Building a Conglomerate in Another World-Chapter 249: Confrontation

April 5, 1897

The White House, Washington D.C.

Matthew Hesh had been fighting this war for months.

He had expected lies, manipulation, and attacks, but not at this level. The Order had gone beyond politics—they were dismantling Amerathia from the inside, piece by piece.

The latest accusation—**that he was orchestrating a coup to remain in power—**was perhaps the most dangerous of all.

Collins stormed into the Oval Office, slamming a newspaper onto the desk.

"They’re saying you planned a coup, Matt."

Matthew exhaled, scanning the bold letters across the front page.

"HESH LOYALISTS PLOTTING TO STEAL THE ELECTION!"

"PRESIDENT HESH: DESPERATE OR DANGEROUS?"

He clenched his fists. They weren’t just trying to steal the election—they were trying to make him the villain.

"It’s a trap," he muttered.

Collins frowned. "What?"

Matthew looked up. "They want me to react. If I lash out, if I do anything drastic, it makes their lies real."

Collins groaned, running a hand through his hair. "So what, we just let them destroy your name?"

Matthew’s expression hardened. "No. We fight back. But we do it our way."

April 6, 1897

Undisclosed Location – The Order’s War Room

Victor Kessler smirked, setting a new stack of reports on the table.

"Hesh is still standing. Impressive. But he’s bleeding."

Gideon Langston, the Grand Chancellor, leaned forward, his fingers interlocked. "Not enough. He needs to fall."

Jonathan Hawthorne nodded. "We’ve turned the public against him, but it’s not enough. The election is close. Too close."

Langston’s jaw tightened. "Then it’s time to end this."

Kessler raised an eyebrow. "You mean…?"

Langston nodded. "Yes. The final move."

A silence filled the room. Then Kessler grinned.

"If Hesh wants war, we’ll give him a war he can’t win."

April 7, 1897

Washington D.C. – National Archives Fire

The flames engulfed the night sky.

By morning, several key government records were gone—reduced to ash. Reports surfaced that documents linked to election fraud, financial records exposing Royce’s donors, and intelligence reports on The Order had all been lost.

Collins burst into the Oval Office, his face pale.

"They just erased everything."

Matthew turned, his expression unreadable. "They burned the proof."

Collins threw down another newspaper.

"And they’re blaming YOU for it."

Matthew scanned the latest headline.

"Hesh Destroys Evidence in Archives Fire – What Is He Hiding?"

He exhaled sharply. "They’re trying to suffocate us."

Collins sat down, rubbing his temples. "What do we do now? That was our best leverage."

Matthew stood still for a long moment, then turned to the telegraph office.

"We go after them the way they’re going after us."

April 8, 1897

Royce’s Campaign Rally – Amsterdam City

Royce stood before a massive crowd, basking in their applause.

"Look at what’s happening to our nation! We are under attack—not from an enemy abroad, but from the corrupt man sitting in the White House!"

The audience roared.

"Hesh and his loyalists have burned our institutions! They have sabotaged our democracy! But I promise you—if you elect me, I will put an end to this madness!"

The chant began.

"ROYCE! ROYCE! ROYCE!"

Victor Kessler watched from the side of the stage, smirking. It was working.

Hesh was being painted as the villain.

April 9, 1897

The White House – Emergency Meeting

Matthew sat at the head of the table, surrounded by his closest allies—Collins, Whitaker, and trusted officials.

"Royce is getting bolder," Collins said. "His rallies are growing more aggressive. His supporters are becoming violent. The press is backing him completely."

Whitaker nodded. "We need to act, Matt. Fast."

Matthew exhaled. "Then we expose them. Publicly. On the biggest stage possible."

April 10, 1897

National Address – The Final Move

The cameras clicked as Matthew Hesh took the stage.

The nation was watching.

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"My fellow Amerathians," he began, "for weeks, we have watched as this nation has been pulled into chaos. But today, I am going to tell you the truth."

A hush fell over the audience.

"There is a force working in the shadows, orchestrating every crisis, every riot, every false accusation against this administration. They are not loyal to Amerathia—they are loyal only to their own power."

Gasps rippled through the audience.

"And I am naming them."

The tension in the room thickened.

"The Order of the Phoenix Society."

Silence.

"This secret organization has controlled our politics for decades. They have sabotaged this election, manipulated the press, and framed this administration for crimes we did not commit. But today, we fight back."

He raised a thick folder.

"We have uncovered financial records tying members of Royce’s campaign to the riots. We have intercepted messages proving their involvement in the destruction of government property. And we will not be silent anymore."

The press erupted.

April 10, 1897 – Undisclosed Location

Inside The Order’s war room, Gideon Langston clenched his jaw as he listened to Hesh’s speech play over the radio.

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Victor Kessler turned pale. "He just named us."

Hawthorne whispered. "How the hell did he find out?"

Langston slammed his fist on the table. "It doesn’t matter. We silence him. Now."

Kessler hesitated. "You mean…?"

Langston’s cold gaze settled on him.

"Assassination. Before he can prove anything."

A heavy silence filled the room.

***

April 10, 1897 – The White House, Washington D.C.

The moment Matthew Hesh uttered the words "The Order of the Phoenix Society," the nation shifted.

Inside the press room, journalists were scrambling—some furiously scribbling notes, others whispering to each other in disbelief. The air was thick with shock.

Matthew held up the thick folder.

The proof.

The cameras clicked rapidly. The radio broadcasts carried his words across Amerathia. The world was listening.

But how did he get it?

The answer had been hidden within The Order’s own arrogance.

April 5, 1897 – 3:00 AM

Undisclosed Safehouse, Washington D.C.

In a darkened room, a man sat nervously at a table, his fingers trembling against the surface. A thick stack of documents rested beside him. His coat was damp from the cold, his face drawn from exhaustion.

He was a man The Order had trusted. A man who had been on the inside.

His name was Frederick Langley.

Once a high-ranking financial officer for Cornelius Voss, Langley had seen too much. The stolen funds, the hidden accounts, the quiet money trails leading back to Royce’s campaign.

And he was terrified.

Across from him sat Collins, Whitaker, and two agents from the Justice Department.

Matthew Hesh was not in the room—he couldn’t afford to be.

Langley licked his lips, glancing at the men surrounding him.

"I—if they find out I’m here, I’m dead."

Collins leaned forward. "If you don’t do this, the whole country is dead."

Langley’s hands clenched into fists. "I have everything. The accounts. The memos. The letters exchanged between Royce’s inner circle. They coordinated the riots. They paid off the press. They burned the Archives."

Whitaker’s eyes narrowed. "Can you prove it?"

Langley swallowed. "Yes. I have everything documented. But you don’t understand—these men don’t just manipulate elections. They’ve killed for less than this."

Collins nodded grimly. "We understand."

Langley wiped the sweat from his forehead. "If I do this, I want protection. I need out."

Whitaker exhaled. "We’ll see what we can do."

Langley’s eyes flashed with desperation. "No—no, you don’t get it! If they even suspect I talked, I won’t make it to the election."

Collins exchanged a glance with Whitaker.

Then he reached into his coat and slid a small leather-bound notebook across the table.

"Write everything down. Every detail. If they come for you, we make sure this goes public."

Langley hesitated—then, slowly, he picked up the pen.

April 10, 1897 – Present

That notebook, along with the forged contracts, the financial transfers, and the intercepted telegrams, was now in Matthew Hesh’s hands.

And the world was seeing it for the first time.

He flipped the folder open and held up a document.

"This is a bank transfer, signed by Cornelius Voss himself, wiring funds to an account controlled by Charles Royce’s campaign—money that was used to pay off ’activists’ who incited violence in Amerathia’s largest cities."

The press erupted.

Matthew held up another page.

"This is an intercepted memo—written by Jonathan Hawthorne—giving direct instructions on how to plant false documents accusing my administration of election interference."

The room was in chaos now.

And then, Matthew looked directly into the cameras.

"I am calling for the immediate arrest of Charles Royce and every conspirator involved in this scheme."

The reporters were shouting questions.

The nation was watching.

But deep in the shadows, The Order was planning its next move.

Because now, Hesh wasn’t just their opponent.

He was a target.

As the weight of the moment settled over him, Matthew Hesh sat alone in the Oval Office, staring at the folder of evidence that had just shaken the nation. His hands trembled slightly, though he wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion, stress, or the sheer magnitude of what he had just done.

The door creaked open, and Amber stepped inside. She didn’t say anything at first. She just walked over and sat beside him on the couch. The silence between them was heavy but comforting. Then, without a word, she reached for his hand, squeezing it gently.

"You did the right thing, Matt," she said softly.

He let out a slow breath. "It doesn’t feel like it."

Amber shook her head. "That’s because the fight isn’t over yet. But you’re not alone in this."

Matthew looked at her, searching for doubt in her eyes, but he found none. Just unwavering support. He swallowed hard, nodding.

She leaned closer, resting her head on his shoulder. "You’re stronger than they think. And no matter what happens, I’m with you."

For the first time that night, Matthew felt something other than exhaustion.

He felt hope.