No one knew what Leo and Kevin had talked about.
When Daniel and the others returned, all they saw on the table were several tissues damp with tears—evidence of a conversation that had ended in crying.
Ignoring the curious looks from everyone, Leo glanced at the setting sun and said:
"Let's divide up the work."
At his words, everyone except Charlie and Kevin instinctively straightened their backs, their posture that of soldiers awaiting orders.
"Joseph, you're with the police. I need access to the town's full population registry."
Ordinary officers wouldn't have access to that—but Joseph was the sheriff's son. Privilege had its uses.
"Understood," Joseph nodded.
"Sean, you'll take the outskirts. Find out who's planning to build or renovate."
"Daniel, Charlie—you two cover the town center. Same job as Sean."
"As for me and Kevin, I'll handle the bank loans, and Kevin will take care of the company registration paperwork."
"We meet again here in two days. You all know how I feel about intel—treat this like a mission. I want accuracy."
Leo's voice was steady and clear. Instinctively, Sean and the others rose to their feet.
"Yes, sir!"
Even Charlie echoed the response reflexively. Leo noted this and gave a subtle nod of approval. This freckled kid was honest, his micro-expressions gave away little scheming—he was worth cultivating.
After leaving the Noodles restaurant, Leo walked home alone.
As he turned onto his street, he spotted Emily in a white floral dress standing at his doorstep. She had her hands behind her back, head down, idly kicking at pebbles.
Every time a pebble didn't go the way she wanted, she'd frown—her pouty expression adorably childish.
The afternoon sun, the quiet street, and the girl waiting for him—it felt like all the smoke and blood of war had simply melted away.
Feeling playful, Leo crept up behind her and suddenly called out:
"Emily!"
"Ah!" The girl jumped in fright, startled by the sudden voice.
Leo was already there, arms outstretched, catching her neatly in an embrace.
Emily instinctively tried to break free, but when she saw it was Leo holding her, a mix of annoyance and delight sparkled in her wide eyes.
With her arms pinned, she could only press her forehead against Leo's chest, lightly bumping him to show her mock frustration—and joy.
But how could the young Emily ever outmatch Leo?
Just as her forehead was about to touch him, Leo tilted his head back slightly—so their lips met instead.
In that moment, even the sunlight seemed softer.
While Leo and Emily embraced on one end of town, at the estate of Rock Meyer—the Agricultural Association chairman—Carlo sneezed repeatedly.
His sneezing disrupted the mood of the young man playing piano nearby—a hollow-eyed, large-nosed figure with distinct Eastern European Jewish features.
"Judging by your face, the plan failed?"
The man's tone was flat, but to Carlo's ears, it dripped with sarcasm. Still, arguing was pointless. He had failed.
Seeing Carlo hang his head, the young man's eyes softened slightly. In his view, Carlo was born low, but had potential.
If things worked out, someone like Carlo could represent their interests in Lynchburg. The thought seemed to warm him slightly.
"You need to learn something, Carlo," he said in a milder tone. "Sometimes, a foolish ally is more dangerous than a powerful enemy."
Carlo picked up on the shift in tone immediately. His mind whirred—perhaps this man still saw value in him. If so, this could be the chance he'd been waiting for—a step into the higher circles of power.
Carlo's spine curved lower in deference. "Thank you for your wisdom, Mr. Ben Gurion. I came today only to ask—did my actions jeopardize your plan? Especially concerning Ricardo's son… He's dating Brown's daughter now, and he's become much sharper. My failure was largely his doing. Could this be a problem?"
Ben picked up a half-finished glass of whiskey from the piano and sat beside Carlo on a velvet sofa.
"Carlo," he said calmly, "I'm not the only one in Lynchburg who wants the Browns gone. The avalanche is already underway—no one can stop it. Least of all a discharged soldier."
Carlo nodded eagerly. "True. What does a logger's son know about your grand plan?"
But inwardly, he felt uneasy.
Ben continued, almost as if speaking to himself: "If anything, your failure helped me. My inside source says the calm union leader has finally stepped down. And this Leo, being his son, has even less reason to meddle."
"But he's Emily Brown's boyfriend," Carlo added.
Ben set down his glass and stood, placing a hand under Carlo's arm and helping him to his feet.
Staring directly into Carlo's eyes, Ben said coldly:
"If you're still bitter about your failure, remove him. He's a small man."
"As for Emily Brown? Isn't she your wife?"
Ben's voice was chilling. "The workers' fury is boiling. They are like hot oil—ready to ignite the Browns and themselves with a single spark. Once Michael is out of the picture, what can a poor kid like Leo possibly do to compete with you?"
Ben's words, like a devil's whisper, stoked a fire deep inside Carlo. His chest heaved with emotion, his eyes turned bloodshot.
"Sir," he rasped, voice trembling with excitement. "What do you want me to do?"
"Do you know Dodd? Or is it Dot?" Ben asked.
"I know him," Carlo nodded. "He's a few years older. Like me, his father was crushed by a log, and his mother froze to death that winter."
"He's a fool. Michael gave him a sum of money a few years back, and some woman from Utah swindled him—left him with a little girl that's not even his. He treasures her like gold.
Everyone laughs at him except the guys at the sawmill.
But… why him, sir? He's dim. I don't see the point."
Carlo knew Dodd well—their fates mirrored each other's.
Ben turned his back to Carlo and said, voice now icy and emotionless:
"Carlo. I need you to kill him."
Kill Dodd?
Carlo froze. His mind flew back to that freezing winter when his mother and sister died.
Dodd—greedy as any boy for sweets—had given Carlo his only piece of hard candy.
It was the only warmth Carlo remembered from that bitter year.
His voice faltered, uncertain. "Sir… he's just a fool. Killing him—what good would that do?"