Building a Conglomerate in Another World-Chapter 254: Landslide Victory

November 5th, 1897.

The morning air was crisp as the city slowly pulled itself from the wreckage of war. Washington D.C. was still scarred—burned-out buildings, shattered windows, and streets littered with debris—but there was a new energy coursing through the nation.

Amerathia was ready to move forward.

And today, they would elect their leader.

The Final Blow to Royce

The disqualification of Charles Royce had come swiftly.

Just days after the failed coup, evidence from the trials revealed his deep ties to The Order of the Phoenix Society. Bank records, intercepted messages, and testimonies from captured operatives painted an undeniable picture:

Royce had been their chosen candidate. The riots, the election fraud, even the failed assassination—all of it had been orchestrated to install him as their puppet.

Hesh’s Justice Department moved quickly.

On November 1, 1897, the Supreme Electoral Council ruled Royce ineligible to run for office.

"The integrity of our democratic process has been violated," the official statement read. "Mr. Royce, having been implicated in treasonous activities, is disqualified from candidacy."

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The ruling was final. Royce was finished.

His political career, his future—gone in an instant.

But the election would go on.

With Royce out, the remaining candidates were weak, uninspiring, and inconsequential.

A handful of minor politicians remained—men who had barely made an impact on the race. None of them had the influence, the recognition, or the leadership that Amerathia needed now.

The people had already made their choice.

Hesh was the only man left standing.

The streets were filled with voters.

From coast to coast, millions of Amerathians lined up at polling stations, their ballots in hand. The chaos of the past weeks hadn’t deterred them—it had only strengthened their resolve.

"We fought for this," one voter told a reporter. "We almost lost this country. Now, we’re taking it back."

The newspapers reflected the mood:

"A Vote for Stability – Hesh Expected to Win by Historic Margins"

"Royce’s Downfall: How Amerathia Rejected Corruption"

"The People’s Verdict – A Nation Chooses Its Future"

Everywhere, the sentiment was the same.

This wasn’t just an election.

It was a statement.

By nightfall, the outcome was undeniable.

The votes were still being counted, but the trend was clear—Hesh was winning in a landslide.

87% of the vote.

An unprecedented margin.

His closest competitor—a low-profile senator who had barely campaigned—had less than 10%.

In Amerathian history, no election had ever been so decisive.

As the results flashed across the country, celebrations erupted in the streets.

The people had spoken.

Inside the White House, Hesh stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie.

The weight of the moment settled on him.

He had fought for his life. For the nation’s survival.

And now, Amerathia had chosen him to lead it forward.

Collins entered the room, a grin on his face. "You ready?"

Hesh exhaled, nodding. "Let’s do this."

They walked to the East Room, where the press, officials, and military leaders had gathered. The room fell silent as Hesh stepped forward.

He looked at the cameras—the millions of eyes watching across the country.

Then, he began.

"My fellow Amerathians," he said, his voice strong, steady. "Tonight, you have made history."

A pause.

"You have chosen unity over division. Strength over fear. Democracy over tyranny."

The crowd erupted in applause.

Hesh continued.

"Not long ago, this nation stood on the edge of destruction. Washington burned. The streets were filled with chaos. Enemies conspired against us from the shadows. But you—the people—refused to let Amerathia fall."

More cheers.

"You fought back. You defended this country with your voices, your courage, and your unbreakable will. And today, you have shown the world that Amerathia does not bow to tyranny."

He let the words settle.

"Tomorrow, we begin the hard work of rebuilding. Not just our cities, but our trust. Our unity. Our strength."

The room was silent now, hanging onto every word.

"And I promise you this," Hesh said, his gaze firm. "I will not fail you."

The speech was carried across every newspaper, every radio station, every home in Amerathia.

People celebrated in the streets, waving flags, embracing strangers. For the first time in weeks, there was hope.

Even in the rural towns, where distrust of the government had been strong, the feeling was different now.

Hesh had won. Not just the election—but the trust of the people.

As the nation moved forward, one man remained trapped in the past.

Charles Royce sat alone in his estate, staring at the headlines that had destroyed him.

"DISGRACED – Royce’s Ties to Treason Exposed"

"Hesh Wins in Historic Landslide"

"The End of Royce"

He crushed the paper in his hands.

He had lost everything.

Power. Influence. His future.

But his hatred remained.

"They’ll regret this," he whispered.

But Amerathia had already moved on.

Back in Washington, Hesh wasted no time.

The moment the election was certified, he got to work.

He met with military leaders, planning the final dismantling of The Order’s remnants.

He called economic advisors, drafting a recovery plan for the damaged cities.

He held a press conference, outlining his vision for Amerathia’s future.

"We will rebuild. We will heal. And we will never let this happen again."

It wasn’t just words. It was a promise.

And for the first time in a long time…

Amerathia believed in its future.

While the nation celebrated, the battle was far from over.

Deep within the ruins of Washington, in the forgotten corridors of power, remnants of The Order still schemed.

Not all of their operatives had been captured. Some had slipped through the cracks, vanishing into the countryside, blending into the populace. Others still held positions within the government, lying low, waiting for the right moment to strike again.

Hesh’s election had been a crushing defeat, but for them, it was merely a setback.

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Somewhere in Amerathia.

In a dimly lit basement beneath an abandoned warehouse, a group of men gathered around a wooden table, their faces obscured by flickering candlelight.

One of them, an aging figure with silver hair, leaned forward. "Langston and Hawthorne may have fallen, but the fight is not over," he said in a hushed but determined tone.

A younger man scoffed. "Hesh has dismantled everything. Our networks are in ruins. Our funding is gone."

The older man’s expression darkened. "We rebuild. We adapt. We’ve operated in the shadows before. We will do so again. This government may think it has won—but history has shown that true power never dies. It simply waits."

Silence filled the room as they exchanged knowing glances.

The Order was wounded. But not dead.

And they would return.