Recently, Fox had been riding high. With the backing of a powerful patron, he'd secured connections with a major Washington D.C. bank. Thanks to the looser lending policies in the capital, Fox had obtained what, for him, was a huge investment.
With cash in hand, he felt emboldened. Fox began launching a full-scale assault on Lynchburg's real estate sector, engaging in cutthroat competition with Jones Realty. He even cozied up to Lynchburg's Deputy Mayor, Chrysler, who was also a member of the Seven-Man Council.
Fox had long since stopped thinking about Leo. Even Jones Realty was no longer a threat in his eyes—what chance did Leo's ragtag group have?
That is, until the banquet—when Desmond mentioned the Veterans Association.
It hit Fox like a thunderbolt. He cursed himself for not thinking of it first. Real estate needed exactly the kind of high-quality labor that veterans could provide.
Fox immediately decided to push Deputy Mayor Chrysler to establish a similar association. If the veterans were funneled into Leo's new company, it would quickly expand and pose a serious threat to Fox Realty.
Lynchburg was too small to sustain three real estate companies.
What he hadn't expected was how fast Leo moved.
Just yesterday, Fox had finally secured Chrysler's agreement.
Today, he received word that the Veterans Association had already been established, fast-tracked by Mayor Patrick himself.
Now Fox was worried. If Leo had gained the mayor and the church as allies, how was he going to counter that?
Worse still, his own hiring pool was now at risk. Veterans had been his prime labor target.
Desperate, Fox made one final attempt. When he spoke just now, he'd added a little trick: if Leo responded and admitted he was the boss of the so-called Lynchburg Construction Company, it would at least increase Fox's visibility.
But Leo wasn't going to fall for that.
Seeing the uncertainty in the veterans' eyes, Leo responded firmly:
"Everyone can rest assured. Mayor Patrick can vouch for this.
The Lynchburg Hotel development project, as well as real estate development, has already reached the final stages of city hall approval.
As for our company's business, the hotel is just the start.
We've also secured a contract from the church to develop twenty residential homes.
Beyond that, we're actively bidding for the new Lynchburg Police Station construction project.
And we are also pursuing the rights to construct two bridges over the James River and Rappahannock River, just outside town."
Feeling the weight of the veterans' gazes, the cornered Patrick reluctantly raised his hand in acknowledgment—signaling his approval of Leo's statements.
"Well done, Leo!"
"Finally, some work!"
The veterans erupted in cheers.
"Don't thank me," Leo said, raising his voice, "thank Desmond!
Without this man, blessed by God, there would be no Veterans Association.
Let us all give thanks to Desmond!"
"Praise him!"
"Praise him!"
And so, the Veterans Association's inauguration ceremony ended amid waves of cheers and applause.
Countless veterans poured into the association headquarters, submitting their membership applications.
Leo left the follow-up celebration dance in Desmond's hands.
He himself climbed into a newly purchased used Lincoln Continental.
Michael was already seated. Joseph was at the wheel. The three of them were heading to Richmond.
Their goal: to collect the crown jewel of their recent efforts—the one million dollars that Londo Construction owed the Brown Sawmill.
At the Richmond Londo Construction Company…
Herbert greeted Leo with a warm embrace.
"Seeing Ben choke really made my day," he said.
"To show my appreciation, I'm giving you this 1941 Lincoln Continental."
Before Leo could refuse, Herbert added:
"Don't be so quick to say no. I was already planning to get a new car.
And more importantly—you'll need a big ride to haul back what you're here for. No car, no money."
With his arm around Leo's shoulder, Herbert led him to the Lincoln and opened the door.
In the back seat sat a large red suitcase.
Herbert motioned to his bodyguard, Karl, to open it.
Inside lay stacks of cash—one million U.S. dollars.
"Time was tight," Herbert said.
"The fundraising involved several banks.
To wrap this up quickly, we had to go with a cash transaction.
That case? Custom made for this."
He smiled sincerely.
"Given the car, I hope you won't object?"
Still as domineering as ever, Herbert pressed the car keys into Leo's hands.
Leo stared at the man's overly earnest expression.
He couldn't help but sigh inwardly—this guy was much trickier than Ben.
Leo knew full well that "time pressure" and "complex fundraising" were just excuses.
According to Toussaint, the Gurian family had at least twenty million in transparent wealth.
As the dominant player in Virginia's grain futures market, their actual financial reach was astronomical.
A simple $1 million check? That was nothing to them.
Yet here they were—paying in cash and throwing in a luxury car.
Leo had his suspicions.
But there wasn't much he could do. Richmond was Herbert's turf.
Leo also knew that not a single bank in town would accept a large cash deposit today.
The man had him completely cornered.
What Leo didn't know was…
At that very moment, Herbert was thinking the same thing.
Ben didn't lose unjustly. This small-town soldier, confronted with a luxury car and a million in cash, didn't lose his cool for a second. Still thinking, still planning.
No wonder Admiral Nimitz had taken a liking to him.
Thank God he'd messed up in the military. Otherwise, facing him now—it might've been Herbert on the losing end.
"Thank you for your generosity.
That concludes the transaction. Let's work well together," Leo said, shaking Herbert's hand.
Then Leo and Michael climbed into the Lincoln.
As the car pulled out of Londo Construction's gate, Herbert turned to Karl.
"The weather's not even hot—why was Michael drenched in sweat?"
Karl frowned.
"No idea.
But he did look a bit… heavier than the last time we saw him."
Herbert smirked.
"He probably thinks it's all over now. Mood's good, appetite's good—of course he's put on weight.
Anyway, your turn. Go retrieve my money."
Back in the car, Michael was jubilant.
"Leo! We've got the money. Can I take this bulletproof vest off now?
It's so damn hot!"
But Leo wasn't so optimistic.
He glanced at the rearview mirror.
A plain Ford had been trailing them at a distance ever since they left.
"Michael," Leo asked, "there's really only one road from Richmond to Lynchburg, right?"
"Yeah, just one.
There's this French restaurant called Aelia halfway through Kohler Canyon—the only eatery on the entire highway.
Let me treat you!"
Leo ignored the food suggestion and responded to the earlier question:
"As you said, just one road.
Which means… no, don't take off that vest.
Stay alert, Michael.
I'd hate for Emily to lose her father."
They drove farther from Richmond.
Traffic grew sparse.
But that Ford continued to follow.
The obvious tail filled Leo with a deep sense of unease.
"Red light!" Michael warned.
Leo hit the brakes. Once the light turned green, they'd be on the one-lane highway.
"Hey, Leo! Check out the guy in that car next to us!"
Michael, oblivious to the tension, looked around casually.
Leo turned to look.
Next to them was a Chevrolet.
At the wheel sat a long-haired man in sunglasses—he had the look of a wild, artsy type.
He held a cigarette in his mouth, one hand on the wheel…
The other? Pushing a woman's head down.
His hand was moving rhythmically—faster and faster.
"Whoa."
The man released his grip, face full of satisfaction.
The young woman raised her head, wiped her mouth, and shot a furious glare at the dumbfounded Michael.
"What the hell are you staring at, old man?"
Green light.
The man flipped them the bird with a smirk.
The Chevrolet's engine roared as it sped away—vanishing from view.