and helped Leo out of his robe, whispering encouragement for the coming "battle."
Grace Kelly, tall and elegant, was stretching her legs—yes, literally stretching.
She knew Leo's fondness for flexibility, and she cast a slightly disdainful glance at the blushing Audrey under the blanket.
Grace knew very well who would suffer most tonight.
She was right. When Monroe finished her teasing, Leo strode toward the bed, yanked off the sheets—
Another cry rang out. The night would be long and sleepless.
The next day, the four of them slept till noon—only to be woken by noise outside.
The Beverly Hills mansion was surrounded—not by paparazzi, but by serious political reporters with cameras and microphones.
Leo wasn't surprised. The moment Jesse spoke up, this media swarm was inevitable.
Tony Lip, who'd been waiting outside the door, handed him a stack of newspapers.
As Leo sipped his coffee and read, he smiled and said,
"My opponents are finally learning. They've figured out that even when hunting rabbits, a lion uses full strength. No more half measures."
Indeed, not only had Jesse spoken out, but so had the governors of Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey—all unanimously accusing Leo of tax evasion.
These politicians, elected "by the people," carried enormous weight. Their statements crushed much of Leo's previous public relations work.
Americans began to question whether their once-beloved "Son of America" had really cheated on taxes.
Even Tony Lip, Leo's longtime aide, was shaken.
Though clever for a streetwise Italian from New York, he still saw these governors as untouchable giants.
The storm was brewing, and he felt it.
"Sir," Tony asked, "what should we do? Reporters have surrounded the villa."
"Don't panic, Tony," Leo said calmly. "If the reporters want to see me, I'll go see them."
"Sir, you're still in your robe!" Tony protested.
Leo smiled. "Confidence is the robe. Relax, Tony—the sky isn't falling."
When Leo stepped out—robe, coffee, bed hair and all—the seasoned political journalists were stunned.
They had expected a man in a suit, sweating under pressure.
Instead, here stood Leo, relaxed and smiling, coffee in hand.
Isidore Stone, a famous Washington reporter, pushed through the crowd.
"Mr. Valentino," he called, "what's your response to the eastern governors accusing you of tax evasion?"
Leo raised his newspaper, gestured with his coffee, and said lightly:
"I'm drinking coffee and reading about it."
The quip broke the tension instantly. Cameras clicked, reporters laughed.
"You all want to know how I'll respond," Leo continued. "But you've traveled a long way—some from Washington itself. You must be tired and hungry. Come in, have lunch at my place. We'll talk while you eat."
The mansion was large, and Tony had prepared everything in advance.
As the journalists enjoyed rare delicacies and expensive coffee, Leo began his counterattack.
"I must admit," he said, "I'm surprised by the eastern governors' sudden accusations. They speak as if they'd seen me evading taxes with their own eyes, yet none of them offers any real evidence.
What's even funnier is that Governor Samuel Sewall of Maine, for instance—he talks as though we're old friends, but we've never even met.
And, as far as I know, he's quite close to some East Coast financiers."
The reporters listened politely, but they weren't here for reason—they were here for headlines.
Isidore pressed again:
"So, Mr. Valentino, are you saying these governors are slandering you? How will you respond?"
Leo smiled. He knew exactly what Isidore wanted. Normally, he'd dodge.
But now that the fight had gone nuclear, he couldn't show weakness.
"Yes, they are slandering me.
As for how I'll respond…"
He gestured toward the food. "Eat up, everyone. And when you're done—buy plane tickets to the East Coast. There's going to be big news."
When the journalists returned to their hotels, they found calls waiting from their editors—
"Buy The World News! Buy The New Journal! Now!"
They rushed out, bought the papers, and froze.
Their jaws dropped. Hearts pounded.
On the front pages: public statements from the governors of Florida, Georgia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Kentucky, Arkansas, Texas, and fifteen southern states in total.
Their message was simple:
They rejected the eastern governors' accusations and denounced the entire smear campaign as a case of old-money East Coast elites persecuting a self-made Italian-American businessman.
Even New York Governor Dewey, from the enemy's own backyard, delivered a heavy blow—
Knowing he wouldn't be re-elected, he openly declared that certain Wall Street interests were exploiting Leo's conflict with them to attack him, reminding Americans once again of the Great Depression.
That was Leo's counterstrike.
They used his home state's governor to stab him in the back?
He used their own New York governor to stab them instead.
The Northeast had what—eight states?
The South had sixteen.
"Sixteen to eight," Leo quipped later. "Embarrassing, isn't it?"
When it came to numbers, Leo's side had the majority.
Even in politics, Leo still knew how to win the game.