Chapter 780: Quick!

“Estimated combat duration: ____ weeks.”

The last line was crudely crossed out with a black marker. But O’Brien keenly noticed that the blacked-out section was quite long. It definitely wasn’t a single-digit length. It was a double-digit number. At least dozens of weeks.

O’Brien felt his throat go dry. He closed the magazine and stood up.

“Excuse me for a moment, General. I need to use the restroom.”

The major general smiled and nodded, continuing to read his documents.

O’Brien stepped into the cramped restroom and locked the door. He turned on the faucet, letting the sound of running water mask any noise he might make. Pulling out his notebook, he quickly jotted down a few words with his pen: Lincoln, Ford, 800, dozens of weeks, THAAD Qatar. Then, he took out his phone and snapped a photo of the page. Opening an encrypted messaging app, he sent the picture to a contact labeled ‘P’.

Sent successfully.

He let out a long breath, pressed the flush button, and walked out.

Pittsburgh, the Mayor’s Office.

Leo’s phone screen lit up, displaying a photo. It was the note Daniel O’Brien had sent back from the government jet.

Leo’s gaze paused on the words “Ford” and “Lincoln” for a moment. The last time the United States had deployed two carrier strike groups simultaneously in a single theater of war was right before the invasion of Iraq. This was an all-out conflict aimed at destroying the enemy’s war potential. He immediately dialed Evelyn’s number.

“Evelyn, there’s a change of plans.” Leo’s voice was low and urgent. “It’s much worse than we previously estimated.”

Chicago, the top floor of a skyscraper on the Magnificent Mile.

Evelyn Saint Cloud stood before a massive array of multi-screen trading terminals. Real-time data from major global exchanges danced across the displays, with alternating red and green numbers cascading like a waterfall. It was then that she received Leo’s call.

“So, do we still need to raise our expectations further?” Evelyn’s voice carried a hint of hesitation. She didn’t know exactly what had happened, but Leo had already dropped a hint in a previous call, warning her of an impending, massive upheaval in the energy market. Trusting her sharp instincts, she had already guessed roughly what was going on.

“Yes. The strike price for the options needs to be raised. Our previous cap was too conservative.”

Evelyn understood immediately.

“Brent crude, adjust the strike price straight from 85 to 100. Natural gas, from 5.00 to 6.50,” Evelyn replied, preparing to instruct her subordinates to alter their trading strategies.

She paused for a moment.

“If it’s truly as you say, and a massive upheaval is imminent, it’s not impossible for oil prices to surge to 120.” Evelyn’s voice carried a bloodthirsty thrill. “We are going to bleed them dry.”

Pittsburgh City Hall, Mayor’s Office. 5:17 AM.

The sky outside was still pitch black. Inside the office, a massive television screen suddenly flared to life. On the CNN news broadcast, a glaring red banner occupied the bottom third of the screen, its ticker tape scrolling frantically.

BREAKING NEWS: US and Israel Forces Launch Large-Scale Strike on Iran.

Leo stood before the television, his eyes fixed on the screen. The broadcast cut to cellphone footage shot from a high-rise building somewhere. The camera shook violently as a massive pillar of black smoke billowed from the city center. The glow of the fire cast orange-red patches against the pre-dawn sky. Accompanied by muffled explosions, the piercing wail of air raid sirens echoed from the video.

“…Multiple sources confirm that the Israeli Air Force, with US intelligence support and partial joint force coordination, has launched precision strikes on at least three strategic targets in and around Tehran.” The CNN anchor’s voice carried a professionally trained sense of urgency. “The targets reportedly include the headquarters of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps and certain nuclear facilities. It remains unclear at this time whether the Supreme Leader was caught in the strike…”

BZZZ—BZZZ—

The phone in Leo’s pocket vibrated violently. It was Evelyn Saint Cloud. Leo pressed the answer button.

“Leo!” Evelyn’s voice poured from the receiver. Her usual aloof, aristocratic indifference was entirely gone; she was practically screaming, though she forcibly reined herself into a state of sheer, feverish exhilaration. “The Chicago Mercantile Exchange just opened!

“WTI crude gapped up 12% right out of the gate! Brent crude has surged to 87 US Dollars!

“Natural gas—Leo, natural gas is even crazier, it’s up 19%!”

Evelyn’s voice trembled. “Our options—” She paused for a second, clearly doing the mental math, “based on the current spot price… we already have a floating profit of eight hundred million US Dollars.”

Eight hundred million US Dollars. Wealth created in mere dozens of minutes.

“If Brent breaks the 100 mark, our returns will multiply exponentially. Should we cash out a portion now? Lock in the profits.”

“No.” Leo stared at the ever-rising pillar of black smoke on the screen. “Do not close the positions.”

“Leo—this is eight hundred million…”

“This is just the beginning, Evelyn,” Leo interrupted coldly. “Right now is just the first wave of emotional release.

“Wait for the Iranian retaliation.

“Wait for their missiles to smash into Israeli cities, wait for them to drop naval mines into the Hormuz Strait, wait for the first oil tanker to catch fire and burn in the Persian Gulf.

“Only then—” Leo clenched his fists, “only then will oil prices truly spiral out of control. That is when we draw in the net.”

Leo hung up the phone directly. He turned his head, and the Roosevelt in his mind materialized before his eyes.

The President, who had once commanded the largest war in human history, currently wore a very complex expression. On Roosevelt’s face—one usually painted with playful banter or calculated scheming—Leo saw something entirely different for the first time. It was a profound sorrow, as if he were bearing the weight of millions of destinies.

“Do you know, my boy…” Roosevelt’s voice was very soft. “On December 8, 1941, the morning after the attack on Pearl Harbor…

“I sat right in this wheelchair, in the Oval Office, and signed the declaration of war against the Empire of Japan.

“At that time, the cheers from Capitol Hill were deafening. Everyone called it a righteous judgment.

“My hand held the pen without a single tremor.

“I signed my name.”

Roosevelt closed his eyes. “But in my heart,” his voice carried an imperceptible tremor, “there was always a voice telling me: the young men who were about to be sent to the battlefield, who were about to die on some nameless little island in the Pacific Ocean—their mothers, on this very morning, did not yet know the news.”

Leo’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He looked at the television screen. There, too, nameless young men were dying, and there, too, mothers would soon wake up to devastating news.

“I didn’t start this war,” Leo’s voice was slightly hoarse. He was defending himself, trying to shrug off that crushing psychological burden. “Washington pressed the button. It was a decision made by the President for the sake of votes. I merely knew the news in advance, I merely…”

“You didn’t start the war,” Roosevelt interrupted him, opening his eyes to fix Leo with a blazing gaze. “But you profited from it.”

“This is the curse of a leader, my boy.” Roosevelt’s voice grew sharp and sobering. “You did the right thing.

“You laid out your plans in advance. You used this intelligence to earn billions in survival funds for Pittsburgh, for your Alliance. You prepared oil, medicine, and living supplies ahead of time…

“You protected your people.

“But you cannot escape one fact.

“The reason your preparations hold value, the reason your options can be exchanged for massive wealth, is precisely because the rest of the world was unprepared.

“And those who were unprepared—those civilians blasted awake in Tehran, those ordinary Americans who will soon be unable to afford to pump gas or buy bread because of skyrocketing oil prices…

“They will start paying the price from today onward.”

Leo fell into silence. He looked at the television screen once more. The pillars of smoke over Tehran climbed higher and grew darker, gradually obscuring the entire screen.