章 43: The Rules of Acquisition (X-Over/SI) by Digsjin
One of the best timeline alteration and uplift fics in my opinion
Words: 85k+
Links https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/12460
Chapter I: Building America's Future
October 3rd, 1820 Pelham Manor, New York, United States of America
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My father hummed, though whether in approval or only acknowledgment, I couldn't quite tell. Mother looked between the two of us nervously, understandable as things had been… shall we say, tense after our dispute which had ended with me unceremoniously being kicked out of the family manor at the tender age of 15 and having to find work as an English tutor for the children of a pair of German immigrants who could afford it. The fact that I held extremely radical ideas for the times when it came to politics and religion certainly didn't help matters either. Though when abolishing slavery and treating both Native and African Americans with basic dignity is considered radical, I didn't wish to be anything but.
Needless to say, my numerous disputes with both my immediate and extended family served to make me the proverbial Black Sheep of the Roosevelt Dynasty.
"It's well thought out." He begrudgingly allowed after giving my business plan a quick read-through.
I nodded my head in thanks. Even though I had more experience in more diverse and arguably much more complex businesses than him, the fact remained that I had zero familiarity with how to operate in a pre-digital and even pre-industrialized economy. So, any advice from a businessman as successful as Elbert Roosevelt would be welcome.
His eyes flicked back down to the dossier. Naturally, he immediately zeroed in on the amount of projected necessary starting capital and how I planned to allocate it. I say naturally because we were both smart enough to realize the only reason, I was here was to ask for the stated capital.
I took a sip of my, quite frankly delicious tea while he just looked pensive. Mother smiled nervously, and I returned it with a coy wink. It was nice to see she was doing well. My moving-out probably hit her quite hard as my birth was the only thing that really allowed her to bond with my father after what had primarily been a political marriage. It sounded egotistical, but since I was an only child it was nevertheless true. And while I was never very rambunctious, without me Pelham Manor must've felt quite empty.
Eventually, Elbert just sighed tiredly, "It's a lot of money, and I very much doubt your projected profits are accurate, given Napoleon's new home in the middle of nowhere." He said. It wasn't a flat-out no and given how much he probably disliked me on a personal level, it was better than what I was expecting.
"It's a lot of money that's necessary to get a factory up and running." I returned mildly, "Steel is always in demand, be it in war or peace, and given how much cheaper it can be made using the Roosevelt Process, the profits should be self-evident." Sorry Mr. Bessemer, but I need it much more than you do.
"Yes, the Roosevelt Process," he flipped through a few pages until he landed on the converter's diagram. His lips briefly quirked up in a smile at the name before he squashed it. "And you're sure it works?" He asked doubtfully, I couldn't blame him. What I had essentially handed him was the Netflix of the Steel Industry, while Blockbuster was still the norm.
"As sure as I am that the sky is blue," I answered, nodding firmly. "I haven't been idle these last few months. I made a small mock-up of a converter with a blacksmith friend of mine, and I see no reason it wouldn't work on a large scale. Hell, I even perfected it enough to add the refractory lining." Complete bullshit, though to be fair, I was proud of remembering Gilchrist and Thomas' addition to the process. How the hell my brain dredged that up, I'll never figure out.
He leaned forward, "Fine, it works. I'll take your word for that. What I really want to know is how you came up with it. I've never known you to have a major interest in the chemical sciences beyond brewing moonshine in the attic." Guilty as charged, though, I only sold it to the neighborhood teens and never drank myself.
His implied threat was perfectly clear if you're making it up or god forbid, stole this invention from someone…
"That's because I didn't come up with it myself." That I could see, threw both of them for a loop. "I found mention of a similar though much less efficient process that the Chinamen have been using since medieval times in a history book. I mentioned it off-hand to an ironworker I know, and he commented on how odd certain parts of the process were. One thing led to another and…" I shrugged, not bothering to finish the sentence.
Funny thing, it wasn't even a lie at all; I had read about the Bessemer Process in a book, and the Han did come up with a variant at some point in the eleventh century. The only part where I distorted the truth a bit was when I said I'd mentioned it off-hand.
The elder Roosevelt's face became impassive, though Mother looked proud if somewhat disbelieving that the Chinese were apparently more advanced than Europeans at any given point with things that weren't silk, tea, or porcelain.
"And I see you've already patented it," Father added quietly, more to himself than to any of us. Taking a look at the patent and pointedly recognizing that neither the handwriting nor the very full legalese it was written in was my own. "Care to tell me how you could afford a lawyer to assist you?"
Mother interjected before I could, "He didn't hire any lawyers, honey, he asked his friend Millard for help, right?"
I nodded with a smile. "Yes, Millard's now practicing law, and while not a patent attorney per se, he's very diligent and picked up on the minutia much faster than I thought he would, and he did it for free."
Father's face fell, "I see, so financing that Jay's further education did pay off then?" Jay is a derogatory word for 'country bumpkin,' which to be fair Millard Fillmore certainly was. But he was also diligent, brilliant, and the future president. Not that I could tell them that last part.
"He's my friend," I answered calmly though the forced smile on my face belied where this would be going if he chose to rehash that old argument again.
For a moment, no one spoke, and predictably I broke the awkward silence. I was never very patient even when I had the Internet distracting me, how patient do you think I am now?
"So?" I asked eagerly, downing the last of my tea.
Father stared at both me and my mother, Jane. His stare lingered on my mother for a bit before it fixed itself back on me. He sighed and said: "Listen, Clinton, I'm willing to give you the money. Hell, I don't even really want 5% of your company, just… We need to reconcile."
I blinked, honestly, I wasn't expecting that. When I was a kid, we had a pretty good if distant relationship. I was always well-behaved, not seeing the need to throw tantrums or do stupid shit that wouldn't avail me anything. Selling moonshine notwithstanding, though even then, I could tell my businessman of a father was somewhat proud of me in that incident and only punished me to prevent the other parents of upper-class children from getting angry at him.
No, our differences only really started when he deemed me mature enough to ask about my "budding" political opinions. I was an ardent abolitionist, he was apathetic to the plight of slaves at best, I was agnostic and only paid lip-service to the protestant church. At the same time, he was reasonably devout. I was a moderate 21st-century libertarian, and he was a 19th century Democratic-Republican. All of that isn't even mentioning our respective stances on Napoleon, Simon Bolivar, Native Americans, and also shit like the Louisiana Purchase, which was no longer of immediate relevance.
My silence must've stretched out for far longer than I'd intended because when Mother gently put her hand on my elbow, I nearly jumped out of my chair in fright. She chuckled quietly. "Honey, please, we're family."
I slowly clasped her hand in mine.
"I think we two have irreconcilable differences," I answered, looking the man in the eye and didn't even flinch when my mother's hand tightened around mine. "However, I don't think we have to let our opinions define our relationship. I'm willing to let everything thus far be water under the bridge, so long as we can live and let live when it comes to politics."
Her grip slackened, and she looked happy, father smiled thinly and stretched out his hand. I just looked confused for a second before I grasped what he was doing and shook it firmly.
"I can live with that," Elbert said with a small smile, "I know I never said it before, but I am proud of you Clinton, both of us are. You became a man much sooner than I would've expected or liked, but we're your family, and we'll help whenever you need it."
I smiled at him for the first time in a long time and finished eating the small cookies that one of the servants had set up with the tea.
"Does that mean he can move back in with us?" She hesitantly asked Elbert, and he nodded firmly.
I shook my head, "I appreciate the offer, I really do. But the ironworks I'm buying is near the Upper Bay. The commute just isn't doable."
"But you'll still visit, right?"
I nodded, "As often as I can."
"Saturdays," My mom abruptly said.
"I'm sorry?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Every Saturday." She said firmly, I looked to my father for help, but his amused grin told me I wasn't getting any.
Let it never be said that Clinton Roosevelt didn't know when to pick his battles. I just hugged her and agreed, "Every Saturday then."
We talked about this and that for a bit. My father's business was apparently booming with peace in Europe. They were now importing luxury goods from the Americas like crazy, including the tobacco he had a hand in. I congratulated him on his turn of good fortune. I mentioned off-hand that Spain might be looking to make up a shortfall of certain luxury goods since most of their colonies were in revolt, and Bolivar was handing them their collective assess. He actually wrote the idea down. Huh.
He, in turn, asked me about my current job and living arrangements and looked scandalized when I told him I was living in what was mainly the ghetto with the poorer Dutch, Swiss and German immigrants. Though he was slightly mollified that my landlord was a decent sort that didn't overcharge people and actually provided the amenities I paid for to a satisfactory degree.
My mother talked about local politics. Being the daughter of a politician who sat in the state legislature for most of his life, she had quite the knack for it. However, the specifics mostly flew over both our heads as father and I were more nationally if not internationally-minded when it came to politics.
Eventually, though, he did ask a question that would be important to the future Roosevelt Steelworks, and it was a question I had to answer delicately lest it reignites our feud.
"I noticed that the money you assigned for wages was much lower than I would've expected, are those the usual wages of iron or steelworkers?"
"No," I answered, "You see the factory I'm purchasing is located near the tenements, so I plan to employ mostly Negros, since they work for half-wages and are used to more rigorous physical labor." A sad state of affairs honestly, but despite Henry Ford's appalling racism, he did set the precedent that eventually allowed for African Americans to enter the workplace as factory workers, which ultimately let them compete for equal wages.
I was just setting said precedent much earlier, and if I could help free blacks and newly escaped slaves get their footing in the North while turning a hefty profit then so much the better. I would've paid them fair wages, but then no White American would've ever accepted a job from me, and quite frankly, I still needed a reasonably sizeable skilled labor force for future projects.
"I see," father mumbled slowly, and mother had what could only be described as a pleading look on her face. "Are you sure it's a good idea?"
I made a so-so motion with my hand, "If it doesn't work out, I can always fire them."
He nodded hesitantly, "It's your prerogative. So, when do you think Roosevelt Steelworks will be up and running?" Now slightly more excited.
"Provided the blacksmiths I'll task with building the Converters are done on time? Should be operational within a month, though I still have to see about getting a reliable supplier of Pig Iron."
He hummed neutrally, "My advice is having a primary supplier, but have a backup that gets his stock from a different source. I can actually help you with this is I think, look up a man named Ethan Greene, I think his cousin runs an iron mine somewhere in Appalachia-"
I leaned back into the chair, listening to the advice. Overall today had been a pretty good day. I had come to ask for money in exchange for stock but instead reconciled with my parents, got the money without giving up the shares, and was now getting free advice from one of the savviest businessmen of the era. The expression 'I came looking for copper and found gold' comes to mind.
A/N: So, a while back I posted a story on my alternate-history account Elenoir, called Visions of a Steampunk Future, where I essentially wanted the SI to introduce Charles Babbage's Difference Engine along with other technology much earlier and see how things develop in a steampunk-ish way from there. Recently, however, I've had a change of heart about where I want the story to go, both in terms of what the character does and the story no longer being a purely historical one but rather also integrating certain sci-fi settings I really enjoy which will be listed in the tags (and of course I plan to put in some lewds). The first chapters will be mostly the same as those from the original story, though there will be a few minor divergences, for now, please enjoy the oncoming trainwreck of a ruthless businessman traipsing through the past.
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