As a politician, trading American resources for personal gain was one of Patrick's most practiced moves.
Leo's well-timed remark had clearly pleased him even more.
Patrick patted Leo on the shoulder and said:
"You'd better apply that clever mind of yours to our hotel too.
If it doesn't perform as well as your association, I won't let you off easy!"
Leo smiled and agreed.
In his mind, the association was far more important than the Broker's Hotel.
With the core issue resolved, the conversation grew more relaxed.
They joked and exchanged barbs. Then, unexpectedly, Patrick pulled up a chair and sat right beside Leo.
This surprised Leo. Was there more to discuss?
Patrick, now fully revealing his true self, seemed quite at ease.
Sensing Leo's puzzlement, he got straight to the point:
"Court's tomorrow. You've secured Michael's sawmill.
Now that we have a winner—shouldn't the loser pay a little price?"
He gestured toward Leo and continued:
"Lynchburg is small. A new player has squeezed in.
Shouldn't one of the old players move over a bit?"
Leo had a rough guess—but with no cards in hand, he couldn't confirm it.
He cautiously probed:
"You mean...?"
"Rock!"
Patrick's tone turned cold.
"These past years, he's led Lynchburg's grain merchants in trading futures, raking in millions.
But that stingy Jew has hardly shared any of it with the townspeople."
"More like, he hasn't shared it with you," Leo muttered inwardly.
He knew full well: Patrick's talk about new and old players, about benefiting the townsfolk—was all just pretense.
With Michael out of reach, Patrick had turned his appetite to Rock.
He always devoured the loser.
Rock had murdered Dott, and it was only a matter of time before he realized Leo had played a major role in the sawmill case.
Leo hadn't planned to let him go anyway—and was now seriously considering unconventional methods.
But he still had one concern.
"Rock is a cautious man.
In the sawmill incident, he kept his hands squeaky clean.
There were loopholes… but they've mysteriously vanished.
So even if we win tomorrow, technically—he isn't the loser."
Leo's words made Patrick smirk. His lips curled into a confident grin.
"That Jew thinks he severed the trail—but to me, that just highlights the target.
Rock will fall. That, I'm certain of."
Leo guessed that Patrick had likely planted someone on Rock's side.
Note to self:Never let your guard down when dealing with this fox.
"So what do you need me to do?" Leo asked.
"I need money."
Patrick's tone was sharp.
"Even if we buy his stuff dirt-cheap—we still need to buy it.
And you and Michael are about to be swimming in cash.
That makes us natural partners."
Clearly, Patrick already knew everything that had gone down in Richmond.
"I've estimated Rock's total assets at just over $2 million.
Once he's in prison, we'll acquire them at deep discount—around $1 million."
Patrick continued:
"The Odo family will put up $500,000.
You and Michael put up the other $500,000.
We'll split Rock's assets accordingly:
— The Odo family gets all of Rock's out-of-town farmland and his futures trading license.
— You and Michael get the suburban land, Rock's mansion, his private farm, and everything inside his house.
As for his properties within the town, we split them evenly."
Patrick's proposal left Leo thinking:
Just how greedy can a textbook American politician get?
"This isn't fair," Leo said bluntly.
But before he could finish, Patrick cut him off—his expression suddenly fierce:
"Listen, Leo. In America, there's no such thing as fairness—only price tags.
Don't think I don't see through your little scheme.
You want to make Lynchburg your base of operations?
Well, hear me loud and clear:
Without cooperation from the Odo family, Lynchburg will never be your safe haven.
Besides, you're catching a free ride on this deal.
Be grateful you're even invited in.
The suburban land you'll get from Rock is already worth a fortune!"
Then Patrick grinned, his tone turning mock-casual:
"Anyway, if you plan to marry my beautiful goddaughter,
you'll need a house that matches her status, right?
Rock's villa—it's not bad.
Built just last year. New, clean, perfect for a young couple."
Lynchburg's court mostly handled neighborhood disputes.
So when word got out that it would be trying a million-dollar case,
the whole town buzzed.
Michael Brown—the man at the center—was a local celebrity.
By the morning of September 18th, a large crowd had gathered outside the courthouse.
"Is Mr. Brown here yet?"
"There's a car—look, look!"
Disappointment rippled through the crowd.
It wasn't Michael.
It was another big name: Rock, the chairman of the Agricultural Association, and a well-dressed young man no one recognized.
Both men were dressed formally.
Rock even carried his signature gentleman's cane.
He looked every bit like a triumphant general.
Flash!
An old camera bulb popped.
What could they do? Lynchburg's press equipment was ancient.
"Mr. Meyer, are you the one suing Mr. Brown?" a reporter asked.
"No, not me," Rock said, smiling politely.
"To my knowledge, the lawsuit was filed by a company from Richmond."
The case had come so suddenly that few townspeople knew the details.
Seeing that Rock seemed in the know, the reporter pressed excitedly:
"Mr. Rock, could you tell us more about the company involved in the lawsuit?"
Rock was pleased—the money he spent yesterday hadn't gone to waste.
He had privately arranged for word of the lawsuit to spread in town.
The court itself had kept quiet, but Rock had made sure the crowd showed up.
After all, the Brown family's reputation had already declined due to over-logging.
But some still remembered Michael's generosity during the Great Depression.
Rock wanted to erase that sympathy.
He hoped this lawsuit, which he believed was a sure win, would settle the matter once and for all.
Seeing the crowd's curiosity, Rock said loudly:
"Richmond's Lendo Construction Company is a century-old enterprise with a sterling reputation."
In America—where even the country itself wasn't yet 200 years old—
a business that lasted a century was seen as the gold standard of credibility.
"But what did Brown do wrong? Why would a company sue him?" someone asked.
Rock smiled to himself:
See? That's the power of a 100-year-old company.
People immediately assumed Brown must be at fault.
Exactly what he wanted.
"I'm a gentleman," Rock said with practiced poise.
"I don't judge others. Let the jury decide right and wrong."
It was a subtle nudge—just enough to influence opinion without leaving ammunition for critics.
Then, a young man in the crowd suddenly shouted:
"I know what happened!
It was Michael Brown's greed!
He chopped down all those trees just to make a quick buck.
Even when we protested, he kept destroying our homes—and got away with it!
But not anymore.
Now Richmond's company is finally making him pay!"
The twisted, baseless accusation clearly hadn't come from a random townsperson.
This was Ben's doing.