In 1841, it would have been a stretch to describe the political climate of the United States as peaceful.
The Amistad trial, originally a diplomatic dispute with Spain, had ignited a nationwide debate over the legality of slavery. Before long, the entire country found itself bitterly divided.
Then came an even greater shock.
Barely a month after his inauguration, President William Henry Harrison died suddenly.
The nation had never faced such a situation before.
Vice President John Tyler stepped forward to assume leadership—but a constitutional dispute immediately erupted.
Did the vice president actually become president when the office was vacated?
Or was he merely acting as a temporary caretaker?
Tyler resolved the issue by drawing a firm line.
He declared himself President of the United States, not merely an acting figure.
For a moment it seemed stability might return.
But the crisis had only begun.
Soon afterward, Tyler clashed with the Whig Party, his own political party, over the establishment of the Second Bank of the United States.
The conflict escalated until the unthinkable happened.
The Whigs expelled the sitting president from their own party.
The cabinet Tyler had assembled with such ambition collapsed almost immediately. One by one, every member resigned—every member except Secretary of State Daniel Webster.
Within five months, Tyler's administration had effectively lost all political momentum.
For the first time in American history, a man who had inherited the presidency found himself leading the nation without any party at all.
An independent president in a fiercely partisan government.
The result was inevitable.
His administration struggled to function.
He had no political shield to defend him from attacks by newspapers or intellectuals. Every day became a lonely battle.
Then, as if on cue, an unexpected development appeared just across the northern border.
Canada was suddenly receiving a massive influx of Irish immigrants.
And the architect of that policy—Killian Gore, a minister of the British Empire—was scheduled to visit the United States.
For Tyler, who had become politically crippled only five months into his presidency, the visit looked like a rare opportunity.
If he could make a strong impression here, the public might rally behind him.
At the very least, it would be a blow to the Whigs who had cast him out.
"So Minister Gore will arrive in a week," Tyler said. "What arrangements have been made for his visit?"
Secretary Webster replied calmly.
"As he is a minister of the British Empire, I will meet him personally as Secretary of State. Afterward he is scheduled to discuss diplomatic matters with Your Excellency. He will also meet with several senators."
Tyler leaned back slightly.
"I've heard that Minister Gore is considered one of the more moderate figures in the British government. That reputation is accurate, I assume?"
"That is what we've heard," Webster said. "According to Congressman John Quincy Adams, who recently returned from Britain as a special envoy."
"I also hear he'll be remaining in Canada for some time as something like a plenipotentiary above the governor. Do you think he intends to pursue policies that might conflict with us?"
Tyler could hardly afford another crisis.
His popularity was already at rock bottom.
If tensions arose with Britain—particularly over Canada—it could push Congress toward impeachment.
On the other hand, if he managed to secure some meaningful diplomatic achievement from Britain…
The political atmosphere might shift dramatically in his favor.
Webster considered the question carefully.
"Based on what we know, it seems unlikely that Minister Gore intends to antagonize the United States. However, large-scale immigration and frontier development often produce disputes over land. Even minor incidents could lead to conflict."
Tyler sighed.
"True enough. We're already dealing with constant disputes along the Mexican border. But if both governments are committed to cooperation, surely such issues can be resolved. After all, you are widely regarded as one of the foremost experts in this country."
Daniel Webster was one of the most respected figures in the Senate—a member of the so-called Great Triumvirate of American statesmen. His understanding of Britain and international diplomacy was particularly renowned.
Even when the rest of the cabinet resigned, Webster had remained.
Foreign policy, he insisted, required continuity.
Although he and Tyler sometimes clashed over domestic matters, the president trusted Webster's judgment when it came to diplomacy.
Especially when Britain was involved.
Webster nodded.
"I doubt the British government wishes to create trouble either. Their own administration is newly formed. However… Congressman Adams mentioned something else."
"What is it?"
"He says Minister Gore is a passionate supporter of the abolition of slavery."
Tyler groaned quietly.
"That could be troublesome."
If the British minister openly spoke about slavery, abolitionists in the North might seize the moment and stir up political turmoil again.
"Let's avoid the topic as much as possible," Tyler said firmly. "The last thing we need is to give the abolitionists an excuse to start shouting again."
Britain, after all, had already abolished slavery.
Naturally, a British minister would oppose the institution.
But John Tyler, a Virginian, was a strong defender of slave ownership—and owned slaves himself.
Webster, though a Northerner, also wished to avoid reopening the issue. In his view, the slavery debate had the potential to tear the United States apart.
If anything, Webster was less a supporter or opponent than a cautious compromiser.
Better not to stir the hornet's nest at all.
He sighed and nodded.
"Of course I will not raise the subject myself. However… Minister Gore is scheduled to meet members of Congress. There is always the possibility that abolitionists will deliberately bring it up."
Tyler grimaced.
"That's very possible. Especially Adams. That man will mention abolition if he's given even half a chance."
The Amistad case had barely concluded.
If a similar debate erupted again, the political chaos would be unbearable.
Still…
Tyler's expression slowly sharpened.
Perhaps the situation could be turned to his advantage.
If he managed to silence the abolitionists during the visit, support in the Southern states might rebound.
Killian Gore might be an abolitionist—but he was also a foreign minister.
Surely he would avoid interfering directly in American domestic politics.
If handled carefully, that constraint might be useful.
Tyler straightened.
"For now, welcome Minister Gore with the utmost courtesy. Speak with him personally and determine his disposition. I'll leave the matter in your hands."
Webster inclined his head.
After all, no matter how brilliant the young minister might be, he was barely in his twenties.
Webster, on the other hand, had spent six decades navigating politics and diplomacy.
Talent might matter.
But experience mattered more.
Tyler had no intention of finishing his presidency as a powerless figurehead.
He would seize this opportunity.
He would return to political relevance.
And perhaps—if fortune favored him—he might even secure reelection.
If flattering a young British minister helped him achieve that goal, then so be it.
In the end, the only thing that mattered was who was still smiling when the curtain fell.
And John Tyler was perfectly prepared to shake hands with anyone necessary to make sure it was him.
The winter of 1841 arrived with a bitter wind.
Another year was drawing to its close.
"You'll be leaving for the United States soon," James said, glancing out the window. "The weather's terrible."
Killian shrugged.
"As long as it isn't a full snowstorm, I don't mind. And honestly, even this cold air is better than London's suffocating atmosphere. If anything, the colder it gets, the clearer my mind feels."
James raised an eyebrow.
"So after working all night again, you've finally begun developing unusual ways of thinking. I suppose you can now understand how I feel."
"James," Killian said dryly, "you seem to be forgetting something. If my workload increases, yours increases even more. You should probably pray that my schedule returns to normal."
Recently, Killian's average sleep had finally dropped below four hours.
Three hours had become the norm.
Coffee was now essentially water.
In his previous life he would have collapsed long ago.
But youth was a frightening thing.
Apparently the human body could survive far more abuse than expected.
Still…
Killian stared at the ever-growing pile of documents with quiet resentment.
"I've already exceeded the level of work a human being can reasonably perform," James replied. "Even if you assign me more, it'll simply be delegated downward. Pinkerton complains about it constantly."
"Complains?" Killian snorted. "If he has the time to complain, that means he still has spare energy. Double his workload and he'll stop wasting time on useless thoughts."
"Exactly my thinking," James said calmly. "Every time he complains, I quietly add more tasks. If the boss is working himself to death, how could the employees possibly relax?"
Killian paused.
Something was wrong.
Their conversation had begun to sound disturbingly unhinged.
Too much work had clearly damaged both of them.
Still, Pinkerton ought to be grateful.
Killian had arranged the foundation for the Pinkerton National Detective Agency more than a decade earlier than it had appeared in the original timeline.
Thanks to him, the agency would soon become the most powerful detective organization in the United States.
Of course…
Technically the company belonged to Killian.
Which meant Pinkerton was essentially just a salaried manager.
Sleep deprivation produced some strange thoughts.
"Anyway," Killian said, turning serious, "when we arrive in the United States, you must never show your real face. Understood? Use a double whenever necessary. You remain in the shadows."
"Don't worry," James replied. "I've already secured a reliable stand-in. Still, wouldn't it be more efficient if I personally handled the black civil rights movement? Using a proxy means an extra layer of communication."
"Being shot in the head is far worse than losing efficiency."
Killian shook his head.
"You'll understand eventually. This isn't the British Empire."
In London, a man could openly declare that Black people were human beings and face little consequence.
In the United States, things were different.
Even in the North, the reaction might be hostile.
In the South?
The response wouldn't be jeers.
It would be bullets.
James himself was not yet famous.
But as John Quincy Adams continued his activism, the identity of his financial backers would eventually become known.
When that happened, James could easily become a target.
Money and bodyguards meant little when bullets started flying.
In a country where even presidents had been assassinated…
Only a fool would openly campaign for Black rights without protection.
"That sounds rather terrifying," James admitted.
"That's why I told you from the beginning to remain invisible," Killian said. "Think of it as my thoughtful concern for my subordinate. Thanks to me, you'll one day appear in American history books as a great civil rights activist—with absolutely no personal risk."
Not to mention running a vast international business empire across Britain, Canada, and the United States.
"You should be grateful you met such a generous employer."
James sighed dramatically.
"I'm so moved that my entire body trembles. Do you know who my favorite person in the British Empire is these days?"
"Let me guess," Killian said. "Her Majesty."
"Exactly."
Killian chuckled.
"If you asked a hundred people, at least ninety would say the same thing."
"I sincerely hope Her Majesty's popularity continues rising."
"And why is that?"
"Because the more popular she becomes, the more favor she will show toward you, Minister."
Killian narrowed his eyes.
He had the distinct impression that James was implying something about more work.
Surely that was his imagination.
"In any case," Killian said, ignoring the remark, "we'll finish our tasks quickly and return to London. I'll be meeting the American president and secretary of state. Meanwhile, you'll confirm that the rumors about Britain's treatment of Black refugees are spreading properly."
"Understood. And you also asked me to identify promising politicians and provide generous financial support."
"I did. I believe I already prepared a list."
James flipped through a folder.
"I had Pinkerton investigate them. Some choices make sense. But others… are you sure these people have potential? It might be throwing money away."
"I know which one you mean," Killian said.
"He's actually the most important one."
"But look at his record," James protested. "He's lost nearly every election he's entered. Failed businesses, failed campaigns, mounting debts…"
Killian smiled faintly.
"Quite tragic, isn't it?"
"Tragic doesn't begin to describe it. Business failure. Lost a state legislative race. Another failed business. Won a seat once, only to lose the next election. Failed to become an elector. Frankly, his persistence is almost admirable."
"Then think of it as charity," Killian said casually. "Help the poor young politician repay his debts and focus on politics. Support him generously. Make sure he wins the next election and enters the House of Representatives."
James sighed.
"…Very well. Your instincts have always been correct. I'll trust them again."
He glanced back at the list.
"So this man is…"
Killian answered calmly.
"Abraham."
Abraham Lincoln.
A name that would one day become legend.