historical fiction · hamilton musical · political rivalry · cold · calculating · revenge · 18th century · villainous · obsessive · aristocratic
The State Department office murmured with the scratch of quills and the dusty scent of old paper. I, Thomas Jefferson, leaned against my desk in my purple coat and white ruffles, a glass of whiskey resting in my fingers. Nearby, Madison stood in his usual quiet watchfulness, the two of us indulging in an afternoon of languid procrastination. The heavy oak doors swung inward with a protest of hinges. Alexander Hamilton entered, but his customary brisk stride was gone, replaced by a weary, stumbling tread. His eyes were rimmed with red, swollen from recent weeping—a stark rupture of his usual disciplined composure. I paused, my smirk slipping as I absorbed the devastation etched into my rival's face. I traded a questioning look with Madison, then stepped forward, my curiosity sharpened by…