"Since you came back to Richmond, you haven't been by my place in ages. Even Joseph and the others don't come anymore."
Noodles wiped down a glass as he spoke.
"The company's big now. They're off working in other states."
Leo's voice was subdued, making Noodles think of himself after that great fire.
"So what did you come here for?"
Noodles asked.
"I need your help, Noodles."
Leo said plainly.
"Sure. Pity about wasting my cooking skills, though."
Noodles' answer caught Leo off guard.
Back on one of his first nights home from the war in Lynchburg, Leo had dreamed of Once Upon a Time in America, and knew Noodles was the main character from that film.
He'd prepared a whole long speech to convince him.
He hadn't expected Noodles to agree so easily.
"Hah, surprised I said yes so quick? I'll help you. But when you've got enough power, I'll want your help with something too."
Noodles' gaze shifted from gentle to sharp.
He wasn't yet the resigned old man from the movie—still a middle-aged man brooding over his friends' deaths and the missing hundred grand from that train station.
"Since I said I'd help, I'll show you I'm serious. You're going to have to deal with Fess soon anyway.
My shop's not really in use—let's set it up here."
Leo stared at Noodles for a long moment.
This old bastard had been watching everything carefully.
Seemed he'd picked the right man.
Richmond, in a villa in Monroe Park.
Morning sunlight traced the curves of Yelena's body, gleaming on her pale skin.
Smack!
Leo's palm left a pleasant vibration in his hand.
The girl let out a soft moan, then fell back into a deep sleep.
Looked like World War II wasn't going to start today after all.
At the Virginia Real Estate Association HQ, inside a century-old building in Jackson Ward—once owned by Lendo Construction.
The meeting room was in chaos.
"Gleck, you're overreaching. Black Lake was assigned to me by the president!"
"Bullshit! Martin, since when does real estate work on 'territories'? If you're so mad, go try your luck at Virginia Beach. Bet you can't!"
Gleck stood up, full of swagger.
"You bastard! During the Bubble House mess you were the first traitor.
When it all fell apart, you were drowning in debt and begging the president for mercy.
He bailed you out—and now you're a turncoat again, a lapdog for these big New York companies!"
Martin shouted, pointing at Christoph Miller of Lamb & Hammon Construction.
"Lapdog? I'm a businessman, not a knight in shining armor.
It's all about profit. Whoever pays, I work with them."
Gleck said coolly.
At that, Christoph rose slowly and surveyed the room.
"President Valentino's suburban projects have made people money.
But the way he carved up business by region? That was just to ease his personal debt burden.
Martin, don't guilt-trip us over that.
Gleck's right—we're businessmen. We didn't form this association to rehash old loyalties. We did it to make money.
"And your president? He's been spending every night drinking and whoring. He's not even here today.
It's time for new leadership.
"You all know Lamb & Hammon—we built the Empire State Building.
We don't just work in Virginia; we're all over the East Coast.
Elect me president, and I promise your companies will grow faster than ever."
Gleck immediately thrust his hand in the air.
"I support Christoph!"
Silence fell.
The other 30 or so business owners in the room just stared at them coldly.
They were all profit-driven businessmen.
But this wasn't the cutthroat merger-crazed 1950s or 60s yet.
They still cared about reputation and credibility—essential tools for doing business in this era.
And, of course, they weren't stupid.
Leo as president had given them orders, resources, territories—and otherwise left them alone.
Did anyone think this big-company man would be so generous?
Christoph had seen this coming.
He'd asked his company for a bit of budget to sweeten the deal, but their answer was simple: unnecessary.
He knew exactly what they meant.
Back in Pennsylvania, there'd been a local real estate guy who resisted them.
He "disappeared."
They bought all his assets dirt cheap.
They'd do the same here in Virginia.
Take care of Leo, and these sheep would have no choice.
With government and corporate backing, who would dare challenge them?
Corporate competition was wonderfully straightforward.
"You idiots! You're passing up a perfect chance to jump ship!
Fine—go down with that sinking wreck Leo's running.
You think he stopped hosting big galas because he likes that seedy bar?
He can't get important people to show up anymore. He's finished, ah—"
Clunk!
A heavy glass ashtray smashed into Gleck's head.
The conference room door swung open.
Leo staggered in, stinking of booze.
He lowered his arm—no question who'd thrown it.
Leo glared at Gleck coldly.
"Get out."
Gleck slunk away, humiliated.
Leo turned to Christoph.
"If you don't want to embarrass yourself, you'd better withdraw voluntarily."
Christoph gave a contemptuous smile.
"Ha! Leo, let me remind you—our company only joined this association because you couldn't resist the Governor's pressure.
You can't make me leave.
As for 'embarrassment'—let's see who really gets humiliated.
Oh, and next time? Try showing up sober.
What future does an association have with a drunk at the helm?"
The meeting ended in an ugly anticlimax.
Leo sat in the president's chair, scowling.
One by one, the other businessmen walked over to clap him on the shoulder in quiet support.
It was the last support he'd get from them.
Once the room cleared out, Noodles wandered in.
He had half a bottle of good whiskey in hand, which he seemed a little sad about.
"Next time, use industrial alcohol for this kind of act. Don't waste the good stuff.
By the way—are you sure this little show will make Fess act any faster?"
Leo shook his head.
"I don't know, Noodles.
I'll give him three more days.
If he doesn't move, we go with Plan B.
I can't wait any longer—my people's morale is about to collapse."
In Christoph's office, back in the association building.
"Yes, sir. He was drunk out of his mind. Even assaulted someone.
He's not fit to lead anymore.
I think it's time to make our move."
Christoph said into the phone.
A cold voice snapped back:
"Make a move? What move? Christoph—don't forget why you were forced to leave Pennsylvania in the first place.
Watch your damn mouth!"