My America-Chapter 59 - : Patriot William

"How much land does your family own?" Anne covered her mouth with a light laugh. How much land could one possibly need to claim they could solve the food crisis for such a large nation?

"I don't know!" Sheffield tilted his chin upward, oozing pride. He truly had no idea—he'd never bothered to ask. But he did know that much of the land was leased to other farms. The family's holdings were concentrated in Texas and Louisiana, their ancestral home and current residence, respectively.

As for managing plantations for others, that was a separate matter. Decades earlier, Texas had only 50,000 to 60,000 residents, and land prices had been dirt cheap.

Land ownership rights were divided into subsurface rights (including mineral extraction), surface rights, and airspace rights (governing building size and shape). These three distinct rights could be sold separately, and the government had no authority to arbitrarily seize or demolish property.

"That's the gist of what happened in Europe." Back at Arlington, Sheffield gave a detailed account of his travels across the continent. Then he shifted gears: "At the Rockefeller estate, I discussed potential collaborations with Junior Rockefeller, as well as revisions to the patent bill. There's no concrete framework yet, but we've expressed mutual interest."

New n𝙤vel chapters are published on novelbuddy.cσ๓.

"You think working with the Rockefellers is feasible? If you believe so, give it a try. Nothing's stopping you." Annabelle remained unflappable, her tone breezy. She had fully embraced a hands-off approach with Sheffield, refusing to interfere unless he crashed headfirst into failure. "But hurry and rally others. With the economy in shambles this year, the Democrats' chances of reelection are slim—unless a miracle happens."

Sheffield bowed slightly. "I'll keep a close eye on that. Do you have any other instructions, Grandmother?"

"None. Just that some plantation owners from Brazil have returned. You ought to socialize with them when you can—though perhaps you don't need to handle it yourself now." Annabelle's gaze drifted to Anne, who stood gracefully nearby. The unspoken implication hung in the air.

Sheffield wasn't skilled at networking, unlike his disgraced predecessor. But this French girl, though her talents remained unclear, might compensate for that weakness.

Sheffield nodded and quietly exited the hall. Her Majesty's routine was rigidly precise—meals, walks, newspaper reading—all timed to the minute.

To Sheffield, the woman seemed destined to outlive even old Rockefeller himself.

"Why are you so reserved around your grandma? She treats you, her heir, so well. You should chat with her more often," Anne whispered, linking her arm with his as they left the mansion. "Spending time with elders comforts them."

Sheffield shot her a *are-you-kidding-me* look. "Do you think a woman who's killed, trafficked, smuggled, survived civil war, buried her husband, watched her heir spiral into ruin, and held a colossal enterprise together for decades needs comfort from a clueless young man spouting naive platitudes? Does that sound appropriate?"

Before Anne could answer, he concluded, "No. My job is to manage the legacy she's entrusted to me and fulfill her vision. That's far more meaningful than empty words. Her longevity depends on my success. Understand?"

Sheffield could certainly spin feel-good slogans—he'd crafted an environmentalist persona for public consumption. But at home, pretense was pointless. Here, wickedness earned more approval from Her Majesty than virtue. A saintly image merely masked darker ambitions—a truth Annabelle would ensure he never forgot.

"I understand," Anne replied. Fresh from Europe, her knowledge of America remained superficial, leaving her ripe for Sheffield's ideological indoctrination.

The Venezuelan crisis, regardless of outcome, had exposed the U.S. military's feebleness against Britain. Even a small garrison in Guyana had paralyzed Washington. Post-crisis, military expansion was inevitable—the era of relying on 30,000 troops to police the nation was over.

Sheffield now gambled on whether America would turn to Spain as its punching bag—a likely historical inevitability. After failing against Britain, targeting a weaker European power made sense. Much like modern rising powers, the U.S. sought to replicate imperial success while blocking others from doing the same.

Summoning John Conner, Sheffield instructed: "Compile a list of military academy cadets—preferably Southerners, but talented Yankees if necessary. Prioritize those from modest backgrounds. We'll fund them. Our family's patriotism demands support for military growth amid British pressure. It's good PR."

"I'll visit the Habsburg factory soon, then head to New Orleans to assess the port," he added. If America sought soft targets, Southern ports like New Orleans—his home turf—would be strategic. Why let outsiders profit?

"Sir, delay the New Orleans trip. Tensions are high there," John cautioned.

"Why?" Sheffield frowned. He'd visited months prior without issue.

"Minor unrest. A Black man boarded a whites-only streetcar. The trial's upcoming, and tempers are flaring."

"So what? State courts handle that. Stick to the plan." Sheffield shrugged.

*(End of Chapter)*

*note*

if there are enough guys interested in this series i could increase the pace of Chapters/day on patreon

patreon.com/thebigbang007