“We’re here, sir.” After the security guards flanking the front gate inspected the vehicle, it drove into the estate.
The grounds were already packed with cars—Cadillacs, Lincolns, Packards, and even a few Rolls-Royces.
The moment he stepped out, a blast of cold wind hit him head-on, carrying the Hudson River’s signature damp chill.
Francis straightened his suit and walked into the mansion.
The hall was warm, its air thick with the mingled scents of cigars, perfume, and alcohol.
The men wore impeccably tailored black evening suits, while the women were wrapped in heavy yet luxurious fur coats.
Small groups chatted and laughed together, creating a lively atmosphere.
Francis swept his gaze across the crowd.
Then he saw the true center of power.
There was John D.
Rockefeller Jr., fifty-eight years old, the man who controlled America’s oil lifeline.
Jack Morgan, the head of the Morgan financial dynasty, stood nearby.
A few years older than Rockefeller, he wore a meticulously trimmed gray-white beard.
His Morgan empire was the heart of Wall Street, and in 1907 he had single-handedly stopped a financial panic.
Beside him stood Andrew Mellon, Secretary of the Treasury under the Hoover administration and a titan of the aluminum, oil, and banking industries.
The seventy-seven-year-old was about to leave office, but his wealth and influence would outlive his position.
There was also the DuPont family’s representative, the grandson of the railroad magnate Vanderbilt, the head of Chicago’s meatpacking industry…
Laugh while you still can.
It won’t be long before you realize what kind of “devil” you’ve just elected.
A cold smile spread through Francis’s mind.
As a historian, he could never help but laugh whenever he studied this chapter of history.
The Roosevelt family’s true rise had begun with Theodore Roosevelt—the “Teddy” whose face was carved onto Mount Rushmore, who led the United States to victory over Spain, and who propelled America onto the world stage.
It was Theodore’s prestige that paved the way for the Roosevelts to become one of the nation’s premier political dynasties.
Even so, that alone wasn’t enough to put a younger family member stricken with polio and confined to a wheelchair into the White House.
The real driving force had been the Morgan, Rockefeller, and DuPont families…
and the other great financial dynasties.
As for why they had pushed so hard to elect Roosevelt?
The answer was simple.
Roosevelt’s wife, Eleanor, came from an elite family that belonged to the same capitalist class.
In the eyes of those tycoons, a president who had married a capitalist’s daughter would naturally understand the rules of the game.
Surely he’d look after his own.
What they never expected was that Roosevelt’s very first heavy blow would land squarely on the banking system.
Then came securities regulation, public works, labor rights, wealth taxes…
Every punch landed squarely on the capitalists’ ribs.
The smartest people in the world had personally chosen the man who would become their gravedigger.
“Francis.” A voice called from the side.
Francis turned and saw a woman in her early thirties walking toward him in a deep blue velvet gown.
“Hey, Helen.” “Don’t just stand here.
Come with me.” Francis followed her to the section on the right side of the hall.
This area had been reserved exclusively for the Roosevelt family, and a large number of its members had gathered there.
His eyes swept across the crowd.
He recognized most of them from historical records in his previous life—the core members of the Hyde Park branch, along with collateral relatives from the Oyster Bay branch.
Looking at the proud expressions on their faces, Francis couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.
At this moment, every one of them was filled with hope.
After all, the family had already produced two presidents.
Theodore Roosevelt had blazed the trail, and Franklin Roosevelt was about to reach the pinnacle.
Perhaps one day, one of them would become the third president…
or even the fourth.
What they could never have imagined was that Roosevelt’s assault on capital would be so ruthless that, after his death, the entire capitalist class would reach a consensus: There must never be a second Roosevelt.
So the laws were rewritten.
Campaign finance rules were reshaped.
The media was brought under control.
Regulatory agencies were quietly infiltrated.
And just like that, this once-glorious family was shut out of the nation’s highest office by the invisible hand of the capitalists.
By the twenty-first century, the Roosevelt family existed in name only…
“Helen, why did you bring him here?” Tadd Roosevelt’s voice drew the attention of the other Roosevelt family members.
When they saw it was Francis, none of them openly voiced their agreement, but the displeasure and rejection in their eyes were unmistakable.
In high society, an illegitimate child wasn’t just a family stain—they were an unstable factor in matters of inheritance, social connections, and political alliances.
They were like Jon Snow from A Song of Ice and Fire: tolerated, but never truly accepted.
Helen did her best to keep her voice steady.
“Calm down, Tadd.
I brought him here today for a reason.” “I don’t care what the reason is—” Clap!
Clap!
Clap!
Before Tadd could finish, thunderous applause erupted from the main hall, followed by a wave of cheers.
Everyone’s attention was instantly drawn in that direction.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea.
Today’s guest of honor had arrived.
He wore a dark gray suit, a white dress shirt, and a red tie.
Perched on his nose were his signature pince-nez glasses.
His chin was slightly raised, and his face carried that unmistakably infectious smile.
As he was pushed forward, he extended his right hand to shake hands with the guests lining his path.
The wheelchair did nothing to diminish his presence.
If anything, it resembled a throne.
Francis’s breathing quickened.
This was the man he had spent half his life studying.
The man who, on March 4, 1933, had told the entire nation: The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
The man who had stood before the abyss of the Great Depression, faced obstruction from the Supreme Court, weathered the furious backlash of his party’s conservatives and the titans of capital— Yet had never stopped moving forward.
By the time Francis returned to his senses, Roosevelt had already finished greeting the guests and arrived at the section reserved for the family.
“Anna, I hear you’ve started writing.
Excellent.
This is a remarkable era, and I hope you’ll record it well with your pen.” “Sean, always stay clear-headed while serving in the military.
What you’re protecting is the countless families of the United States.” “…” The wheelchair rolled forward one last time before stopping in front of Francis.
Roosevelt looked up.
Behind his pince-nez, his blue eyes carried their usual warmth, though there was also the faintest trace of puzzlement.
Helen stepped forward at just the right moment.
“Uncle Franklin, this is Francis.” “Francis…” Roosevelt repeated the name softly, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
Then his warm, infectious smile spread across his face.
“My goodness, my boy.
The last time I saw you, you were just a shy little lad who barely reached the height of my wheelchair’s armrest.
Just look at you now.
Your father would be so proud to see what a fine young man you’ve become.” The genuine warmth Roosevelt displayed as an elder eased the tension in Francis’s heart.
Maintaining a respectful posture, he replied, “Uncle Franklin, congratulations on your great victory.”