The list Leo referred to was a result of his background checks during the recruitment process.
He kept the most qualified workers and thoughtfully divided the rejected ones into three tiers.
Tier one: honest and hardworking, but completely inexperienced in construction—total novices.
Tier two: people with basic construction skills, but lazy and fond of cutting corners.
Tier three: individuals already plagued by vices like alcoholism and gambling.
Word of Leo's rigorous selection process had reached Fox, who was very interested in the list—especially the second tier.
Under the pretense of reminiscing over wartime camaraderie, Fox invited Charlie out, got him drunk, and subtly probed for information.
To his delight, Charlie not only knew about the list but actually had it on him—and, claiming the selection was over and the list useless, handed it over as a gift.
As cunning as Fox was, he hadn't expected the seemingly honest Charlie to be such a convincing actor.
Back at his estate, Fox immediately began recruiting.
At the same time, he played a dirty trick: he repackaged the third-tier candidates and passed them off to Jones Construction Company.
Andy, relying on his company's large scale and afraid of being outpaced by Leo and Fox's rising influence, accepted them all without hesitation.
It was also a political move—election season was near, and he was trying to curry favor by offering jobs.
The company expanded rapidly, but quality control didn't keep pace.
Fox had already received word from his planted informants that Jones Realty's construction quality was now abysmal.
Workers bickered constantly and shirked responsibilities.
Fox was quite proud of his maneuver—he had absorbed the best from one rival and offloaded the worst to another.
He didn't realize that everything had been orchestrated by Leo.
"I'm heading to Washington tomorrow. I'll be gone for about four days," Fox said. "We'll talk when I get back?"
Leo gave him a sideways glance. Four days? That was just enough time to wait for the vote on the Food Regulation Committee to conclude.
This fox clearly wanted to wait for the dust to settle before placing his bets.
But by then, not just the meat and soup—but even the bowl would be out of reach.
"Sure," Leo replied casually.
Fox wasn't offended by Leo's lukewarm response.
He believed that with both Jones and Patrick pressing from both sides, Leo would eventually have no choice but to cooperate.
Thinking of how Jones Realty had risen to power, Fox added a kindly "warning":
"Andy plays dirty. Watch your back at night."
At the Aldo Family Estate,
Patrick sat in a dark mood. The recent strikes by farmers and workers had left him overwhelmed.
Siro reported what had happened outside Lynchburg Academy.
"If Andy calls, just tell him I'm not available," Patrick said. "If he asks what he can do, give him the usual answer."
Siro frowned slightly—he could already guess Patrick's plan.
The same old trick: vandalism.
What better revenge than destroying Leo's freshly renovated store?
And if Leo fought back, he'd be playing right into Patrick's preferred game.
Back when Lynchburg's real estate scene wasn't dominated by Jones, it had several players—until Patrick manipulated the conflicts to crush them all.
Still, Siro had his concerns. He said:
"Leo's slippery. I've studied everything he's done over the past month.
Since the return of Lynchburg's biggest troublemaker, he hasn't made a single mistake.
Even the Lynchburg Gang he built—he hasn't made any move to take it over since Locke died.
His company is full of the town's most honest people.
The only fight that broke out, he personally stopped on the spot.
He's like an eel—no grip, no weakness."
Patrick shot Siro a glance and said:
"Of course Leo can hold back. But his young employees? Maybe not.
And we can use this to brand Leo as a coward.
How many veterans and real men want to follow a coward?"
"I understand, Mr. Mayor. But... times have changed.
If this turns into a street fight, it might hurt your public image."
"It can't get any worse than it already is.
People have forgotten that it was me—Patrick—who brought peace to this town.
Ungrateful bastards.
Let them remember why I have been mayor all these years.
Besides, the public's anger is directed at Leo and Andy.
Take them both out, and my approval ratings will soar.
Leo... I can't read him.
Lynchburg has no room for someone so dangerous.
Jones is becoming useless—always making demands, never delivering results.
Trading an idiot for a threat like Leo is a bargain.
Tell Jonathan's deputy to be on standby."
"Why not tell Jonathan himself?"
"Because the dog I brought back from Washington has grown disloyal."
"Honey, it's late. Come to bed."
A soft, seductive voice called from outside the door.
A moment later, it creaked open, revealing a young blonde woman in a satin nightgown, cleavage exposed, leaning against the doorframe with dreamy eyes.
"I'm busy," Patrick said irritably, then paused, eyes drawn to her enticing gaze and feeling a heat rise in his gut.
With a wave of his hand, he told Siro:
"Go do your job."
Then he wrapped his arm around his third wife and headed for the bedroom.
He didn't notice the subtle wink the woman gave Siro behind his back.
Outside the estate, the cold wind cleared Patrick's heated thoughts, but couldn't quell the storm in Siro's heart.
He started his car and floored the accelerator, heading straight for the police station.
Every second counted.
He knew full well—Patrick could barely last through the national anthem of a football match.
The entire game would have to be played by Siro and the mayor's young wife... in the basement, on a tiny bed.
After delivering his message to the station, Siro left—unaware that he had been watched.
He hadn't noticed that he'd left a file behind.
Jonathan, returning to the station to retrieve that file, stood in the shadows and stared silently at Siro's departing figure.
But instead of heading back inside, Jonathan faded into the night.
At the Jones estate, lights blazed.
"Don't worry, boss. This isn't my first rodeo.
I'll smash that damn store to bits and make you proud."
Nicknamed "Giant," the 6'3" Dominic took the $2,000 cash from Andy Jones.
He pocketed $500 and split the rest among his dozen cronies.
These men had been with Andy for over a decade—always willing to handle shady errands for him or other big shots.
Tonight's job seemed like easy money.
No confrontation—just wrecking an empty store.
"If the cops show up, you know what to do, right?" Andy asked warily.
"Of course, boss. Like you always say—police are our friends, aren't they?"
Andy nodded.
Truthfully, he was shaken—not just because of David's fainting earlier,
but because he sensed a deepening crisis every time he looked at Leo.
In Washington, D.C., FBI Headquarters,
J. Edgar Hoover, cigar in mouth, entered Kent's special operations office.
Seeing the team packing their gear, Hoover asked:
"Looks like you've made progress?"
Kent pointed at the wall, where countless lines of red string connected photos and evidence.
At the center, two photographs were pinned side by side—one of Patrick, and one of Eric.