Building a Conglomerate in Another World

December 20th, 1896.

Undisclosed Location, Amerathia

A cold wind howled outside the secluded estate, nestled deep within the Virginia countryside. The building was an unassuming mansion on the surface, its architecture blending with the aristocratic homes of the wealthy elite. But beneath its foundations, hidden from the public eye, lay a sprawling underground chamber where the true masters of Amerathia convened.

The room was dimly lit by a grand chandelier, its golden glow casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. At the center of the room sat an oval table made of dark mahogany, large enough to seat a dozen figures. The air was thick with cigar smoke, and the faint scent of old parchment and ink filled the space.

Seated at the table were men of power—billionaires, military leaders, industrialists, and shadowy figures who never appeared in any official government document. They were the true architects of Amerathia’s expansionist ambitions. They had orchestrated wars, assassinations, economic collapses, and political uprisings—all without their names ever being spoken in public.

They were the Order of the Phoenix Society—the true rulers of Amerathia.

And tonight, they were furious.

At the head of the table sat an older man, his face half-hidden in the shadows. His name was Gideon Langston, the Order’s Grand Chancellor. His steely blue eyes flickered with cold rage as he reviewed the latest reports. Next to him sat Cornelius Voss, a shipping magnate whose wealth had funded much of Amerathia’s naval expansion. Across from them, Jonathan Hawthorne, an influential senator who had helped draft war policies behind closed doors, sat with his fingers steepled together.

The silence was suffocating.

Finally, Langston spoke. His voice was slow, measured, and filled with quiet malice.

"Bradford was a fool."

No one disagreed.

Langston exhaled through his nose, placing the papers down on the table. "Years of planning, millions of florins in military investments, entire political careers sacrificed—all of it undone by one arrogant, reckless mistake."

Voss scoffed. "He thought too highly of himself. Believed that controlling Congress would be enough to force Hesh’s hand. We underestimated the President." He leaned back, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "The man should have been removed long before this."

"The damage is catastrophic," Hawthorne added bitterly. "The public isn’t just turning on Bradford and Macias—they’re beginning to question everything." His voice darkened. "For the first time in decades, the Amerathian people are looking past the illusion we’ve built. If they start pulling at the threads…"

Langston shot him a glare. "We will not allow that to happen."

A murmur of agreement swept through the room.

A Hidden Hand

A figure sitting in the farthest seat finally spoke, his voice low and composed. He was known only as Victor Kessler, a man whose very existence was considered a rumor even among the most powerful elites.

"We must reassess," Kessler said, setting his cigar down. "Bradford’s failure has cost us dearly, but it is not the end. This nation’s future still belongs to us. We simply need to correct course."

Langston nodded. "We still control the financial markets, the railways, the industrial supply chains. The war effort is wounded, but not dead. If we adapt quickly, we can recover."

Hawthorne frowned. "And what of Hesh? He’s more dangerous than we anticipated."

Kessler smirked. "Then we adjust our approach."

Silence followed, and all eyes turned toward him.

"We must destabilize his presidency. Make the people lose faith in him, in his leadership." Kessler leaned forward, his expression calculating. "We still hold many assets in Congress, in the military, in the media. If we play this correctly, we can turn his great victory into his greatest downfall."

Voss chuckled darkly. "A scandal, then?"

Kessler nodded. "Not just any scandal—one that will erode his credibility. One that will ensure no one trusts his leadership again."

Langston exhaled, rubbing his chin. "Do we have anything we can use?"

Kessler tapped his fingers against the table. "We have resources. A careful leak of sensitive war documents could make it seem as though Hesh has been collaborating with Mexico all along. With the right narrative, we turn him from a hero into a traitor."

Hawthorne’s lips curled into a knowing smile. "And the people will demand his removal."

Langston nodded slowly. "Yes… Yes, this could work."

Voss clinked his glass against the table. "Hesh may have won this battle, but he will not win the war."

Langston turned to the rest of the room, his gaze sweeping across the gathered elites. "We move forward with Kessler’s plan. Leaked war documents, false narratives, disinformation campaigns. We make Hesh fight for his survival until he has no allies left."

A chorus of approval spread through the room.

Victor Kessler stood, smoothing out his suit. "I’ll arrange for the leaks to be sent through independent journalists. Unaffiliated, radical sources—ones that Hesh’s administration won’t be able to control."

Langston exhaled. "Good. We must also ensure the military remains loyal to us. We have enough generals in our pocket, but with Bradford gone, they may hesitate. We must remind them where their true allegiance lies."

Hawthorne spoke again. "And if Hesh resists? If he continues to fight us?"

Kessler gave him a knowing look.

"Then we ensure he is removed permanently."

The room fell silent.

They all knew what that meant.

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A President could be discredited. A President could be impeached.

But a President could also be eliminated.

Langston tapped his fingers against the table, deep in thought. "We wait. For now. We weaken him. We turn the people against him. And if that fails…"

He let the sentence hang.

Everyone in the room understood.

They would not let Matthew Hesh undo what they had spent generations building.

The meeting ended soon after. One by one, the most powerful men in Amerathia rose from the table and disappeared into the shadows.

And as Langston stood to leave, he turned to Kessler.

"See to it personally."

Kessler smirked. "Of course."

As the doors closed behind them, the gears of conspiracy were already turning.

Bradford had failed.

But the Order of the Phoenix Society would not.

And Matthew Hesh’s war was far from over.