Chapter 64: Alliance

Chapter 64: Alliance

George had no particular reaction upon hearing the news about the oil discovery. After all, the agreement with the Rockefellers had a fixed term, and George knew well that when the time came, they'd be the ones calling him.

Still, the discovery wasn't meaningless. A rich oil field could reinforce their partnership. Money had a way of binding people together, smoothing over friction that ideology or ego might inflame.

More importantly, George wasn't in a position to go it alone just yet. This was only one of three oil fields on his radar, and the largest—buried beneath the Persian Gulf—was still offshore, both literally and politically. For now, maintaining a good working relationship with the Rockefellers was the smart play.

By contrast, Rockefeller himself was ecstatic. When the initial report landed on his desk, he decided to fly down to Texas personally. If this find turned out to be as rich as Pennsylvania, it could define the next phase of Standard Oil's dominance.

Once the final penicillin contract was signed, he and George headed south to the drilling site.

The site was controlled, efficient. Workers buzzed around derricks like bees to honey. Armed security patrolled the outer perimeter. No press. No crowds. Just business.

Rockefeller stepped out of the car and scanned the terrain with the instincts of someone who'd spent a lifetime turning dirt into gold.

"I expected chaos," he said, settling into a portable high seat. "By now, every wildcatter in the state should be here."

George leaned against a railing beside him, expression casual. "Private land. Nobody trespasses without an invitation. That's what I pay my security for."

Rockefeller smiled faintly. "Then we should be acquiring adjacent land—quickly."

George didn't even blink. "Not interested."

Rockefeller raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"The 150,000 acres around this site? I already own them."

That earned a full pause. "All of it?"

George nodded. "My family had a ranch nearby. I bought up this land in bulk, at the same time, long before this place was worth anything."

Rockefeller let out a short breath. "Jesus, George."

"The people who lived here signed relocation agreements," George continued, pointing with his fingers towards the worker. "They're still on my payroll—working the drills now. No reason to kick them out early. It's easier to hire locals anyway."

He led Rockefeller closer to one of the rigs. The scent of asphalt and oil clung to everything. Rockefeller crouched near the drill output and watched the mixture gurgle up.

He didn't speak for nearly a minute.

Then, half-joking, he muttered, "I'm so jealous I could kill you."

George glanced at him flatly. "Let's assume that's a joke. Otherwise, your family's going to need a new chairman. I have a bomb rigged to my car, just in case."

A beat.

The security men within earshot subtly shifted their posture. George raised a hand.

"Relax. He's my partner, he's not serious."

Rockefeller straightened up. "Well, not that serious."

The tension broke. A few laughed. George didn't.

"I'm not naive," he said quietly. "And I don't bluff."

They stayed on-site for two more days, reviewing technical data, checking terrain reports, and quietly moving assets. Rockefeller's enthusiasm only grew. George remained firm about the contract terms.

"The deal is locked in by law," George told him. "Unless you hand over your shares voluntarily, nothing changes."

"We're both rational men," Rockefeller replied. "If this plays out the way I think it will, there's no reason to fight."

"Then we're partners. For now."

George returned to New York by the end of the week. Professor Osborn had contacted him—an official invitation had arrived from the Geneva International Science Summit. The trip to Europe would require planning.

Once back, George took stock of his operations.

The bulk of his companies were functioning without much need for input. He had left capable people in charge. He wasn't trying to micromanage an empire—he was building one.

Still, he did send over a new technical brief to Winchester: a modular assault rifle design inspired by concepts far ahead of their time. The current blend of pistols and hunting rifles lacked the speed and adaptability he wanted for tactical scenarios.

He also ordered Boeing to fast-track work on a long-range, manned aircraft. The reports weren't bad, but engine noise and heat output were still issues. Not fit for passenger flights yet. George noted the problem and moved on.

His film division received two new scripts and a prototype design for a shoulder-mounted camera—easier to move with, easier to hide. Streamlining the production process was part of his broader media strategy.

Finally, he arranged for nearly a hundred tons of alcohol to be quietly shipped to Vito Corleone's network. Enough inventory to last the season.

By April 1st, George stood at the harbor alongside Osborn's team. Nearly twenty personnel boarded the passenger liner—researchers, security, legal counsel, and finance aides.

George watched the ship begin its slow departure from the dock. The wind carried the scent of salt and opportunity.

The world had no idea what was coming.