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Thomas thought they were over this debate. Hamilton’s proposal had been withdrawn from the floor after he failed to secure a majority in the House, which Thomas saw as a- even if temporary- conclusion of the matter. He won, Hamilton lost, that’s politics, nothing more. End of the story. You’ve got beaten, move on, plot your next move, look for the compromise, convince more people, that how it was supposed to work.
Whatever Hamilton was doing, he wasn’t playing by the rules. He was a warrior first, asshole second. Politician at the end.
It started with the House deliberations around a week after Hamilton capitulated with his financial reform. He hasn’t tried to reach Thomas ever since, which honestly came to Jefferson as a surprise, as Hamilton hasn’t seem like a type to give up easily. He expected… well, something, debate, pressure, bargain, compromise.
He hasn’t expected anything that happened on June 20 in the Congress.
It started with his phone ringing in the morning.
“Are you watching?” Madison’s voice came as soon as Thomas put a cellphone to his ear.
“Watching what?” Thomas asked confused, already making his way to the living room.
“Hamilton is in the House,” the answer came, causing Thomas to stop in the middle of the corridor, shocked.
“What?” he asked. “For what? He withdrew the bill, what is he doing there?”
“I don’t know,” James said. “He hasn’t given any statement to the press, hasn’t talked to any of our people, didn’t even tried. He shook hands with Schuyler and went to the lodge. They’re starting in 20 minutes, turn on the TV.”
“I’m doing it right now,” Thomas said, taking the remote. “Listen, call Monroe, he’s there now, maybe he heard something. We’ll be in touch,” he added as he turned the TV on and ended the call right after.
Seated, the tension flickering up his spine, Thomas watched in disbelief. Main news channels, usually indifferent to routine congressional sessions, were now live from the Capitol. The screen prominently featured Hamilton, making his way to the gallery section with a bodyguard a few steps behind. He disregarded everyone approaching him—Democrats, Republicans, the Speaker, leaders—his eyes fixed forward, poker face intact.
He was sashaying his way through the House to the lounge with Byronic hero charm – long hair cascading over his shoulders, impeccably dressed in a well-pressed suit, so strategised and focused, but with cocky shadow of smirk dimming on his lips, like soldier with his back straight and head high, heading to the peace talks, already knowing that the battle was won.
Which hasn’t made any sense since he already lost.
Thomas decreased the volume to the minimum, not particularly interested in journalist’s speculations and recap of the events. The angle on the TV changed, as Alexander took the seat in the gallery, close-up on his face, now showing in detail his sharp features and even sharper eyes, who soon must have detect the place where the camera was, when he looked straight in it, his ice cold blue eyes staring suddenly right through Jefferson’s soul.
He felt shivers creeping down his spine.
Hamilton was so young, compared to everyone in the Congress and cabinet, yet the way he had everyone act around him whenever he was in the room, could make you think that he was the biggest authority in the room filled with inters jumping around just to please him and earn as a reward one satisfied look. There was no logical explanation to that, not even the fact that Hamilton had President Washington wrapped around his finger, which was painfully obvious to Thomas from the first cabinet meeting, where after everyone got dismissed, Washington took his sweet time to talk with Alexander with no regard to other cabinet members expecting private talk as well. And he was closer with Hamilton than with any other member, fact painfully evident.
But even that wildly known presidential favouritism has not explained Alexander’s peculiar impact on the people around him. If anything, it was the other way around — this aura of his, which made him centre of attention in every room he barged into, seemed to win him Washington’s affection more valuable than just respect for his abilities.
And Thomas would be damned to fall as a next victim of this devilish charm.
He grabbed his phone.
01:58 PM
You: Haven’t you had enough of this?
You: Or are you there to announce your resignation yourself.
You: You’ve got what was coming for you already.
He stared at the screen on which Hamilton threw one, quick glance on his phone, but hasn’t bothered to answer.
Thomas’s jaw clenched.
But then, as the session commenced and representatives took their seats, Hamilton’s image vanished from the screen to make appropriate place for the House Speaker, Thomas’s phone ringed, as the message arrived.
02:00 PM
Hamilton: Maybe I’ve got mine.
Hamilton: Wait till you all get yours.
The session started.