Whether Dick ends up winning the election didn't matter—what mattered was making life harder for Patrick.
"Pleasure doing business, Andy."
"Likewise, Leo. Theresa and I will definitely attend the dinner."
Andy ignored the resentful look from his mistress. After all, a man's most beloved mistress would always be power and money.
"You really ought to hire a driver, Leo. I haven't had a nightlife in weeks."
"Even balding men have nightlives?"
"Don't underestimate me. I'm practically the god of Richmond's adult scene. What's with all the cars outside today? Oh shit—are those horses?"
Tucson narrowly dodged a rearing horse, saving the Lincoln Continental's hood in the nick of time.
"Farmers. Horses are kind of normal."
Leo adjusted his coat and stepped out of the car.
Outside the villa, both the cars and horses belonged to over seventy small-scale farmers from Lynchburg. Leo never acted without a plan, and once he realized he and Patrick were inevitably on a collision course, he began making preparations.
Ten days ago, when he learned Patrick intended to monopolize all food matters in Lynchburg, Leo sent out invitations to these farmers. But the old-school landowners had no interest in hearing from a newcomer like him, which was why he had Tucson launch Plan B—have influential businessmen encourage the farmers to attend the city hall and see Patrick's true nature for themselves.
While Tucson was stirring things up, Leo sent out a second round of invites.
Today's feast was far less refined than the last. Instead of fine wine and delicate hors d'oeuvres, there was hearty meat and big portions—exactly what these rural folks liked. You eat your fill before talking business; that's the farmer way.
The discussion kicked off unceremoniously. A gruff old-timer, chewing noisily, grunted, "Everything you said in that invitation—true? You really got a plan to stop that goddamn food oversight committee?"
The man speaking was Cage Dulles, former boss of Sean's father. A bald-headed American hard-ass, his family had once been part of Lynchburg's founding clans—until the Great Depression took its toll. Still, Cage commanded real respect among the farmers.
All eyes turned to Leo.
"Brothers, I may be new here, but I can't stand by while someone openly tramples on our rights. So, I took the initiative to reach out to Father Westwood and Michael. They both stand against Patrick's food oversight committee. You all know what that means, don't you?"
"Damn right! Well done, Leo! If I hear anyone say you're mooching off women again, I'll shoot 'em myself!"
A hot-tempered guy fired a shot into the air to make his point.
"Appreciate it, brother—but if you hear anyone talking trash, let me know. I'll do the shooting."
"But listen, we all know Patrick doesn't give up easily. What if he sways one of those guys to his side? Then we're screwed. We can't count on handouts every time—we need to stand together and speak for ourselves."
Leo's words struck like lightning. After a brief silence, the room erupted in wild howls of approval.
Someone smirked and asked, "Stand together? Who do we follow?"
He pointed at the guy who was still firing shots at the ceiling.
"We picked Tony last time. Patrick nearly died the next day."
"You dumbass, I'll shoot you right now!"
Crude language aside, these men weren't idiots.
"Leo, you're not trying to make yourself our leader, are you?"
Leo grinned calmly as their suspicious gazes turned to him.
"Of course not. I've got too many businesses to run—I don't have the time."
"But I do think we should choose someone respected, firm, and smart. I nominate Cage."
As Leo finished, several of Cage's pre-arranged allies chimed in their support. This had always been a guided performance.
Unsurprisingly, Cage was elected as the first president of the Lynchburg Small Farmers' Mutual Aid Association.
"Thanks for keeping your promise, Leo. Honestly, I didn't expect you to follow through."
Cage shook Leo's hand firmly, already feeling the glory of his family's potential revival.
The whole setup had been arranged long ago through Sean. Cage's smooth election was no accident—he had been building support behind the scenes for days.
"No need to thank me, Cage. You're the best choice for the job. If you can help promote my real estate company a bit, that's thanks enough."
"You're too green to lead this association. What are you really after?" Tucson asked.
"To be a thorn in Patrick's side," Leo replied.
"You think just being annoying will work?"
"Enough ants can kill an elephant. Besides, this isn't my real killer move."
"Still planning to teach those guys tonight in the barn?"
After Tucson left, Emily asked, "Why do you do all this? You're already so busy. Why take the time to help them study?"
"Because it matters—not for today, but for tomorrow. One man can walk fast. A group can walk far. I need loyal, capable people to grow this empire."
With a goodbye kiss, Leo headed toward the barn, where a group of college-hopefuls awaited him.
As he entered, fifteen or sixteen veterans snapped to their feet. At the front were his old buddies—Sean, Joseph, Daniel, and Charlie. Two chalkboards were packed with charts and notes. In the center of one board was a countdown: 49 days until the SAT exam.
Due to WWII, the normally June-scheduled SAT had been postponed to November 24 this year.
Tonight was the 7th session of Leo's veteran tutoring program. Whenever he had spare time, he came here to help them prep. The materials had been sent by James.
Leo had studied them and found that the SAT had two core sections—English and Math. English included vocabulary, categorization, word formation, reading comprehension, and four other parts. Math focused on arithmetic and statistics.
To Leo, the questions were a breeze—his past life's education gave him an edge, and in this life, his memory and comprehension were nearly superhuman.
That's why he could afford to tutor these soldiers—it was a sort of perk from the Veterans' Association. When they filled out membership forms, one section asked whether they intended to apply to college. That question was Leo's screening filter. If even three of them got into college and returned later, it would be a huge gain.
Initially, Leo thought math would be their weak point. But to his surprise, it was English—ironically their native tongue—that proved the true challenge.
Fortunately, these few were among the rare soldiers who actually cared about their future. They worked hard and were deeply grateful for Leo's generosity.
Several were his employees—four of the eight team leaders sat here.
As someone who had clawed his way out of a small town via grueling test prep in his past life, Leo had only one philosophy:
Drill, drill, and more drill.
"Focus. Accuracy is key."
The battlefield killers now scratched their heads like schoolboys.
"Hurry up! Time's up! Papers in! Sean—don't try to hide yours—hand it over. Let go!"
James had also written about changes to the SAT.
Unlike previous years, this year had strict time limits—170 English questions in 100 minutes.
That's why Leo obsessed over timing.
Once the papers were graded, Leo entered full rage mode.
No one walked out of that barn with a smile.