Building a Conglomerate in Another World

Chapter 213: Someone Attacked our Ship?

The White House – Early Morning, June 1896

Matthew Hesh sat on the floor of the presidential study, his legs crossed as he held an illustrated book open in his lap. Across from him, three-year-old Maverick sat on a plush rug, his chubby fingers resting on the pages. His small brows furrowed in concentration as he sounded out a word.

"C—ca—cat," Maverick said slowly, looking up at his father with wide blue eyes.

Matthew grinned. "That’s right, son. Cat. Good job."

Amber, sitting beside them with a warm smile, tousled Maverick’s blond curls. "You’re getting better every day, sweetheart."

Maverick beamed, kicking his little legs in excitement. "Read more!"

Matthew chuckled. "Alright, how about this one?" He pointed to an illustration of a steamship, plowing through the ocean waves. "Can you try this word?"

Maverick stared at it, tilting his head. "Ssshh—sh—ship?"

Amber clapped. "That’s right! Very good, Maverick."

Before Matthew could turn the page, the door to the study swung open.

Chief of Staff Henry Collins stepped inside, his expression tense. "Mr. President, I apologize for the interruption, but you’re needed immediately."

Matthew’s smile faded. The tone in Collin’s voice sent a chill through him.

Amber’s grip on Maverick tightened slightly. "What’s wrong?"

Collins hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "A naval incident. The Spanish have sunk one of our frigates near Cuba."

Matthew inhaled sharply. His mind raced. He glanced at Amber, who immediately knew what he had to do.

She gently stroked Maverick’s back. "I’ll stay with him. Go."

Matthew stood, closing the book and giving Maverick one last look before turning to Collins. "Brief me on the way."

The War Room – White House

The room was alive with tension. New generals, admirals, and key government officials stood around a large naval map spread across the table, marking the waters near Cuba. The scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air from earlier discussions, and the weight of uncertainty hung over the gathered men.

Matthew entered, his gaze sharp. "Alright. Someone tell me exactly what happened."

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Sinclair exhaled sharply. "And if the Spanish refuse to explain?"

Matthew’s voice was cold, firm. "Then they will answer in another way."

The White House – Later That Night

The crisis had consumed the entire day. Meetings, strategy discussions, messages sent back and forth between Washington and Madrid. But despite the growing tension, Matthew returned to his quarters that evening exhausted but composed.

Amber was waiting for him, sitting in a chair near the window, rocking Maverick in her arms. The little boy was asleep, his small fingers curled into his mother’s dress.

Matthew loosened his tie, rubbing his forehead. "Any trouble getting him to sleep?"

Amber shook her head. "No. He kept asking when you’d be back, though."

Matthew exhaled and sat beside her. He reached out, brushing a hand over his son’s soft curls. He looked so peaceful. So unaware of the storm brewing outside these walls.

Amber studied him. "It’s bad, isn’t it?"

Matthew met her gaze. "A warship full of Amerathian sailors was sunk. The country wants retribution."

She sighed, tightening her hold on Maverick. "And what do you want?"

Matthew hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to answer.

Did he want justice? Yes.

Did he want war? No.

But if Spain couldn’t explain themselves, then Amerathia would have no choice.

"I want to know the truth," he finally said.

Amber placed a hand over his. "Then I hope you find it—before it’s too late."

Matthew sat in silence for a long time, staring at his son.

Tomorrow, the Spanish ambassador would arrive.

And the course of history would be decided.