In 1841, it would have been a stretch to describe the political climate of the United States as peaceful.
The Amistad trial, originally a diplomatic dispute with Spain, had ignited a nationwide debate over the legality of slavery. Before long, the entire country found itself bitterly divided.
Then ca an even greater shock.
Barely a month after his inauguration, President William Henry Harrison died suddenly.
The nation had never faced such a situation before.
Vice President John Tyler stepped forward to assu leadership—but a constitutional dispute imdiately erupted.
Did the vice president actually beco president when the office was vacated?
Or was he rely acting as a temporary caretaker?
Tyler resolved the issue by drawing a firm line.
He declared himself President of the United States, not rely an acting figure.
For a mont it seed stability might return.
But the crisis had only begun.
Soon afterward, Tyler clashed with the Whig Party, his own political party, over the establishnt of the Second Bank of the United States.
The conflict escalated until the unthinkable happened.
The Whigs expelled the sitting president from their own party.
The cabinet Tyler had assembled with such ambition collapsed almost imdiately. One by one, every mber resigned—every mber except Secretary of State Daniel Webster.
Within five months, Tyler's administration had effectively lost all political montum.
For the first ti in Arican history, a man who had inherited the presidency found himself leading the nation without any party at all.
An independent president in a fiercely partisan governnt.
The result was inevitable.
His administration struggled to function.
He had no political shield to defend him from attacks by newspapers or intellectuals. Every day beca a lonely battle.
Then, as if on cue, an unexpected developnt appeared just across the northern border.
Canada was suddenly receiving a massive influx of Irish immigrants.
And the architect of that policy—Killian Gore, a minister of the British Empire—was scheduled to visit the United States.
For Tyler, who had beco politically crippled only five months into his presidency, the visit looked like a rare opportunity.
If he could make a strong impression here, the public might rally behind him.
At the very least, it would be a blow to the Whigs who had cast him out.
"So Minister Gore will arrive in a week," Tyler said. "What arrangents have been made for his visit?"
Secretary Webster replied calmly.
"As he is a minister of the British Empire, I will et him personally as Secretary of State. Afterward he is scheduled to discuss diplomatic matters with Your Excellency. He will also et with several senators."
Tyler leaned back slightly.
"I've heard that Minister Gore is considered one of the more moderate figures in the British governnt. That reputation is accurate, I assu?"
"That is what we've heard," Webster said. "According to Congressman John Quincy Adams, who recently returned from Britain as a special envoy."
"I also hear he'll be remaining in Canada for so ti as sothing like a plenipotentiary above the governor. Do you think he intends to pursue policies that might conflict with us?"
Tyler could hardly afford another crisis.
His popularity was already at rock bottom.
If tensions arose with Britain—particularly over Canada—it could push Congress toward impeachnt.
On the other hand, if he managed to secure so aningful diplomatic achievent from Britain…
The political atmosphere might shift dramatically in his favor.
Webster considered the question carefully.
"Based on what we know, it seems unlikely that Minister Gore intends to antagonize the United States. However, large-scale immigration and frontier developnt often produce disputes over land. Even minor incidents could lead to conflict."
Tyler sighed.
"True enough. We're already dealing with constant disputes along the xican border. But if both governnts are committed to cooperation, surely such issues can be resolved. After all, you are widely regarded as one of the foremost experts in this country."
Daniel Webster was one of the most respected figures in the Senate—a mber of the so-called Great Triumvirate of Arican statesn. His understanding of Britain and international diplomacy was particularly renowned.
Even when the rest of the cabinet resigned, Webster had remained.
Foreign policy, he insisted, required continuity.
Although he and Tyler sotis clashed over dostic matters, the president trusted Webster's judgnt when it ca to diplomacy.
Especially when Britain was involved.
Webster nodded.
"I doubt the British governnt wishes to create trouble either. Their own administration is newly ford. However… Congressman Adams ntioned sothing else."
"What is it?"
"He says Minister Gore is a passionate supporter of the abolition of slavery."
Tyler groaned quietly.
"That could be troubleso."
If the British minister openly spoke about slavery, abolitionists in the North might seize the mont and stir up political turmoil again.
"Let's avoid the topic as much as possible," Tyler said firmly. "The last thing we need is to give the abolitionists an excuse to start shouting again."
Britain, after all, had already abolished slavery.
Naturally, a British minister would oppose the institution.
But John Tyler, a Virginian, was a strong defender of slave ownership—and owned slaves himself.
Webster, though a Northerner, also wished to avoid reopening the issue. In his view, the slavery debate had the potential to tear the United States apart.
If anything, Webster was less a supporter or opponent than a cautious compromiser.
Better not to stir the hornet's nest at all.
He sighed and nodded.
"Of course I will not raise the subject myself. However… Minister Gore is scheduled to et mbers of Congress. There is always the possibility that abolitionists will deliberately bring it up."
Tyler grimaced.
"That's very possible. Especially Adams. That man will ntion abolition if he's given even half a chance."
The Amistad case had barely concluded.
If a similar debate erupted again, the political chaos would be unbearable.
Still…
Tyler's expression slowly sharpened.
Perhaps the situation could be turned to his advantage.
If he managed to silence the abolitionists during the visit, support in the Southern states might rebound.
Killian Gore might be an abolitionist—but he was also a foreign minister.
Surely he would avoid interfering directly in Arican dostic politics.
If handled carefully, that constraint might be useful.
Tyler straightened.
"For now, welco Minister Gore with the utmost courtesy. Speak with him personally and determine his disposition. I'll leave the matter in your hands."
Webster inclined his head.
After all, no matter how brilliant the young minister might be, he was barely in his twenties.
Webster, on the other hand, had spent six decades navigating politics and diplomacy.
Talent might matter.
But experience mattered more.
Tyler had no intention of finishing his presidency as a powerless figurehead.
He would seize this opportunity.
He would return to political relevance.
And perhaps—if fortune favored him—he might even secure reelection.
If flattering a young British minister helped him achieve that goal, then so be it.
In the end, the only thing that mattered was who was still smiling when the curtain fell.
And John Tyler was perfectly prepared to shake hands with anyone necessary to make sure it was him.
The winter of 1841 arrived with a bitter wind.
Another year was drawing to its close.
"You'll be leaving for the United States soon," Jas said, glancing out the window. "The weather's terrible."
Killian shrugged.
"As long as it isn't a full snowstorm, I don't mind. And honestly, even this cold air is better than London's suffocating atmosphere. If anything, the colder it gets, the clearer my mind feels."
Jas raised an eyebrow.
"So after working all night again, you've finally begun developing unusual ways of thinking. I suppose you can now understand how I feel."
"Jas," Killian said dryly, "you seem to be forgetting sothing. If my workload increases, yours increases even more. You should probably pray that my schedule returns to normal."
Recently, Killian's average sleep had finally dropped below four hours.
Three hours had beco the norm.
Coffee was now essentially water.
In his previous life he would have collapsed long ago.
But youth was a frightening thing.
Apparently the human body could survive far more abuse than expected.
Still…
Killian stared at the ever-growing pile of docunts with quiet resentnt.
"I've already exceeded the level of work a human being can reasonably perform," Jas replied. "Even if you assign more, it'll simply be delegated downward. Pinkerton complains about it constantly."
"Complains?" Killian snorted. "If he has the ti to complain, that ans he still has spare energy. Double his workload and he'll stop wasting ti on useless thoughts."
"Exactly my thinking," Jas said calmly. "Every ti he complains, I quietly add more tasks. If the boss is working himself to death, how could the employees possibly relax?"
Killian paused.
Sothing was wrong.
Their conversation had begun to sound disturbingly unhinged.
Too much work had clearly damaged both of them.
Still, Pinkerton ought to be grateful.
Killian had arranged the foundation for the Pinkerton National Detective Agency more than a decade earlier than it had appeared in the original tiline.
Thanks to him, the agency would soon beco the most powerful detective organization in the United States.
Of course…
Technically the company belonged to Killian.
Which ant Pinkerton was essentially just a salaried manager.
Sleep deprivation produced so strange thoughts.
"Anyway," Killian said, turning serious, "when we arrive in the United States, you must never show your real face. Understood? Use a double whenever necessary. You remain in the shadows."
"Don't worry," Jas replied. "I've already secured a reliable stand-in. Still, wouldn't it be more efficient if I personally handled the black civil rights movent? Using a proxy ans an extra layer of communication."
"Being shot in the head is far worse than losing efficiency."
Killian shook his head.
"You'll understand eventually. This isn't the British Empire."
In London, a man could openly declare that Black people were human beings and face little consequence.
In the United States, things were different.
Even in the North, the reaction might be hostile.
In the South?
The response wouldn't be jeers.
It would be bullets.
Jas himself was not yet famous.
But as John Quincy Adams continued his activism, the identity of his financial backers would eventually beco known.
When that happened, Jas could easily beco a target.
Money and bodyguards ant little when bullets started flying.
In a country where even presidents had been assassinated…
Only a fool would openly campaign for Black rights without protection.
"That sounds rather terrifying," Jas admitted.
"That's why I told you from the beginning to remain invisible," Killian said. "Think of it as my thoughtful concern for my subordinate. Thanks to , you'll one day appear in Arican history books as a great civil rights activist—with absolutely no personal risk."
Not to ntion running a vast international business empire across Britain, Canada, and the United States.
"You should be grateful you t such a generous employer."
Jas sighed dramatically.
"I'm so moved that my entire body trembles. Do you know who my favorite person in the British Empire is these days?"
"Let guess," Killian said. "Her Majesty."
"Exactly."
Killian chuckled.
"If you asked a hundred people, at least ninety would say the sa thing."
"I sincerely hope Her Majesty's popularity continues rising."
"And why is that?"
"Because the more popular she becos, the more favor she will show toward you, Minister."
Killian narrowed his eyes.
He had the distinct impression that Jas was implying sothing about more work.
Surely that was his imagination.
"In any case," Killian said, ignoring the remark, "we'll finish our tasks quickly and return to London. I'll be eting the Arican president and secretary of state. anwhile, you'll confirm that the rumors about Britain's treatnt of Black refugees are spreading properly."
"Understood. And you also asked to identify promising politicians and provide generous financial support."
"I did. I believe I already prepared a list."
Jas flipped through a folder.
"I had Pinkerton investigate them. So choices make sense. But others… are you sure these people have potential? It might be throwing money away."
"I know which one you an," Killian said.
"He's actually the most important one."
"But look at his record," Jas protested. "He's lost nearly every election he's entered. Failed businesses, failed campaigns, mounting debts…"
Killian smiled faintly.
"Quite tragic, isn't it?"
"Tragic doesn't begin to describe it. Business failure. Lost a state legislative race. Another failed business. Won a seat once, only to lose the next election. Failed to beco an elector. Frankly, his persistence is almost admirable."
"Then think of it as charity," Killian said casually. "Help the poor young politician repay his debts and focus on politics. Support him generously. Make sure he wins the next election and enters the House of Representatives."
Jas sighed.
"…Very well. Your instincts have always been correct. I'll trust them again."
He glanced back at the list.
"So this man is…"
Killian answered calmly.
"Abraham."
Abraham Lincoln.
A na that would one day beco legend.
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