The Institute for Advanced Study looked like a gothic cathedral made of frozen sugar.
Snow drifted against the dark stone walls. The windows were black, save for a single flickering light in the main hall.
The black sedan crunched up the gravel driveway. The engine died, leaving only the sound of the wind.
Jason stepped out. The cold air bit at his face, waking him up. He felt like a ghost haunting his own life.
Sarah helped Junior out of the back seat. Junior moved stiffly, holding his bandaged side, but he didn't groan. The pain seemed to focus him.
"This is it?" Junior asked, looking at the building. "The alchemy lab?"
"The future," Jason corrected. "If we survive the night."
They pushed open the heavy oak doors.
The main hall was cavernous. Shadows stretched across the floor.
In the center of the room, sitting on a wooden crate, was a man with wild hair.
He was playing the violin.
It wasn't a happy tune. It was a mournful, scratching melody that echoed off the stone walls.
Albert Einstein stopped playing as they entered. He lowered the bow. He looked terrified.
"Herr Prentice," Einstein said. His voice trembled. "I heard the news on the wireless. The crash. The riots."
He looked at Junior, then at the bloodstains on Jason's coat.
"Is the music over?" Einstein asked softly. "Is the funding gone?"
Jason walked across the hall. His footsteps clicked on the marble.
He reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out the thick envelope—the one Junior had tried to audit, the one Alta had tried to seize.
"The funding is gone, Albert," Jason said.
Einstein's shoulders slumped. He looked like a child whose balloon had popped.
"But the Institute remains," Jason continued.
He handed the envelope to Sarah.
"The deed isn't in my name anymore," Jason said. "And it isn't in Standard Oil's name."
Sarah took the envelope. She looked at Jason, surprised.
"It's in a blind trust," Jason said. "Controlled by Sarah."
Junior watched this. His eyes narrowed.
"You are giving the most dangerous asset in the world to your nurse?" Junior asked.
"I'm giving it to the only person who hasn't tried to kill me," Jason replied.
He turned to Einstein.
"The Rockefellers don't own you anymore, Albert. You don't answer to the board. You answer to her."
Einstein looked at Sarah. He smiled, a small, relieved twitch of his mustache.
"A much prettier boss," Einstein muttered. "Though the physics remains ugly."
An hour later. The Library.
A fire crackled in the hearth, burning old physics journals for warmth.
Junior stood by the door. He was wearing a fresh coat Jason had found in a closet. He looked cleaner. Sharper.
Outside, headlights cut through the snow. Ford's men were here to take him back to New York. Back to the throne.
"The car is here," Junior said.
Jason stood by the fireplace, warming his hands. "You remember the deal?"
"I initiate the divorce," Junior recited. "I tell the Board you panicked. You stole the plane. You abandoned the company to save your own skin."
"Good," Jason said. "Make me the villain. It's the only way they'll trust you again."
Junior walked over to him. He stopped a few feet away.
The man who had once prayed for Jason's soul was gone. In his place was a survivor.
"You saved my life, Ezra," Junior said. He touched the bandage under his coat. "But you corrupted it too."
"I just woke you up."
Junior looked over at Einstein, who was scribbling formulas on a blackboard in the corner.
"You are building a fire," Junior whispered, nodding at the physicist. "I don't understand the math, but I understand the smell. It smells like brimstone."
"It's energy, Junior. Cheap energy."
"It's a bomb," Junior said flatly. "I saw the look in your eyes when you talked to Ford. You didn't sell him rockets to deliver mail."
Junior buttoned his coat.
"When it burns the world, Ezra... don't ask me for water."
Junior turned and walked out. He didn't look back. The heavy door slammed shut, sealing the pact.
Jason watched him go. He had just created a shark to replace a sheep. Standard Oil would survive, but it would be colder now. Ruthless in a way even Senior hadn't been.
RIIIING.
The telephone on the librarian's desk screamed.
Jason stared at it.
It could only be one person.
He picked it up.
"Hello, Alta."
There was no static. The line was crystal clear.
"You left me," Alta said.
She wasn't screaming. She wasn't crying. Her voice was a flat, dead calm. It was the voice of a judge passing a sentence.
"I sent you to safety," Jason lied. "Bennett picked you up. You're with Ford."
"I am in a hangar in Detroit," Alta said. "Surrounded by men with guns who won't let me leave until the wire transfer clears."
"It's for your protection."
"Stop lying, Ezra!"
The veneer cracked. For a second, pure, white-hot rage bled through.
"You stole the patents," Alta hissed. "You stole the future. And you left me to clean up the mess with Junior."
"Junior is alive," Jason said. "He's coming back to take control. You'll still be rich, Alta. You just won't be married."
"You think a piece of paper protects you?" Alta laughed. It was a terrifying sound. "I will sue you in every court in the world. I will freeze every asset you have left. I will make sure you starve in a gutter."
Jason tightened his grip on the receiver.
"You can't sue me, Alta."
"Watch me."
"If you file a single motion," Jason said, dropping his voice to a whisper, "I release the Lusitania logs."
Silence.
"I kept copies," Jason lied. "The telegrams from the British Admiralty. The ones proving Standard Oil knew the ship was targeted and let it sink to drag America into the war. To sell more oil."
The silence on the line stretched out. Heavy. Suffocating.
It was Mutually Assured Destruction. If she destroyed him, he would destroy the legacy.
"You are a devil," Alta whispered.
"I learned from the best," Jason said. "Goodbye, Alta."
He hung up.
His hand was shaking.
He looked up. Sarah was standing in the doorway. She held a newspaper.
"Jason," she said. Her face was pale.
"What? Did the stock drop again?"
"No," Sarah walked over and placed the paper on the desk. "Look at the date. And the headline."
Jason looked.
WARSAW FALLS.
RED ARMY ADVANCES ON BERLIN.
COMMUNIST REVOLUTION SPREADS WEST.
Jason felt the blood drain from his face.
In real history, the Polish army stopped the Soviets at the Battle of Warsaw in 1920. The "Miracle on the Vistula." It kept Communism contained for twenty years.
But in this timeline, Germany was bankrupt. Jason's financial crash had weakened the entire European economy. There was no support for Poland.
The buffer zone was gone.
"They're moving fast," Jason whispered. "Faster than history."
"Stalin isn't waiting," Sarah said. "And if they take Berlin..."
"Then they get the German scientists," Jason finished. "They get the rest of the rocket team. They get the physics."
He looked at Einstein.
The race wasn't for money anymore. It was for survival.
"Pack the lab," Jason ordered. "We can't stay here."
"Where are we going?"
"New Mexico," Jason said. "We need a desert."