Tensions Laid Bare

"The Aldo family of Lynchburg—some of their members hold positions in various departments in D.C.

Our main obstacle in this investigation comes from them."

Hoover's tone dripped with disdain.

"A small-town aristocratic family? They have that much pull to block an FBI investigation?"

"They don't, not directly. But the family is like a spiderweb—tangled up with many people above them.

Have you heard of the 'bathing' trend popular among certain D.C. bureaucrats?"

Hoover narrowed his eyes, instantly alert.

"You don't mean just bathing, do you?"

"Exactly. My informant says 'bathing' is code for abducting and raping children, underage girls.

And the location is the Aldo family's own lakeside estate."

Hoover walked over to the board, tracing the lines back with his finger.

The more familiar names he saw, the more disturbed he became.

These weren't just small fry—they were advisors and staff behind many of D.C.'s most powerful people.

He'd spent years collecting blackmail on the big fish.

But right under his nose, this neglected class of bureaucrats had built a massive mutual-protection network.

Still—mice were mice, and he was the cat that had found their tails.

An idea dawned on Hoover.

These bureaucrats were the perfect scapegoat to solve the crippled president's current troubles.

Their crimes were vile enough to draw public hatred, but they were small enough to be easily sacrificed.

Perfect for salvaging the president's image.

He'd never valued a president's "friendship" before—but after three terms under that man, he'd had enough of being second-guessed.

This gift would shut everyone up about Hoover only collecting blackmail.

He turned to Kent and said:

"Your informant is Leo, isn't it?

When you get to Lynchburg, make sure he knows the New York deal still stands.

And since he's done me such a big favor, I'll see he gets a position he'll be satisfied with."

November in Lynchburg meant early nights and no nightlife.

The streets were empty as Dominic and his crew advanced under cover of darkness.

The diesel lamp outside Lynchburg University cast a weak, yellow glow.

Valentino's shop renovation stood out starkly against the drab surroundings.

Just as Dominic prepared to start smashing, a bright floodlight from the second floor blasted over them.

Thirty young men emerged from the shop, brandishing clubs, completely surrounding Dominic's crew.

As Dominic's eyes adjusted, he realized they were boxed in.

He used to scoff at talk of "aura of killers," but from these hardened veterans he felt it—real battlefield experience.

This wasn't some tavern brawl between local workers.

A few of his men were already dropping their weapons.

Dominic tried to lighten the mood, to talk them down—

"Do it."

The order was ice-cold, delivered by Luther Crane, leader of Project Team 2's First Squad—a D-Day survivor.

Screams shattered the quiet night.

"Luther's good. Worth investing in."

Leo remarked calmly to Joseph.

"Boss, if we start like this, the violence will just keep escalating.

Won't it hurt our business?"

Leo shook his head.

"I realized something recently.

America in this era isn't going to let men like you and me get rich peacefully.

If we're going to resort to certain methods anyway, why not start early?

We can't afford to be tied down in a little place like Lynchburg for too long."

"Any issues with Jonathan?"

Leo had expected retaliation from Andy—and Fox's warning had only confirmed it.

He'd kept extra men on guard at the store and office.

When Jonathan paid an unexpected visit that night, Leo knew the reprisal was coming.

Jonathan knew Patrick too well.

Seeing Siro walk into the station told him Patrick had abandoned him.

It ended Jonathan's inner conflict.

He had made his choice.

Joseph nodded reluctantly.

"No problem. But… he is the town sheriff.

I'm worried this defiance might cost him his job."

"He won't lose it. I guarantee it."

Leo's voice was firm.

At the temporary police station in Lynchburg's city hall,

a young officer burst into the deputy's office.

"Sir! It's happening—they're fighting!"

The deputy, Jonathan's most trusted aide, jumped to his feet, excited.

He'd been itching for a chance like this—especially since Patrick's secretary had personally assigned him the task.

Siro hadn't promised anything specific, but every word had sounded like you're the next sheriff.

He grabbed his gun from the drawer and hurried out.

But as he and his men reached the door, they saw Jonathan himself standing there in plain clothes, watching them coldly.

"I don't remember authorizing any operation tonight."

Jonathan's reputation carried weight—he'd personally recruited every man here.

Some of the officers hesitated immediately.

But the deputy was a smart one.

He knew there was no going back now.

And with Patrick's support, Jonathan wouldn't dare oppose them.

"This is a direct order from the mayor.

If you weren't told, it's because he didn't want you to know.

Be smart, Jonathan. Move aside."

Jonathan snorted.

"I remember when your hands used to shake holding a gun.

Now you're talking back to me."

Before the deputy could react, Jonathan slapped him hard.

He followed with a blindingly fast combo.

The deputy tried to fight back—but he'd forgotten one thing: Jonathan had trained him himself.

No teacher shows all their tricks.

Jonathan threw him to the ground, and when the deputy reached for his gun, Jonathan's boot crushed his wrist.

Crack!

The deputy howled in pain.

"Attempted assault on the Sheriff of Lynchburg," Jonathan announced calmly. "He's been subdued.

Anyone else want to go out and 'do your job' tonight?"

Heads lowered all around.

Jonathan nodded in grim satisfaction.

Unless Patrick removed him outright, no one here would dare challenge his authority.

He looked in the direction of Valentino's shop and thought:

Leo, you'd better keep your promise and make sure I keep this badge.

I hope betting on you instead of my son doesn't turn into another Washington exile.

At Leo's villa,

Emily packed clothes into a suitcase, glancing at Leo.

"How long will you be in Richmond this time?"

Leo read a letter as he answered.

"Whether it goes well or badly—it won't take long."

"Tomorrow's the day Desmond's announcing his campaign. You're really not going to stay for it?"

"No need. I've done everything I can.

I believe God will help us."

He wasn't reading his own letter, but one he'd found in Locke's old desk on moving day:

A letter of personal loyalty Patrick had written to the new governor, Clint.

Riiing! Riiing!

The harsh ring of the old telephone cut through the quiet.

Leo snatched it up immediately—this call would decide his future moves.

"Valentino's here."

A dry voice replied:

"This is Elvin Collison. Your request has been approved.

Be at Lynchburg Fan District, Number 2, Morton Manor.

You'll have five minutes with him. Don't waste it.

This opportunity is worth far more than the extra fifty grand you gave me.

Remember—you owe me."

"I understand. Thank you, Mr. Collison."

This Elvin was a Norfolk & Railway Company shareholder.

And the man he'd arranged for Leo to meet was none other than Virginia's wartime governor—now U.S. Senator and Democratic powerbroker, Thomas Stanley Morton.