The lavish banquet, once filled with the clinking of glasses and polite conversation, gradually shifted into a more serious phase after President Lincoln's toast. While the women continued dancing, tasting desserts, and engaging in hushed discussions about the war—based on fragments of information they had gleaned from their husbands—the men slowly moved toward the side hall in twos and threes, following an unspoken understanding.
O'Hara was out of her element in this setting. Though she had always harbored a fascination with the bustling energy of city life, she remained a country girl at heart. The extravagant wealth on display, the measured politeness of aristocratic women masking their careful scrutiny—it was a world she had yet to fully grasp.
Thankfully, Mary Todd Lincoln remained by her side, shielding her from intrusive questions and introducing her to influential ladies with deep political and industrial ties. It was a calculated move, one that ensured O'Hara was received with interest rather than suspicion.
Meanwhile, in the adjoining hall, the true players of power convened. The space was smaller than the grand ballroom but exuded a refined comfort. Rich leather chairs were scattered across the room, arranged in a way that encouraged quiet discussions. A few servants moved discreetly between groups, offering fine whiskey and cigars, though their presence was minimal. This was a gathering of men who made decisions that would shape the nation's future.
President Lincoln motioned for James to take the seat beside him. As they waited for the others to settle in, he leaned in and spoke in a low voice, "I had all available troops in the theater conduct an inspection. There's been no sign of Logan on the battlefield. We also sent word to our trade office in Kenya, under direct instructions from the White House. If he passes through there, my people will make sure he's taken care of."
James was silent for a moment before nodding. "I appreciate that, Abraham. But Victor is my responsibility—I'll find him myself." His voice dropped slightly as he added, "Your greater concern should be Adam. We cannot afford to underestimate him. I've fought him before. He isn't like the common breed of vampires. Sterling silver does nothing to him. And with the war as it is, there are too many bodies, too much blood. He'll only grow stronger."
Lincoln sighed, rubbing his temple. "I know. We've already taken measures, but I suspect they won't be enough." He then changed the subject. "Your factory—how is it holding up? You're a rising force in industry, James, but those men over there?" He gestured toward a group of older, wealthier figures, their suits immaculate and their expressions watchful. "They built this nation's capital industry. You'll find them much harder to deal with than any soldier on the battlefield."
James followed Lincoln's gaze, taking in the powerful industrialists. These were the men who truly dictated the course of the economy, their influence stretching from the railroads to the factories that supplied the war effort. He exhaled a slow breath and replied, "Most of my resources are invested in the development of new power machines. Over the past few years, French engineers like Lenoir and Rochas have made breakthroughs in this field. I've been recruiting talent from Germany and the United Kingdom, pouring funds into experimental mechanical factories. It's burning through capital at an alarming rate, but if it succeeds, the world will change."
Lincoln grinned. "Now that's the kind of thinking we need more of."
Before James could respond, a secretary stepped forward, whispering discreetly to the President. Lincoln nodded and turned back to the room.
"Gentlemen, we all understand how this war is shaping our country. But tonight, I want to discuss something more contentious—the rights and freedoms of Black Americans after the abolition of slavery."
A silence settled over the room. For a moment, there was only the crackling of the fireplace and the soft clinking of ice against glass. Then, a stocky, balding man with a thick gold ring on his finger leaned forward, puffing on his cigar.
"Abraham, we all know why we're fighting this war. It's not about morality—it's about power. The North fights for industry, for expansion, for control. The South? Those damn landowners care about nothing but cotton and low tariffs. This conflict has been brewing for a decade. But if you think we'll let those people sit at the same table as us after the war, you're dreaming."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Some men nodded in support, while others exchanged uneasy glances. James remained silent, watching Lincoln's expression carefully. He was impressed that the President had brought up such a divisive issue in this setting.
The truth was, while the Civil War was framed as a fight for justice and progress, it was, at its core, a battle over the economic and political future of the nation. The North, driven by industrialization, saw slavery as an outdated system that hindered free-market competition. The South, reliant on its plantations, fought to maintain its way of life. The moral arguments surrounding slavery were real but often served as convenient justification rather than the war's true cause.
James took a slow drag from his cigar. He had no illusions about the realities of the world, but he could still make choices within it.
As the discussion shifted toward the post-war economy, tariffs, and land acquisitions, he finally spoke. "If the North is to take control, we must ensure that the South is not simply subjugated, but transformed. My company is already developing machines that will render large-scale slave labor obsolete. The real wealth of the South lies not in its plantations but in its untapped resources. The question we should be asking is: who will be the first to claim them?"
The men around him exchanged glances. Some nodded in understanding, others in calculation. Lincoln, for his part, looked at James with something akin to admiration.
For now, that was enough.
---
Elsewhere…
The town of Jacksonville was no stranger to hardship. War had strained its resources, and whispers of disappearances had unsettled the local population. But nothing could have prepared them for the figure that now strode through their streets.
A towering man, easily over seven feet tall, moved through the town with a measured gait. He wore a heavy cloak that concealed most of his features, but his sheer size alone sent shivers down the spines of those who caught sight of him. His long brown hair hung unkempt around a face partially hidden by a thick, wild beard.
The townsfolk murmured anxiously. The recent disappearances had been attributed to wild animals or deserters, but now, as they watched this stranger pass, a new fear took root.
Some ran to fetch the mayor and the local sheriff. Others simply turned away, pretending not to see.
Victor paid them no mind. He had followed a scent here—one that was unmistakable.
Adam was nearby.
And this time, Victor intended to finish what had been started.
Pls Visit patreon.com/Purhitee for 30+ chapters