Kaelan Richards's death created a vacuum, and politics, like nature, abhors a vacuum. With the Labour Party fractured and leaderless, the British political stage was mine to command. It was time to remake the party that had brought me to power in my own image.
The old Conservative Party—the party of soft stockbrokers and rural squires—had to die. From its ashes, something stronger, more ideological, and more loyal would be born.
I convened the party's executive committee at Chequers, the Prime Minister's official country residence. Under the gray Buckinghamshire sky, within the oak-paneled walls that had witnessed centuries of English history, I announced my revolution.
"This party," I began, my voice echoing in the quiet room, "has reached its limit. We have won the battle, but we are still using the weapons of a previous war. We cannot build a new Britain with the tools of a failed past."
"As of today," I announced, "we are no longer just the Conservative Party. We will be something more. A movement. We will be the National Unionist Party."
There were murmurs of confusion and shock.
"The new name reflects our core mission," I explained, my voice filled with a burning conviction. "We are Unionists, because we will defend the union of our United Kingdom against the separatists and globalists who wish to tear it apart. And we are Nationalists, because we place the interests of the British people, British culture, and British values above all else."
It was more than a name change. It was an ideological declaration. I was effectively purging the remnants of moderate liberalism from the party and replacing it with a hard, uncompromising nationalism.
Next came the symbols. The staid oak tree logo of the Conservatives was discarded. In its place, I introduced a new one: a roaring lion, rendered in sharp, modern lines, set against a Union Jack backdrop. It was a symbol of strength, pride, and aggression.
The party structure was also overhauled. I created a youth wing, the Young Lions League, to indoctrinate the next generation in the new ideology. I also formed the Unionist Guard, a volunteer organization dedicated to monitoring anti-British activities at the community level—effectively, a network of informants loyal to me personally.
The old guard who resisted these changes were quietly sidelined. They lost committee positions, their candidacies for the next election were revoked, replaced by ardent, loyal young men and women scouted by Blackwood. The party was being cleansed from the inside out.
…
In the midst of this political transformation, I received an invitation. A face-to-face meeting with President-elect Donald J. Trump at Mar-a-Lago.
I flew to Florida with a sense of anticipation. This was more than a diplomatic meeting. It was a meeting of minds, a summit of two men who had torn up the political rulebook in their respective countries.
Mar-a-Lago was a surreal sight, a gilded palace that reflected the ego of its owner. I met Trump on a terrace overlooking the Atlantic. He greeted me with a powerful handshake and a wide grin.
"Morgan!" he boomed, his distinctive voice carrying on the humid air. "Great to finally meet you. I've been watching you. You've got guts. A lot of guts. They hate you over here, the liberals. That's how you know you're doing something right."
"Mr. President-elect," I replied with a smile. "It's an honor. It seems we both understand something the elites don't: the people are sick of being lied to."
We spoke for hours. It wasn't a stilted, diplomatic conversation. It was a brainstorming session between two insurgents. He was fascinated by my speed and ruthlessness in consolidating power. I, in turn, soaked up his strategies.
"It's the economy, kid," he said, pointing a finger at me. "You gotta make the people feel richer. Cut taxes, cut the stupid regulations. Make the bankers and the CEOs love you. They don't care about your social policies as long as they're making money. Invite them to the club. Play golf with them. Make them feel like kings."
He continued, "And never, ever apologize. The media will attack you every single day. Just treat it like noise. Talk directly to your people. Use social media. Create your own narrative. And always, always have an enemy. If you don't have one, create one."
I came away from Florida with a clear blueprint. I had seen how Trump used MAGA not just as a slogan, but as an identity, a civil religion. I would do the same with my National Unionist Party.
…
My next move shocked even Blackwood. I announced a meeting at Mansion House, the official residence of the Lord Mayor of London, and invited the heads of every major bank, investment firm, and corporation in the City of London. Including, of course, a representative from the Rothschild family.
I walked into a room filled with men who collectively controlled trillions of pounds. They looked at me, the radical young Prime Minister, with a mixture of fear and curiosity.
I didn't talk about morals or nationalism. I spoke the only language they understood: money.
"Gentlemen," I began, "you have seen what happened on the streets. You have seen the chaos. I ended it. I have brought order. And order is good for business."
"Previous governments saddled you with environmental regulations, crippling corporate taxes, and endless bureaucracy. I am here to tell you that those days are over."
"I am going to turn Britain into an investment paradise. The corporate tax will be cut in half. Unnecessary regulations will be eliminated. New Special Economic Zones, starting in London and spreading across the country, will have a zero percent tax on reinvested capital. In return, I ask only one thing of you: build. Invest. Create jobs. Here. In Britain."
I could see the greed and the relief in their eyes. They had been afraid I was going to be some kind of national socialist. Instead, I was offering them the purest, most ruthless form of capitalism.
An old Rothschild banker, his voice soft but authoritative, spoke up. "This is a compelling proposition, Prime Minister. But what of stability? What of our relationship with Europe and America?"
"Those relationships will be redefined based on our economic interests, not sentimentality," I replied coldly. "And stability? I am the stability. As long as I am in power, there will be no more strikes crippling this city. There will be no more riots burning down your shops. I guarantee it."
I had made my deal with the devil. I had given the capitalists free rein to do what they did best, and in return, they would fund my regime and keep the economy humming. They didn't care about the deportations or the political suppression as long as the numbers on their balance sheets were green.
…
On the world stage, I made my next move. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict had flared up again. Previous governments had been traditionally pro-Israel, but with a note of caution. I threw caution to the wind.
I became the first Western leader to declare unconditional support for Israel's actions in Gaza.
"Israel," I said in a statement, "is doing what any sovereign nation must do when attacked by barbaric terrorists. They are cutting out a cancer. Britain stands with Israel without hesitation."
The move served three purposes. First, it endeared me to the incoming Trump administration and its powerful evangelical Christian base. Second, it infuriated the Muslim communities in Britain and around the world, further cementing my "us versus them" narrative. And third, it gave me the pretext to crack down even harder on pro-Palestinian protesters at home, branding them as "terrorist sympathizers."