126-130

Chapter 126: Just Different Flavors

[...]

[... 2.9 Liability Exclusions 1. We will not be liable for payment of insurance benefits for the following expenses or in the event of any of the following circumstances leading the insured to breach the contract:]

[(1) The insured violates the terms specified in the policyholder’s contract notes;]

[(2) The insured voluntarily relinquishes the insurance contract or harms or attempts to murder the policyholder;]

[(3) The insured intentionally...]

[...]

New York City.

Upper West Side.

Jennifer Connelly was reviewing a thick and lengthy insurance policy.

When she came across a certain part of it, she couldn’t help but voice her frustration to Nicole Kidman, who was also reading through the insurance document.

“This is absurd!” Jennifer exclaimed. “We’re actresses; we need to express ourselves. But according to this contract, we can’t shoot any romantic scenes, not even a simple hug...”

“If we sign this, can we even keep acting?”

Hearing Jennifer’s complaints, Nicole Kidman paused in her review. The Australian star looked over at Jennifer and nodded, “It’s definitely strict, even harsh. I think it’s best if you don’t sign it.”

Jennifer, who had initially felt relieved to hear Nicole agree with her, suddenly felt conflicted.

Not signing—could she really afford that?

The policy’s attached notes were indeed strict, even harsh. But...

Along with the rigorous requirements came clauses that enticed the two actresses, who currently struggled to make even five million dollars a year as third-tier Hollywood stars.

First, the contract term was twenty years.

For the first ten years, they would receive nothing.

But when the ten-year period ended, as long as they had adhered to the stringent terms laid out in the contract,

they would start receiving $15 million in post-tax annual insurance benefits from the insurance company, starting from the eleventh year.

This would continue for another ten years, amounting to a total of $150 million.

In addition to this direct payout, the policy included numerous benefits.

For instance, during the twenty-year contract period, medical expenses could be reimbursed by the insurance company.

There were also perks such as housing, transportation, security services, and household staff.

The conditions were stringent, but the rewards and security were just as comprehensive.

“You could choose a shorter term. There are also options for three-year and five-year contracts,” Monica, who had been listening to their conversation, chimed in.

“The conditions are similar, but the commitment period is shorter and offers more freedom.”

Jennifer knew this even without Monica’s reminder.

The insurance representative had explained everything very clearly.

Suddenly, Nicole Kidman turned to Monica and asked, “Did you sign? Monica, what about you?”

“Yes, I was the first to sign,” Monica said with a casual shrug. She was dressed in a pair of fitted white pants that showed off her long, slender legs, crossed elegantly as she sat. Her top was a black blouse with white floral patterns, featuring a round neckline adorned with two sheer ribbons tied into a bow. The high-quality fabric hugged her impressive figure.

“So,” Jennifer Connelly quickly asked, “which term did you choose?”

Monica glanced at her and then at Nicole Kidman. “Twenty years—the longest option. I’ve completely and utterly committed myself to the boss.”

“Twenty years!” Jennifer gasped. “But that’s not even listed as an option. There’s only the three-year, five-year, and ten-year terms.”

“This might not be what you want to hear,” Monica said calmly, “but you’re not eligible. You don’t meet the qualifications for the twenty-year contract.”

“Understood,” Nicole Kidman replied and turned to the insurance representative waiting nearby.

“Do I sign here?”

The insurance representative stepped forward and pointed out the areas where she needed to sign.

There were seven copies of the contract, requiring twenty-eight signatures in total.

As Nicole Kidman began signing under the representative’s guidance, Jennifer grew anxious.

Emotionally, she didn’t want to sign this insurance policy.

The conditions were extremely strict.

If she signed it, she felt her career as an actress would be significantly restricted.

The requirements in other areas were also high.

No romantic relationships during the term—that was out of the question.

But...

The benefits and financial security were also extremely enticing.

Ten years, $150 million!

Although she wouldn’t start receiving it until the eleventh year and it would be spread over ten years,

the insurance representative had mentioned that including all the additional benefits, it wouldn’t be less than $200 million.

Two hundred million dollars!

Jennifer felt she might never make that kind of money in her entire life.

But now, all she needed to do was sign this insurance policy.

Follow the terms for ten years, and everything would be hers.

Though it meant no boyfriends, no dating, no marriage, and significant restrictions on her acting roles for the next ten years,

it was two hundred million dollars!

Seeing Nicole Kidman halfway through signing, Jennifer made up her mind.

“I’ll sign for ten years too!”

She was only twenty-five. Ten years later, she’d be thirty-five—still young enough to do anything!

...

...

On the East Coast of the U.S., at 10 a.m., Milo, dressed in a sleek black suit, stepped out of his car and immediately frowned.

New York had been rainy these past few days, and now, at the end of March, it was still chilly.

The cold wind stung his face.

This kind of damp, cold, and windy weather was downright unpleasant.

However, Kenny and David had already exited the car and opened an umbrella to shield Milo from the wind and rain.

They quickly made their way into a café, where the warmth from the heating or air conditioning provided much-needed comfort.

Milo let David dry the rain from his hair, took out his phone, and smiled as he read two texts from Monica.

Monica had informed him that Jennifer Connelly and Nicole Kidman had both signed the insurance contracts.

Both for ten years, just like Catherine Zeta-Jones and the others.

This was precisely why Milo was grinning.

A few months ago, Milo had an idea.

He called in his advisory team and subtly inquired about the feasibility of such a plan.

His advisors were sharp—each one smarter than Milo himself.

They quickly grasped his intentions and provided recommendations.

They pointed out that while Milo’s idea hadn’t been done in the U.S., similar agreements weren’t unheard of.

Many American billionaires had even stricter and more outrageous prenuptial agreements.

Take celebrity prenups, for example.

Julia Roberts’ prenuptial agreement stated that if she had children and then divorced, her husband would receive nearly $7 million; without children, the fee was $900,000.

Hip-hop mogul Jay-Z and his wife Beyoncé’s agreement stipulated that if they divorced within two years, Beyoncé would get $10 million; if they stayed married, she’d receive $1 million annually for up to 15 years; and for each child, Jay-Z would pay Beyoncé $5 million.

Later, Britney Spears’ prenuptial agreement was even more extensive, running 60 pages and explicitly stating that her $65 million fortune wouldn’t be shared with her husband.

This 60-page agreement safeguarded most of her pre-marriage assets.

Wendi Deng’s prenuptial agreement with Rupert Murdoch was even stricter. Not only did she have no share in the News Corp. stock, but even their children were excluded, with only an $8.7 million trust fund.

Milo realized that if he wanted to move forward with this idea, he just needed to follow the model of these prenuptial agreements and make some adjustments.

And so, this insurance policy was born.

Was it complicated?

A little.

Chapter 127: What It Means to Be a Powerful Family

Robert Morgenthau.

The head of the Manhattan District Attorney's Office, Chief Prosecutor of Manhattan.

Since taking office in 1975, he has won the election for the position of Manhattan District Attorney five consecutive times.

Many know him as a major liberal figure in the Democratic Party.

He was also a friend and supporter of Kennedy.

Both were affluent scions of East Coast political families, who once raced boats together as children off the coast of Cape Cod, Massachusetts.

But few know that among their boat-racing peers was also a local named John II Blackburn.

This is what it means to be part of a powerful, aristocratic family.

 Morning at a Wall Street Cafe

Milo and Robert Morgenthau sat across from each other.

Aside from being the childhood friend of Milo’s grandfather, Robert was also the godfather to his father, Joseph Blackburn.

This relationship explained why Joseph Blackburn’s father, who once served as a Republican Party whip, faced little backlash when Joseph later joined the Democratic Party.

The reason? His godfather was a Democratic heavyweight.

There’s an old Sicilian saying: The world is dangerous, and every child needs two fathers for protection.

With the unique religious connection provided by a godfather, the Blackburn family's political shifts were met with less criticism.

“…When I heard that you were recovering well, Robert, you have no idea how happy that made me,” Milo said with a smile, addressing his father’s godfather by name.

This wasn’t a sign of disrespect—quite the opposite.

In Western culture, the closer the relationship, the more direct the use of names, even between parents and children.

Robert Morgenthau had undergone surgery at the end of last year.

Given his age, recovery had taken longer than expected.

Thus, Milo didn’t get to see him when he visited New York last year.

“Ah, old age,” Robert chuckled. “Illnesses come more frequently as time passes.”

He looked at the tall, handsome young man in front of him. “I never would have guessed that you managed to acquire U.S. News & World Report.”

Milo smiled. “Well, I’m from Boston.”

Robert shook his head lightly with a grin.

The reason he brought up U.S. News & World Report was not just because Milo had recently succeeded in acquiring one of America’s top three newsweeklies.

It was also because the latest issue featured Robert himself on the cover.

The headline read, “Manhattan’s Guardian of the Law,” singing high praises for Robert Morgenthau.

Although he had appeared on the covers of Time and Newsweek before, this came after a six-month hiatus from public life due to his surgery.

Milo’s U.S. News & World Report featuring him as the cover story was a well-timed boost to his public reappearance—important, considering even district attorneys rely on elections.

“Being a Bostonian is one thing, but not every Bostonian can acquire control over one of America’s major newsweeklies,” Robert remarked.

Robert knew well that Milo’s affiliation with the Boston Consortium played a key role in his successful acquisition.

U.S. News & World Report was historically an outlet tied to the interests of the Boston Consortium.

But if Milo didn’t have the capability, being part of the consortium wouldn’t have gotten him far.

The Boston Consortium, as America’s oldest financial alliance, had an internal web more complex than any other, entangling the interests of over a hundred families.

Every extra gain for the Blackburns meant a decrease for someone else.

If Milo hadn’t garnered widespread respect, the magazine would never have fallen under the Blackburn name.

His acquisition signaled that the Blackburn family's influence within the consortium had notably increased.

Robert himself was a key player in Manhattan.

While he didn’t know much about Milo’s activities on the West Coast, he was well aware of the situation on the East Coast.

 Shifting the Conversation

After exchanging pleasantries, Robert Morgenthau’s expression turned serious.

“John was very clear on the phone,” he said, referring to Milo’s grandfather.

“But I don’t fully agree with his idea to promote African American candidates. If you want my assistance, dear Milo, I’d prefer you take my advice on certain matters.”

Milo smiled as he listened, inwardly amused by the old man’s diplomatic phrasing.

What did “taking his advice” really mean?

It meant supporting Robert’s candidates in exchange for his help—something Milo’s grandfather had already mentioned.

Milo knew this was a straightforward exchange of interests.

“Of course, this isn’t Boston. This is New York,” Milo replied, signaling his willingness to align with Robert’s suggestions.

Robert’s age-spotted face lit up with a satisfied smile. “Then all you need to focus on next is the federal level.”

His statement was confident, almost authoritative—a reminder that Milo need not worry about opposition from local or state prosecutors.

But in the U.S. judicial system, federal and district prosecutors operate on separate tracks.

While Robert held significant sway in the local Manhattan system, he couldn’t affect the federal judicial sphere.

“That’s more than enough,” Milo said with a grin.

Robert raised his coffee cup. “This Guatemalan coffee here is quite good. Rich, complex, with notes of cocoa and nuts.”

“I still prefer Kona coffee from Hawaii,” Milo responded. “We have a coffee plantation there. It’s small, but it produces enough for the family.”

“Send me some more. The batch Joseph sent last year is already gone.”

“Kona’s robust and aromatic profile is perfect for workdays,” Robert noted. “But this Guatemalan blend is ideal for a morning cup.”

“Deal!” Milo agreed.

 The Meeting Ends

Their conversation concluded, each man departed for their next engagement. Before leaving, Robert invited Milo to his upcoming 76th birthday party, an invitation Milo accepted with pleasure.

---

 Time Passes

Soon, as Shakespeare in Love enjoyed its first week in theaters, earning $96.5 million at the North American box office, April of 1996 arrived.

On April 1st, the latest issue of U.S. News & World Report was hot off the press.

Last week’s cover had featured Robert Morgenthau, Manhattan’s District Attorney.

This week’s cover showcased Michael Pulitzer, the great-grandson of legendary newsman Joseph Pulitzer.

But while last week’s edition had been all praise, this one was scandalous.

“F** the Blackburns! Who is that piece of s*? We didn’t provoke him—we just refused to sell, and he targets us! S**, I’d shove his head in a toilet if I could!”

 Long Island Meeting

Long Island, traditionally the backyard for New York’s wealthy.

Any New York millionaire with more than a year’s worth of financial freedom owns a villa here. The region boasts lush forests, sandy beaches kissed by clear waves, iconic lighthouses, renowned vineyards, famous castles, and English-style estates.

The descendants of Joseph Pulitzer owned a sprawling estate on these shores.

Just three hours after the new issue of U.S. News & World Report hit the stands, several core members of the Pulitzer family gathered in a meeting room within their estate.

Howard Pulitzer, Michael Pulitzer’s eldest son, was the one who had just ranted.

“Milo Blackburn owns a security company. Reports show that after he acquired it, he invested over a hundred million dollars,” said Edward Pulitzer, Michael’s nephew and son of the previous head of the family.

“Howard, before you shove his head in a toilet, his bodyguards will hang you over a cesspit,” Edward added dryly.

“F*** you, Edward!

*Chapter 128: Next Time, You Take the Lead*

In April, New York is bathed in sunshine and brushed by a gentle breeze, with bright, cheerful weather.

The temperatures remain mild, with an average of about 14°C (57°F) throughout the day. During sunny afternoons, it can climb to around 20°C (68°F), while evenings often dip below 10°C (50°F).

It’s one of the best months for people from other places to visit New York.

The weather was perfect this weekend, coinciding with April Fools’ Day.

New Yorkers flocked to nearby areas within the greater metropolitan region, much like people from elsewhere made the journey to visit New York.

*Thwack!*

From the moment Milo swung his golf club, his eyes instinctively fixed on the ball tee. The only way to know if he hit the ball was to see whether it was still on the tee—only then would he check the result.

A graceful parabolic arc soared through the air, but it veered far from the direction of the hole. Well, more than a little.

“You really should practice your swing more,” Don Kemp remarked just as—*thwack!*—he swung and sent his ball flying.

Milo, wearing sunglasses, betrayed no hint of his thoughts. Kemp, however, could tell from Milo's nonchalant shrug while holding his club that the young man didn’t care much about his golf skills.

“I enjoy the tranquility of golf—that’s what makes it appealing to me. Whether the shot is good or bad doesn’t matter; it’s just about swinging the club,” Milo said with a faint smile, handing his club to the caddy.

Walking toward the golf cart parked nearby, he pulled off his white leather glove and casually added, “That’s the charm of it all.”

The two men were at the *Don Kemp National Golf Club*, about a 45-minute drive from Manhattan. Located in Bedminster, New Jersey, the club sprawls across 535 acres, with two 18-hole courses.

As a real estate and hotel mogul, Kemp owned numerous golf clubs across the U.S., but this one, being close to New York, was his crown jewel.

Today, however, the club was officially closed for maintenance.

The expansive greens were eerily quiet, save for Milo, Kemp, and their entourage of bodyguards, assistants, and aides.

“Don, come sit for a bit and take a break,” Milo said with a sunny smile, flashing perfect teeth, seemingly unbothered by his earlier poor performance.

“Sure, sure. Hey, I am a little tired.”

As Kemp approached the cart, he initially aimed to sit beside Milo. But at the last moment, he changed course and sat behind him instead.

“Don, trust me. You’ll be able to move around as freely in San Francisco and Los Angeles as you do in New York.”

“Of course, I trust you.”

“If this venture succeeds, we’re going to make a lot of money—by that, I mean a lot.”

“Will it go public?”

“The spinoff will soar on Wall Street like a rocket. You know, my $5 million investment in Yahoo is now worth $500 million—and it’s still growing. Even DuPont and Mellon have been sending me emails lately.”

“From the corporate investment arms?”

“No, family trusts.”

“Milo, you should run for president. You’d win for sure!”

“I like the idea, but I’m not even thirty-five yet. Can’t run just yet.”

Milo and Kemp continued their casual chatter, mostly about their newly formed real estate company, *There Are Many Houses* (TMH).

Translated into Chinese, the name means *房多多*—literally, “Many Houses.”

Unlike traditional real estate firms confined to major cities, TMH would focus on integrating the internet into its operations nationwide. Drawing inspiration from platforms like Zillow and Trulia, which would emerge years later in a parallel timeline, Milo envisioned a hybrid business model combining real estate with the internet.

“We’ll tell Wall Street the story of a perfect marriage between the internet and real estate,” Milo explained.

The plan was simple yet ambitious: take advantage of the booming internet and real estate markets in the next decade, list the company during the Nasdaq bubble, cash out, and reinvest after the bubble burst.

By the mid-2000s, during America’s real estate golden age, TMH’s valuation could soar again before the subprime crisis hit, allowing them to cash out one more time.

“It’s a rinse-and-repeat cycle,” Milo said.

Kemp admired Milo’s vision but was especially drawn to the “family connection” aspect of their partnership—Milo had taken notice of Kemp’s attractive daughter.

“She’s stunning,” Milo thought, not bothering to hide his preferences.

But Milo’s mind quickly shifted back to the present. From a distance, he noticed his head of security, Kenny, approaching with Milo’s butler, Wendy, and a group of men trailing behind.

One face stood out: Peter Gotti, someone Kemp recognized from a previous business deal involving New York’s underworld.

“Kenny, they’re here,” Milo said calmly.

Turning to Kemp, he added, “Don, do me a favor—drive us around the course. I want to take a closer look.”

With a grin, Kemp nodded. “No problem. Nobody knows driving better than I do.”

And with that, the two men left the rest to sweat it out behind them.

(Chapter End)

Chapter 129: Worst Case, I'll Just Go Home

"Tang, I didn’t expect your intelligence network to be so effective," Milo remarked with a smile to Jinpu as they cruised in a golf cart.

The seasoned Jinpu replied matter-of-factly, "We pay for intel, and they sell it to make money. Perfectly reasonable."

"Indeed, perfectly reasonable," Milo chuckled.

In federal agencies like the FBI and CIA, many staff members run lucrative side gigs, especially in the CIA. Over decades, it has practically evolved into a semi-autonomous entity. In many regions worldwide, their funding often relies on "self-financing."

For example, in Central America and Southeast Asia, more than 40% of their budgets come from independent means. Post-Vietnam War, this figure reached as high as 70%. Selling contraband or running black-market operations alone wasn't enough to fund their activities—or their retirement plans.

Want a cushy retirement? Sell intel.

Middle-aged intelligence brokers were as abundant as krill in the Antarctic. Hollywood, too, was rife with former agents. Ever wonder why some paparazzi or reporters seem unusually skilled? Many were once CIA informants or even peripheral members.

The FBI handles domestic matters, the CIA handles international operations—but the truth? *Money knows no borders.*

Sometimes, even these agents would dabble in more lucrative endeavors, such as the recent farm storage fire case in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Digging deeper linked the incident back to the CIA, at which point the investigation was quietly dropped.

What if the truth came out? Don’t be naïve—it’s better left unsaid.

---

Back in the golf cart, Milo turned serious as he looked at Jinpu, whose sincere expression made Milo chuckle.

“Thanks for the tip, Tang,” Milo began. “But I must tell you, their plans have changed. Now they’re targeting a different group for elimination.”

“I understand,” Jinpu said after a brief pause, reverting to his usual grinning, carefree demeanor.

That night and the following day, Jinpu, a prominent real estate tycoon from New York, became oddly fixated on local crime reports.

---

By the next morning:

“WTF!” Jinpu blurted in his office.

Spread across his desk were multiple newspapers, all reporting a slew of violent incidents from the night before. Notably, *Paul Castellano*, a key figure in the Gambino crime family, had been gunned down on Staten Island.

One article read: "Assailants fired 12 rounds at Castellano, striking him at least six times. Severely wounded, Castellano crawled to the rear of his car before succumbing to his injuries at Staten Island University Hospital."

Similar headlines detailed the deaths of several prominent gang figures, all victims of an unprecedented wave of gangland violence in New York. Normally, the city averages about 10 shootings daily—but last night, it felt like Gotham City had come to life.

While most of the casualties were mobsters, a few unlucky bystanders were also injured. Public outrage ensued, with citizens blaming Mayor Giuliani for failing to uphold his promises to reduce crime.

Two years prior, Giuliani had campaigned on a tough-on-crime platform, yet last night was one of the deadliest in New York’s recent history.

"The Italians are in big trouble," Jinpu muttered, setting down the papers with a forced smile.

Despite his outward composure, Jinpu couldn’t shake the feeling that he was inadvertently caught up in a dangerous storm brewing in New York. Whether it would affect him or not remained uncertain.

“Dear God, please protect me. I’m just a patriot!” Jinpu silently prayed.

Of course, if someone were to ask which country he loved, Jinpu would reply: Whichever country makes me the most money.  

For now, Milo was his cash cow. So despite his anxiety, Jinpu diligently carried on with his business plans, prioritizing the launch of their joint TV show and a new real estate venture.

---

Meanwhile, on the 38th floor of the US News & World Report headquarters in Manhattan, Milo stood by his office's floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out at the bustling city.

“Boss,” his secretary Megan interrupted. “Paladin Investments called. Citibank, Wells Fargo, and Boston’s First National Bank have all approved your loan application for acquiring TBS Broadcasting.”

“Expected,” Milo said, turning to her with a faint smile. “In this economy, they can’t resist a stable revenue project.”

Megan, ever professional but not above some flattery, added, “Of course, it’s all thanks to your skyrocketing net worth and the rapid growth of your companies. The banks see you as an invaluable client.”

---

Later that day, Milo received a visit from the NYPD and FBI’s top brass in New York. Four officials arrived, but Milo, playing the role of an arrogant heir, greeted them nonchalantly, propping his feet up on his desk.

“Yeah, I killed them. What about it?” he quipped.

The officials froze in shock. FBI Manhattan Division Chief Christopher Wray instinctively reached for his belt, only to realize he was unarmed—a precaution required to enter Milo’s heavily guarded office.

Milo, enjoying their discomfort, added mockingly, “What, you think I’m Clark Kent? Or Bruce Wayne turning New York into Gotham?”

After some tense back-and-forth, the officials, flustered and defeated, left without further confrontation.

---

Behind Milo’s boldness lay meticulous preparation:

1. His grandfather, a former Republican whip, had leveraged his political connections to pressure local GOP leaders, ultimately influencing Mayor Giuliani.

2. His father had secured federal support through direct talks with FBI Director Louis Freeh.

3. Milo himself had recently donated $45 million to the NYPD, winning over the rank-and-file.

Despite his nerves, Milo felt exhilarated by his audacious display of power. As the officials left, he let out a deep breath, muttering to himself:

“Well, worst case, I just go home and mooch off my family. Not like they can easily jail me!”

It was a bold gamble, but for Milo, the rush of defiance made it all worthwhile.

*Chapter 130: Speeding Up with Money, That’s How It’s Done in America*

[According to a recent report by the Daily Mail, a petition to impeach New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani has gathered over 85,000 signatures.]

[Since the April 1st mass shooting incident, the number of signatures on this impeachment petition has surged, with over 30,000 new signatories joining.]

[…]

"Dammit!!"

Downtown Manhattan, Civic Center.

As the most bustling city in the U.S., New York City's administration is headquartered here.

The entire City Hall is surrounded by Broadway, Park Row, and Chambers Street.

The building itself still functions as a government office.

It houses the office of the New York City Mayor and the City Council chambers, making it the oldest city hall in continuous use in the U.S.

April 5th, morning.

Rudy Giuliani listened to the loud protest chants outside, amplified through loudspeakers, while throwing the Daily Mail onto the floor.

"Look at this, look at what they're saying?! They claim all of this is my fault—dammit!"

Although speaking English, Giuliani’s tightly clenched fingers betrayed his Italian heritage.

Italians, after all, seem unable to speak without hand gestures.

"Sh*t! I didn’t do anything wrong! This whole mess started because of that bastard from Beantown. If they want to protest, if they want to demonstrate, they should go after that tea-drinking Yankee from Boston!"

“Beantowners,” “tea-drinkers,” and “Northerners” were all derogatory terms used in the U.S. for residents of Boston and New England.

Similarly, Bostonians often called New Yorkers “Dutchies” or “Apple-men.”

Rudolph Giuliani, looking exhausted, glanced at his furious uncle, who was in a fit of rage.

He could only offer reassurance: “Uncle, don’t worry. No matter how loud the protests get, it won’t matter. The City Council is controlled by the GOP—you’re safe!”

In America, the only entities capable of impeaching a mayor or forcing a president out of office are the city and national legislatures.

Currently, New York’s City Council had a GOP majority.

No matter how intense the protests outside became, as long as the GOP remained united, Giuliani’s position as mayor was secure.

“I don’t care about that! Rudolph, what I care about is your competence! Damn it, how did things get this bad in just a few days?”

Giuliani berated his nephew.

Rudolph, feeling aggrieved, held his tongue.

Who could have predicted that those submissive members of New York’s five families, who had been so intimidated for years, would suddenly retaliate so decisively?

On the night of April 1st, in less than three days, they managed to eliminate every insider aligned with Giuliani.

Hundreds of their own men, some even related by blood, were targeted.

The entire leadership of the Lucchese family, which had aligned fully with Giuliani, was wiped out.

The remaining lower ranks were carved up by the other four families.

Giuliani’s influence in the New York underworld was now virtually gone.

What was even more problematic were the district attorneys who had once collaborated closely with Giuliani.

Their silence over the past few days was telling.

New York, with its large population and economic clout, had two district attorney offices: one covering the northern and one the southern districts.

The Southern District, covering Manhattan, was often called the Manhattan DA’s office, led by Robert Morgenthau.

Before becoming mayor, Giuliani had served as the head of the Northern District twice.

This office, along with parts of the local judicial branch, formed Giuliani’s core power base.

However, in recent days, Owen Cohen, the chief of the Northern District, had remained ambiguous.

This was a man who had once worked under Giuliani.

With neither DA speaking up, and the FBI stepping back, Giuliani was left with only the NYPD to investigate.

But despite the fact that two years ago, Police Commissioner Bratton was appointed by Giuliani and was loyal to him, the police commissioner himself was a Democrat and obstructed Bratton.

Adding to Giuliani’s frustration, only days ago, NYPD officers had received a $45 million donation.

Though the money didn’t go directly to officers or NYPD accounts, it was funneled into a newly formed “NYC Police Health Fund.”

This fund could be accessed by NYPD officers for dental-related expenses—dental issues being among the most common ailments, even more so than gunshot wounds.

So even when Bratton ordered the NYPD to intervene and investigate, officers appeared apathetic, barely going through the motions.

The situation spiraled further out of control, with daily shootings escalating into the hundreds, resulting in multiple deaths, primarily among gang members.

That was problem number one.

Problem number two emerged the previous evening.

The city’s Marine Workers’ Union, Construction Workers’ Union, Fruit Workers’ Union, and Garment Workers’ Union banded together, using the violence as a pretext to call for Giuliani’s impeachment.

At this stage, Rudolph didn’t believe he, a mob affiliate, could reverse the tide.

Even his uncle, his idol, Rudy Giuliani, appeared powerless.

“Uncle, maybe you could reach out to Peter Vallone and his group...”

Peter Vallone was the speaker of the New York City Council and a prominent GOP leader, an ally of Giuliani’s.

The plan to take on New York’s five families hadn’t been Giuliani’s alone.

“Do you think I haven’t tried?”

Giuliani sighed, expressing regret for the first time. “But they either don’t respond or claim to be on medical leave.”

Regret washed over him as he thought about his relentless campaign against the Italian crime families.

Initially, Giuliani lacked both the motivation and means.

Being of Italian descent himself, and having family ties to organized crime, fighting these families hadn’t been his choice.

He had no option but to act.

He knew he was merely a tool—a weapon aimed at the Italian crime families by those in power.

His Italian roots, and his family’s ties to the crime world, were the main reasons he’d been elevated to his position.

An insider attacking other insiders was always more efficient.

In a parallel world, after Giuliani’s two terms had eliminated or co-opted the crime families, he was ousted from power and saw his political career stall.

Italian-Americans were subject to the same social prejudices as Irish-Americans, Latinos, and Asians.

Their political standing was even lower than that of African-Americans, marginally above Latinos and most Asian groups.

“So, what now, Uncle? People won’t leave. We’re afraid to even step outside. With the Lucchese family wiped out, we worry they’ll come after us next,” Rudolph said.

Giuliani’s family was also tied to organized crime.

While Rudy’s political success had initiated a gradual shift, half of their kin were still embedded in criminal enterprises.

Rudolph, the family’s representative in the mob, hadn’t dared leave his uncle’s side in days, fearing he’d meet the same fate as those who’d been executed in their sleep.

Hearing Rudolph’s apprehensions, Giuliani leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

“Surrender.”

After a few moments of silence, Giuliani spoke.

“Blackburn wants the same thing we do. He wants to control those crime families to influence the unions.”

“But he’s wealthy—unbelievably wealthy. And in New York, money can accomplish anything.”

“We don’t have any significant conflicts with him. If Peter Vallone and the others can accept his money, why shouldn’t we cooperate?”

“Giuliani’s just started; he can’t afford to be taken down now.”

[…]