The White House looked smaller than people imagined.
Not physically.
Politically.
Most people viewed it as the center of American power.
They were wrong.
Power wasn't buildings.
It wasn't flags.
It wasn't speeches or elections.
Real power existed in secrets.
Information.
Leverage.
Fear.
And no organization on Earth possessed more of those things than the Foundation.
Rain tapped softly against the windows of the Oval Office as George H. W. Bush sat across from Thomas Graves.
Or rather—
Lincoln
Though George didn't know that name.
Nobody did.
Not anymore.
Tonight, Lincoln wore the identity of Thomas Graves—a respected senior senator with decades of political influence and enough connections to quietly reshape governments if necessary.
An older man.
Silver-haired.
Perfectly composed.
The appearance of a lifelong statesman.
Which, technically, he was.
Just over a much longer timeline than anyone realized.
George studied him carefully from behind the Resolute Desk.
"You're asking for a lot, Thomas."
Lincoln smiled faintly.
"I'm offering considerably more."
The atmosphere remained calm.
Civil.
Almost friendly.
That was intentional.
Lincoln preferred diplomacy whenever possible.
Blackmail worked.
Fear worked.
But willing cooperation was cleaner.
More stable.
The World Security Council mattered.
Especially now.
With S.H.I.E.L.D. growing larger every year, controlling even part of its oversight structure would give the Foundation immense influence over global anomaly response operations.
Two seats would provide leverage.
Three would provide dominance.
And dominance was always preferable.
George leaned back slightly.
"You understand how dangerous this would be if discovered."
Lincoln nearly laughed.
If discovered?
The man sitting across from him had absolutely no idea what "dangerous" actually meant.
Instead, he simply folded his hands calmly.
"The arrangement benefits everyone."
A partial truth.
The best lies always contained some honesty.
"The Council gains stability," Lincoln continued smoothly.
"You gain political allies, financial support, and protection from several… inconvenient problems."
George's eyes narrowed slightly.
There it was.
The real conversation.
Lincoln had enough blackmail material to destroy half of Washington.
Presidents.
Directors.
Senators.
Military officials.
Judges.
The Foundation collected information the way dragons collected gold.
And Lincoln?
Lincoln was one of the greatest political manipulators in human history.
Because unlike normal politicians—
He had centuries of experience.
He had advised kings before America even existed.
Manipulated trade routes during the age of empires.
Influenced wars under identities long erased from history.
He had forgotten more political strategies than modern governments had ever invented.
And George H. W. Bush?
From Lincoln's perspective—
Was young.
Not inexperienced.
Not unintelligent.
But young.
Temporary.
Human.
"Are you threatening me, Thomas?" George asked quietly.
Lincoln smiled warmly.
"Of course not."
A pause.
"Threats damage relationships."
Which was true.
Blackmail, however, was simply leverage.
The senator calmly slid a sealed folder across the desk.
George didn't open it immediately.
Smart.
"That contains information," Lincoln said gently, "that would significantly complicate the remainder of your presidency if released publicly."
The room became very quiet.
"But," Lincoln continued smoothly, "I'd rather not use it."
Another truth.
Messy political scandals created instability.
Instability created attention.
And attention was something the Foundation avoided whenever possible.
Rain continued falling outside.
Soft.
Steady.
Lincoln leaned back slightly.
"The Foundation—"
He stopped himself immediately.
Tiny mistake.
George noticed.
Barely.
But enough.
Lincoln recovered instantly.
"Our associates," he corrected calmly, "have no interest in harming the United States."
Not directly, anyway.
"We simply believe global security requires… more coordinated leadership."
George studied him carefully now.
Suspicion.
Curiosity.
Concern.
"You sound like you're talking about something bigger than intelligence agencies."
Lincoln's smile widened slightly.
"If you knew how big the world truly was, George…"
He let the sentence trail off.
Because he couldn't say more.
Not yet.
The existence of the Foundation remained one of the most heavily protected secrets on Earth.
Every world leader who learned too much eventually had their memories altered once they left office.
Necessary.
Harsh.
Effective.
Immortality alone made secrecy mandatory.
If humanity discovered the O5 Council truly existed—
That some of its members had lived for centuries—
The world would descend into chaos overnight.
Governments would panic.
Religious systems would fracture.
Scientists would attempt experimentation.
Intelligence agencies would hunt them endlessly.
Worst case scenario?
The Foundation revealed itself openly.
And if that happened—
War followed.
The O5 Council could probably win such a war eventually.
But the collateral damage would be catastrophic.
So instead—
Every few centuries—
They died.
Officially.
Then returned later under new names.
New faces.
New identities.
Lincoln himself had already "died" seven times.
George finally opened the folder.
His expression tightened almost immediately.
Ah.
There it was.
Lincoln remained perfectly calm.
Not smug.
Not threatening.
Simply patient.
Because this meeting had never truly been about whether George would agree.
Only how much pressure would be necessary.
"Jesus Christ…" George muttered quietly.
"Mm."
The president closed the folder slowly.
Then looked up.
"What exactly do you want?"
Lincoln smiled pleasantly.
Progress.
"A recommendation."
"Influence over appointment procedures."
"And eventually…"
His eyes sharpened slightly.
"Support for placing one of our preferred candidates onto the American World Security Council seat."
George stared at him silently.
Trying to calculate outcomes.
Risks.
Consequences.
Then Lincoln added the final incentive.
"The financial compensation is substantial."
That part was almost amusing.
The Foundation's budget was so enormous that bribing governments barely registered as an expense anymore.
Containment facilities alone consumed billions annually.
Research divisions consumed more.
Global operations.
Amnestics.
Black budgets.
Space infrastructure.
Personnel.
Security.
The Foundation effectively possessed the economic capabilities of a superpower.
And Lincoln personally controlled vast discretionary funds specifically for political manipulation.
Because sometimes—
The cheapest way to secure containment was simply paying people to look the other way.
Finally, George exhaled slowly.
"This stays quiet."
Lincoln nodded immediately.
"Of course."
Another pause.
Then—
"I can make arrangements."
There it was.
The first seat.
Lincoln smiled warmly and stood slowly from his chair.
"Excellent."
As he turned toward the door, George spoke one final time.
"Thomas…"
Lincoln paused slightly.
"Who exactly are you people?"
For just a moment—
The ancient immortal behind the mask surfaced.
Cold.
Calm.
Dangerous.
Then it vanished beneath a polite political smile.
"The people making sure humanity survives long enough to keep asking that question."
And with that—
Lincoln walked out of the Oval Office.
Leaving behind a president who had absolutely no idea he had just negotiated with a man older than the United States itself.