CHAPTER UNUS

The River Rubicon

PROLOGUS

October 20, 2026

Elaine Martin sat stiffly in the small West Wing conference room, the fluorescent lights glaring off the polished table. Across from her, a communications expert spoke with practiced precision, demonstrating how to read a teleprompter naturally. He droned on about tone modulation, strategic pauses, and projecting calm while the world is watching. But his words felt distant, muffled by the storm in her mind.

How did I end up here?

The question looped endlessly, pulling her attention inward even as the weight of the moment grew heavier. When the cameras turned to her, the enormity of what lay ahead pressed down like a physical force. She rose slowly, straightened her jacket, and approached the podium, her steps deliberate and steady.

"My fellow Americans," she began, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "Tonight, I stand before you not as a politician, but as a citizen—someone who has spent a lifetime in service to this country, believing in its ideals, its people, and its future."

She glanced at the teleprompter, the words carefully crafted to project strength and resolve. But the closing line—the one she insisted on—was hers alone.

"This is not the end," she said, her voice firm, her gaze unwavering. "This is a new beginning."

November 20, 2024,

President-elect Robert "Bob" Standish stood at the window of his Wyoming estate, his self-declared Interim White House. The estate, typically reserved for summer vacations with family and friends, now served as his command post.

He had just secured a victory so overwhelming it left his detractors speechless: the House, the Senate, the majority of voters, and, most importantly, the White House.

The billionaire had a vision—or perhaps it was better called an instinct. He would give America back to Americans. To Christians. Policies were irrelevant. Details were for others to manage.

Standish wasn't interested in governing. He was interested in winning. And he knew he would, because winning was all that mattered.

As he stared out over the snowy plains, his mind began to race. His was not a republic to restore. It was a new empire to shape, with himself at the helm.

He smiled. The point of no return had already passed.

UNUS

The Inauguration

The pale January sun pierced through Washington's winter haze, casting a cold, sharp light on the Capitol steps. Below, the National Mall heaved with tension—a crowd of supporters and protesters drawn together by the gravitational force of Robert "Bob" Standish's inauguration. This was no ordinary transfer of power. As Robert "Bob" Standish took his place on the stage, he was well aware that half the country viewed him as a visionary, while the other half saw him as a dangerous demagogue. The divide was part of his allure.

Standish, a self-made billionaire who rose from roustabout to landman to oil magnate, had elevated populism to an art form. He vowed to restore America to a bygone era—an age where 'men of principle' reigned. His administration, meticulously crafted, was designed to embody that promise. As Standish raised his right hand for the oath, those gathered behind him symbolized a calculated shift: nearly all were men, powerful and committed to his ideal of an uncompromising America. The crowd's reactions were mixed—cheers from his ardent supporters, quiet unease from his detractors, and a ripple of tension that hinted at the challenges ahead.

Next to Standish stood his Vice President, Henry Tressel. A former senator with a background in conservative media, Tressel was known for his inflammatory rhetoric. He had spent years denouncing NATO as a "leech" on American strength and openly mocked the "weak-willed European leaders" who depended on the U.S. for protection. Now, as Vice President, Tressel was in a position to enact policies that he had only previously dreamed of—and his disdain for diplomacy was matched only by his commitment to Standish.

Beside Tressel was Grant Bowers, Standish's Chief Strategist—a controversial figure who had made his name in far-right literature, crafting incendiary narratives that resonated with Standish's base. Once a university professor, Bowers had been fired from two institutions for his radical views, which he claimed were 'too honest' for academia's politically correct climate. Unfiltered and unapologetic, he presented himself as a self-styled intellectual with a sharp tongue, known for decrying what he called 'the feminization of American politics.' His vision for the administration centered on instilling a new brand of assertive nationalism that he framed as a return to American strength. For Bowers, this wasn't just policy—it was a mission to reshape the nation's identity in his own image.

He had been one of Standish's earliest and loudest advocates, especially after learning Standish intended to pull the U.S. from NATO and realign with BRICS—a coalition that Bowers saw as a ticket to a new global order. He took a particular satisfaction in sidelining the last administration's influential female voices, citing them as "sentimental distractions" and "compromises" to America's strength.

Standish lowered his hand, signaling the end of the oath. His address would be remembered as one of the most controversial in recent history. He turned to face the crowd, his voice strong and resolute as he began to speak.

"Today," Standish declared, his voice filling the air, "we commit to putting America first. We will no longer be bound by outdated promises or shackled to alliances that drain our resources and compromise our independence. We will not be made to carry burdens that others refuse to shoulder. America will be beholden to no one but itself."

The crowd responded, some cheering, others murmuring their discontent. Standish's eyes swept across the sea of faces, a slight, unyielding smile on his face as he continued.

"Today, we declare a new path forward. America will not be a lifeline for those who refuse to stand on their own," he added. "We will build alliances that respect our sovereignty and share our strength, not our weaknesses."

Behind him, Alan Marks, the newly appointed Secretary of State, glanced toward the media pit. He knew Standish's words would make headlines worldwide. Marks was a seasoned diplomat with a reputation for toughness, and though he often disagreed with the president's aggressive tactics, he couldn't deny the pull of power that Standish commanded. Marks had already begun orchestrating backdoor conversations with BRICS leaders, laying the foundation for an alliance that would shock the international order.

Next to Marks was Mark Everson, the new Secretary of Defense. A retired general, Everson held the scars of decades in combat, having led troops in Vietnam and the Middle East. He had been a quiet opponent of Standish's NATO stance, privately warning the president that withdrawing from the alliance could unravel decades of defense strategy. But Everson also understood loyalty, and he kept his concerns buried, nodding along as Standish painted a picture of an America that needed no one.

A few rows behind the cabinet, a lone female figure watched the proceedings with a clenched jaw—Elaine Martin, Standish's chief advisor during his latest campaign. Martin was a brilliant political strategist who had helped orchestrate Standish's rise to power, crafting his "America First" narrative. She had once believed she might serve as part of the administration, but her influence had quickly waned after the election, pushed aside in favor of Bowers' more aggressive, male-dominated vision.

Bowers, in particular, had openly dismissed her, calling her approach "too soft" and "unfitting" for Standish's agenda. She had been relegated to a minor advisory role, left to watch as the administration embraced a conservatism that prized a blunt, unapologetically masculine image. It wasn't just a political move; it was a deliberate rejection of the prior administration's efforts to diversify and modernize government. Standish's closest men viewed these changes with disdain, and Bowers especially had made it clear that they were done with "sentimental inclusion" policies that he felt had made America weak.

The speech concluded with Standish's promises of strength and sovereignty ringing in the air, as applause and murmurs faded into the cold January afternoon. The day's ceremonies had only just begun. Hours later, under the dazzling chandeliers of the inaugural ball, Standish moved through the crowd like a man untouchable. His supporters cheered his every word, while reporters noted the absence of dissenters in the room.

The Oval Office

The following morning, inside the Oval Office, the first private meeting of the Standish administration took place. Standish, Tressel, Bowers, Marks, and Everson gathered around a table covered in maps and reports. Standish broke the silence.

"Gentlemen," he began, looking each man in the eye, "today we begin a new chapter. Alan, what's the timeline for getting us out of NATO?"

Marks shifted, choosing his words carefully. "Mr. President, pulling out isn't as simple as announcing it. We'll face backlash from European allies, and there are factions within the Pentagon that might resist. NATO isn't just a group—it's the backbone of Western security."

Bowers smirked, leaning back in his chair with a casual defiance. "Exactly why we should leave, Alan. We don't need Europe dragging us down. Standish was elected to make America strong again. NATO's a crutch for weak-willed nations that can't fend for themselves."

Everson frowned, looking between the two men. "Leaving NATO doesn't just affect Europe—it leaves us vulnerable. We'd be pulling back from commitments we've held for decades. This isn't just about ideology; it's about strategy."

Standish's focus sharpened. "You think I don't understand that, General?" he replied, a glint of warning in his eyes. "But this administration is about strength. We've propped up these alliances for too long. It's time America stands on its own."

Everson nodded slowly, though his unease was palpable. "Yes, sir."

The room fell silent until Tressel spoke up, his voice thick with confidence. 'I say we start with a series of cuts to our contributions to NATO's common budget. Frame it as a fiscal decision—saving American taxpayers money. Paint NATO as a financial drain, and the public will start seeing it as dead weight.

Standish nodded approvingly. "Good. And the BRICS discussions?"

Marks' expression grew intense, though a flicker of unease crossed his face. "Russia's in. They want to see Europe without American oversight. China's cautious but interested—if we play our cards right, they'll align. Brazil and India might take more convincing, though. Brazil relies heavily on trade with the U.S. and Europe, and they joined BRICS to diversify their economic ties, not to alienate the West. India, on the other hand, has always walked a tightrope. They see BRICS as a way to assert their independence and counterbalance China, but they'd balk at anything that pulls them too far from their partnerships with the U.S. and its allies. Both will need careful reassurances before they see this as a win for their sovereignty."

Tressel added, "The American people want results, Bob. They want jobs, security. We cut out Europe, align with economies that actually show potential, and we'll win over anyone still on the fence."

Everson clenched his fists, his concerns evident, but he said nothing. There was no room for hesitation in this administration, no space for dissent. Standish's men had made that clear.

After the meeting adjourned, Standish lingered with Bowers and Tressel, their voices dropping to hushed tones as they outlined the next steps. Bowers, eager to tighten their grip on the narrative, suggested that they start with a media blitz.

"We push the message of strength," he said, a sly smile playing on his lips. "We paint NATO as a European dependency, a failed project. America isn't the world's safety net—it's a powerhouse. Let them know the old rules don't apply."

Standish chuckled, a dark satisfaction in his voice. "This is why you're here, Grant. You're the only one with the guts to say what everyone else won't. We don't need anyone slowing us down. This is a man's administration."

As Standish glanced out the window at the crowds, he felt no hesitation, only a rising determination. This was the America he envisioned—a nation led by men unafraid of conflict, of upheaval. He knew the path ahead would be fraught with obstacles, but in his mind, it was better to shake the foundations of power than to settle for complacency.

Throughout his life, Bob Standish never got help from anyone. He started in the oil business with nothing, risking his life every day on the patch. From the beginning, he had a clear vision of how his life would unfold, and he clung to it, day in and day out. He lost many friends to the unforgiving work, but he pressed on, learning Spanish to better connect with his crew and understanding that what made America great was the opportunity to become whoever you wanted to be. Once he achieved his goals, his vision evolved. He knew he was destined for more—for power on a grander scale. One day, he would run the nation just as he had his oil empire: with an iron fist.

Outside, Elaine Martin lingered in the shadows of the periphery, her expression a careful mask as the administration's most powerful men shaped the nation's future behind closed doors. Once, she had been a key architect of Standish's meteoric rise—a believer in his vision of strength tempered by unity. But now, she stood as a silent observer, sidelined by a conservative machine bent on crushing any whisper of compromise or "weakness."

This wasn't the Standish she had fought for. Or perhaps it was, and she had been blind to the man beneath the rhetoric all along.