Today marked the first time the Lynchburg Hotel was completely sold out.
120 legislators from Virginia's 90+ administrative districts had gathered here.
Most of them had either stayed at the hotel during official trips to Washington, met Leo during the expansion of his business, or represented districts with a heavy veteran population and had proactively built ties with the Veterans Association to win votes.
They were a mixed bunch but shared one defining trait: they were all "first-generation" administrative legislators—not businessmen-politicians or scions of old political families.
Because they knew exactly what this meeting was about, they had all discreetly avoided public transport and driven private cars.
This was a gathering only Lynchburg insiders even knew about.
After all, these lower-level legislators were almost anonymous outside their own districts.
Many had arrived the night before just to experience the "anti-fascist cause" so popular with the governor.
Leo's "Axis girls" had been busy all night.
After resting through the morning, the legislators were reenergized—swaggering in while trading excited stories about last night's adventures.
But as they entered the hall, they were surprised to see the massive space divided up by heavy curtains, forming private booths.
Hotel staff guided them to their assigned spots.
Each booth was very simple: a table, a chair, and an iron bucket beside it.
On the table was a stack of documents and a lighter.
Everyone knew why they were here.
They eagerly sat down and flipped through the papers.
These documents were nothing but forms with no explanatory text.
The numbers wouldn't make sense to outsiders—but the legislators knew them well.
They were figures from the municipal construction and road-bridge projects they managed in their districts.
The forms were stapled in pairs.
The bigger the difference between the two sets of numbers, the wider the legislators grinned.
Some files were thick, others thin. But on the last page of every one was the same line under a number:
"Bucket at your feet. Burn after reading."
Soon, smoke began to curl through the entire hall—but no one minded. In fact, some even inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of money.
Then a voice rang from the stage.
Though the curtains blocked the view, they immediately recognized Desmond, the meeting's organizer.
Desmond was "reporting" on the James River Charity Fund's donations to the assembled "members" of the foundation.
He highlighted its largest disbursement: disaster relief donations for Cuban refugees.
This single item accounted for 95% of all funds.
When Desmond finished, hotel staff delivered another document to every booth.
The new title stood out in bold letters:
"Beware of New Money-Laundering Scams."
It described how money was sent from Country M as "donations" to Country G, where fake accounting entries created an illusion of spending.
The funds then simply split into countless tiny payments and flowed back to M.
It was a short article, quickly read and just as quickly collected back by staff.
But these legislators weren't fools.
They immediately connected it to Desmond's mention of "Cuba."
They all understood that their money had been laundered there.
And everyone knew Cuba was the money-laundering hub of America at this time.
These small-time legislators had heard of laundering in Cuba before, but had never managed it themselves—their bribes had always been too small for Cuban banks to bother with.
But now, through the James River Association, all those little sums had pooled into amounts large enough to be worth handling.
While they were pondering this, the waiters returned.
Each carried an elegant gift box.
As soon as the waiters left, the legislators tore them open eagerly, expecting to find their cash.
Instead, they found a plane ticket and a hotel voucher.
From the stage, Leo's voice spoke again:
"This plane ticket will take you from Richmond directly to Miami.
The hotel voucher guarantees a smooth stay for your family.
Please tell your families to keep the hotel's complimentary gifts safe. Very safe."
They might have been provincial politicians, lacking sophistication or vision, but they were masters of reading between the lines.
They instantly understood: the money was in the "gift."
They were floored by the elegance of it all.
One-stop, zero-risk bribery service.
They didn't even have to get their hands dirty—the money would be fed to them.
They loved it.
There were no Richmond legislators here today.
The others didn't know the full truth about Leo's situation.
Most of them still saw him as the young, ambitious leader admired by both the governor and the senator.
Many were already dreaming of the endless cash flow this system promised.
"I'm sorry, gentlemen," Leo continued.
"Because of LAMB Company's predatory price-cutting, our January municipal order count is just seven.
Well below the peak of 235 back in June.
So the gift waiting for you in Miami might be my last thank-you."
Shock spread through the room.
They'd all assumed their district's projects had dried up.
But it was all of them?
Wait—that meant Leo had failed.
What about their money?
They knew LAMB Company dealt directly with mayors and town supervisors.
That level shut them—the little legislators—out completely.
They wouldn't just miss out on kickbacks.
Their constituents wouldn't even see new roads or benefits.
One thought was on everyone's mind:
"If I can't make money, why even be a legislator?
Even serving the people takes money for food!"
The meeting began to dissolve into muttered complaints.
During dinner, people huddled in private circles, debating fiercely.
A new consensus quickly emerged:
"It's LAMB Company that's starving us."
"Only by keeping Leo Valentino's Blue Ridge Company alive can we keep eating."
Arguments then shifted—helped by Leo's planted agitators—toward the biggest prize of all:
The state's single largest-ever infrastructure project: the Virginia highway network.
Everyone wanted a piece of that.
When they heard that LAMB had won the bid, their faces twisted with envy and anger.
Older legislators recalled how, in the last highway program, the state government only did the design and standards.
Funding and contracting had been decentralized to local governments.
America's federal system gave states real power.
And within states, big cities held the same advantage over small towns.
"It's already decided. What can we do?"
one legislator sighed.
These people were the lowest rung of the political ladder.
They had fought tooth and nail to even get here.
They had no leverage to bargain with the powers above.
At that moment, Leo walked in, raised his glass, and shouted:
"Gentlemen, it's not hopeless.
I don't need you to take big risks.
Just use your local authority to approve one petition for a public demonstration.
Leave the rest to me.
If it works out, your Miami trip will become an annual event!"
"Is that true, Mr. Valentino? Just one approval?"
someone asked.
"Yes. Just once."
While Leo was rallying his supporters, over in Richmond's Jefferson Hotel, Police Chief Conagher was briefing Mayor Eamon on a brazen daytime shootout along the Richmond-Lynchburg highway.
When he finished describing the scene, Conagher hesitated before offering an official conclusion.
He glanced at Robert, who was standing beside Eamon—a clear outsider to the police matter.
But Eamon pretended not to notice, saying:
"Go on."
Eamon was the boss.
Conagher obeyed:
"A group of gunmen—by their clothes and gear, they looked like they were from New York—ambushed Valentino.
But they failed.
Valentino's Lynchburg Gang wiped them out completely.
That's my assessment."
"Did Leo Valentino die?"
Robert asked bluntly.
Conagher shot him an icy look but didn't answer.
Eamon gave a tiny, satisfied nod—and then flicked a warning glance at Robert.
"What happened to the target?"
Eamon asked.
"Valentino was unharmed."
As an old hand, Conagher felt the atmosphere instantly go rigid.
He had a very good idea who'd sent those attackers.
Suppressing his disappointment, Eamon cleared his throat:
"Conagher, lately I've heard complaints from businessmen that gangs are disrupting Richmond's economy.
We need to create a good environment for commerce.
This Lynchburg Gang is far too arrogant.
Let's make them our example."
Conagher almost laughed.
Richmond's crime rate had dropped 60% since the Lynchburg Gang became dominant.
Most businessmen were grateful.
If anyone had complained, it was probably Robert.
But after 20+ years in the Richmond PD, Conagher was used to this kind of political hypocrisy.
When Conagher finally left, Robert snapped at Eamon:
"Your police chief just admitted it's Valentino's gang.
Why not just arrest him outright?"
Eamon sighed in exasperation:
"Robert, you're sharp in real estate, but everywhere else you're an idiot.
We can't arrest a wealthy businessman on a hunch.
Who would dare do business in Richmond if we pulled that shit?"
"Fine! Then arrest the shooters—they fired in public!
Make them testify against Leo!"
Robert was still fuming from Leo's calm defiance at the reception.
He'd thought humiliating Leo in front of the entire state would break him—but Leo had remained unsettlingly composed.
He'd already gotten most of Virginia's political elite on his side with that highway deal.
There shouldn't be any surprises—but Leo was unpredictable.
Eamon rolled his eyes:
"Just stick to real estate.
Maybe read up on American law and gang politics.
Also, the hit squad you hired? That worthless Basini guy?
He's the real problem here."
As if on cue, Eamon's secretary walked in.
"Mr. Mayor, Basini is here."
Basini entered, bowing deeply three times.
"I'll be staying in Richmond for a while, until we've dealt with this Valentino problem."
That night, 30 cars from New York rolled into the Giovanni Family's Richmond compound.
Elsewhere, in a discreet corner of the city, Hans met with reps from three local road-construction companies.
One of them pointed at a note in the file:
"This part's a surprise. Make sure Valentino sees it."
Meanwhile, in a hidden corner of the city, Hans was collecting documents from representatives of the three old-line Virginia road-construction companies.
One of them pointed to a marked line in the papers and told Hans:
"There's a little surprise in here. Make sure Mr. Valentino sees it."
Jackson Ward, Richmond.
Inside a grand house recently purchased by Hubert, he and Dick spread out the internal loan records of LAMB Company that they'd paid a fortune to acquire.
Leo's suspicions were dead on:
LAMB's total market value was under $2 billion, but Citibank had extended nearly $800 million in credit just for their Virginia operations.
And that was just one state in their new expansion.
What about all the other states?
LAMB and Citibank weren't just bending regulations—they were brazenly ignoring the law altogether.
Seeing Citibank's name in the documents, both Eddie and Hubert were ecstatic.
If the problem was just LAMB's own finances, convincing their own bank boards to act would be hard.
But if Citibank itself was implicated, every competing banker would back them.
That night, the heads of Moody's and Fitch ratings agencies were jolted awake by urgent calls.
Richmond Police HQ.
After finishing plans for the next day's massive sweep of the Lynchburg Gang, the aging Chief Conagher trudged home.
Seeing a light still on in his bedroom, his expression turned grave.
Inside, his wife sat tensely at the desk.
A delicate gift box rested in front of her.
She let out a relieved sigh when she saw him.
"They delivered this today. As per our rule, I didn't open it."
That caution had kept Conagher alive since the wild Prohibition years.
He hefted the box, relaxing slightly—it wasn't bomb-weight.
He opened it.
Inside was a slip of paper with the number 100,000 on it.
A plane ticket to Miami.
And a hotel voucher that had, in pencil, the note: "Check the hotel gift carefully."
"What is it?" his wife asked.
Conagher sighed.
"A gift from a young man trying to fight his fate.
Looks like you'll be going to Miami for a bit.
I need to make a call."
He knew Leo would have gone back to Lynchburg's hotel.
He dialed straight there.
When Leo picked up, Conagher simply said:
"Tomorrow, I'll be moving on your gang."
And then he hung up.
That was how you survived 20 years as Richmond's Chief: by staying flexible.
A few days later, Richmond.
A Ford screeched to a halt outside Leo's headquarters.
Even before it stopped, Billy leapt out and sprinted inside, barreling past Hans at the door to Leo's office.
"Get out!" Leo bellowed.
Billy sheepishly retreated and waited.
Inside, Yelena tried to stand, but Leo pushed her back down.
She covered her mouth and ran out coughing.
Leo glared at Billy.
"What the hell has you so rattled you can't even knock?"
Billy's brief fantasy of Leo "having fun" evaporated.
He went back to looking frantic.
"Boss, I can't hold on much longer!
That Basini bastard has gone nuts!
He's fighting a total war with no budget limit.
The cops are rigging everything—they let his guys out in three days while ours are so many they're sending them to other cities.
My police contact says one of our squad leaders cracked two days ago.
I might not be safe myself."
Billy looked a little aggrieved.
He'd been out there fighting tooth and nail while Leo was, to his eyes, living it up.
Leo listened silently, then turned, opened the safe, and dropped a stack of cash in front of Billy.
"Half is for you. Half for your kid in California.
I warned you the police would move.
That squad leader—handle it.
Make sure he shuts up in jail.
Still feel sorry for yourself?"
Billy pocketed the cash and cracked a sheepish grin.
"Heh, not really. But boss, I really can't shut that rat up."
Leo cut him off.
"Find a safe house. Tell your men to hold on a few more days.
The counterattack is about to begin."
Billy's eyes lit up.
"Boss, you're unleashing William's unit?
With them, Basini's toast!"
Leo kicked him lightly.
"Unleashing my ass.
William's off fighting in Ohio.
The key isn't you guys.
It's this."
He jabbed a finger at the newspaper on his desk.
Jackson Ward, LAMB's Richmond HQ.
Robert was in a rage, slamming the table, glaring at a newspaper identical to Leo's.
The front pages had different local headlines, but all shared the same scathing investigations:
"New Jersey LAMB Collapse Exposed!"
"Rhode Island Bridge Vanishes Overnight!"
But the worst was:
"Inside LAMB's Rock-Bottom Eminent Domain Payouts."
Robert roared:
"They even used charts comparing 1922 road buyouts to ours!
Goddamn it—who leaked this?"
His secretary calmly replied:
"Likely those three companies from the Virginia Association."
"Cancel their contracts!
Sue them for revealing trade secrets!"
"We can't.
Our own crews are all in New York on the elevated project.
We need those three to even start the Virginia highway.
No start, no state money.
No money, no debt relief."
Robert's bald head glistened with sweat.
He knew better than anyone he was walking a tightrope.
Seeing his boss slump in thought, the secretary offered:
"Bribery or mob threats usually fix these leaks.
Should I—"
Robert shook his head and pointed at the stack of papers.
"Bribes are cheap.
But with so many papers running it?
By the time you silence them, everyone will know.
And Basini's too busy fighting Richmond's gangs.
He told me yesterday he's out of muscle and wants me to lean on the cops to arrest their boss faster."
"We could ask the Governor to ban these papers."
Robert's eyes lit up.
Then dimmed.
He remembered what it cost last time to get Eamon to act.
Harry would want even more.
"Let me think. Get out."
But before the secretary even closed the door, he was back.
"Worse news.
A friend at Moody's says they've spotted our debt load.
They're revising our credit rating."
Robert felt his heart seize.
He snatched the phone and screamed at the Cotton family.
After a barrage of insults, he finally calmed down.
"Cotton will fix Moody's."
The secretary relaxed too.
But just as they were catching their breath, his assistant rushed in waving another paper.
"Sir, it's bad.
The New York Times rushed out an emergency edition.
They're printing Fitch's new rating for us.
With risk warnings."
Robert went limp.
Two agencies, not one.
Not a coincidence.
The secretary's heart sank reading the article.
He turned back to ask for orders.
But Robert had already collapsed in his chair, unconscious.
The news spread like wildfire.
Over fifty small papers in Virginia alone reprinted the rating downgrade.
Americans were shocked to learn LAMB had nearly four times its market value in loans.
Robert woke a day later to a world on fire.
The first thing he heard was his secretary:
"Sir, there are protests in Virginia.
They're demanding that Virginians build Virginia's roads—not some bankrupt, shoddy out-of-state company."
Robert shakily grabbed the phone and called Harry.
He tried to sound defiant:
"I can fix all this.
But this protest wasn't part of the plan.
You need to stop it.
Or your fee's getting cut."
In his office, Harry was livid.
He'd just finished calling every mayor and town supervisor, demanding to know why they approved protest permits.
They'd all dodged and mumbled.
Because Harry had swapped their legislator bribes for vouchers they couldn't even cash.
Harry's aide brought in two papers.
One was the Washington Post:
"Justice Department Announces Investigation Into LAMB."
The other was the New York Post:
"Congress Announces Joint Committee to Probe LAMB."
"Harry! Answer me! Can you stop these protests or not?
If you can't, you don't get paid!"
Harry sneered at the phone.
"Why would I stop them?
America's a free country.
People have the right to protest.
And what money? What did you say about money?"
He hung up.
Meanwhile, in the Fan District, Leo was on the phone too.
Hoover's voice crackled over the line:
"LAMB and the Cotton family have been too arrogant for years.
Every developer on the East Coast is salivating to finish them off while they're down.
Nicely played, kid.
I hear President Truman might drop by your hotel again."
In New York, Robert, sensing disaster, ignored his splitting headache and raced home.
Outside the Cotton estate, shivering in the cold, he waited for hours.
But he never got to see the big boss.
Only the Cotton family's butler came out.
With icy indifference, he said:
"Turn yourself in.
The Cottons will make sure you're out in ten years.
And keep your mouth shut."
Then he walked away.
Robert's knees buckled.
He collapsed onto the frozen pavement.
In the quiet, frigid night, on that deserted road, lay a dog his master no longer wanted.