Building a Conglomerate in Another World Chapter 214: Meeting the Ambassador of Spain

The White House – Morning, June 1896.

The Spanish ambassador arrived at the White House just as the morning sun cast its first golden rays over Washington. Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, Ambassador Luis de Montoro stepped into the conference room, his expression unreadable. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the air charged with the weight of a decision that could send Arathia and Spain into war.

President Matthew Hesh sat at the head of the long mahogany table, flanked by his closest advisors—Secretary of War Thomas Sinclair, Secretary of State Richard Alden, Admiral Jonathan Welles, and Chief of Staff Henry Collins. Across from them, Montoro took his seat, his two aides standing rigidly behind him.

Matthew wasted no ti. He leaned forward, his fingers laced together. "Ambassador Montoro, thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m sure you’re aware of why we’ve called this eting."

Montoro nodded, his face betraying nothing. "Yes, Mr. President. The sinking of the USS Resolute near Cuba. An unfortunate incident."

Sinclair scoffed. "Unfortunate? Eighty-seven Arathian sailors are dead! That’s more than unfortunate."

Montoro remained calm, unfazed by Sinclair’s anger. "I assure you, gentlen, the Spanish governnt had no involvent in this attack. We were as shocked as you to learn of the sinking."

Matthew narrowed his eyes. "You’re saying your navy wasn’t responsible?"

Montoro hesitated for a brief mont before shaking his head. "At this mont, we have no confirmation that a Spanish warship intentionally fired on your frigate. Our forces in Cuba are under strict orders not to engage Arathian ships. If this attack ca from one of our vessels, it was not sanctioned by Madrid."

A murmur spread across the Arathian officials.

Sinclair leaned forward. "Then how do you explain it? Did one of your captains decide to go rogue?"

Montoro sighed. "We are launching an internal investigation as we speak. If this was the act of a reckless commander, he will be punished accordingly. But I urge you, Mr. President—do not rush to war."

Matthew studied the ambassador carefully. Everything in his deanor suggested he was telling the truth. The Spanish governnt had no reason to provoke Arathia. Their empire was already strained with revolts in Cuba and the Philippines—starting another war with a rising power like Arathia would be madness.

Before Matthew could respond, the doors to the conference room suddenly burst open.

A man in a dark navy uniform strode in confidently, flanked by two aides. His neatly combed hair and sharp features exuded the eagerness of ambition, and his eyes glead with sothing Matthew recognized all too well—hunger.

"Mr. President," the man announced, ignoring all protocol as he walked straight toward the table. "I have urgent information regarding the attack."

Montoro scowled. "Who is this?"

The man straightened his uniform, his tone dripping with self-importance. "William Bradford, Assistant Secretary of the Navy."

Sinclair and Welles exchanged a glance. Bradford was young, brash, and fiercely imperialistic—one of the most vocal advocates for expanding Arathia’s influence. He had built a reputation within naval circles for his hawkish stance on foreign policy.

Matthew leaned back in his chair, studying him. "You have proof?"

Bradford nodded. "We’ve intercepted communications from Spanish naval officers in Cuba—clear evidence that they intended to sink the USS Resolute."

The room fell silent.

Montoro’s face darkened. "That’s impossible. We received no such orders from Madrid."

Bradford smirked. "Maybe not from Madrid, but it’s clear that soone in your navy wanted a war."

Montoro slamd his palm on the table. "This is an outrageous accusation! If such proof exists, then I demand to see it."

Bradford reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stack of docunts. He placed them on the table, tapping the top page. "Here it is, gentlen. Coded transmissions sent from Havana. Translated and confird by our intelligence officers."

Sinclair quickly grabbed the docunts, scanning them with a furrowed brow. Welles leaned over his shoulder, reading alongside him.

After a tense mont, Sinclair exhaled sharply. "Damn it… these orders ntion ’removing enemy ships near Cuba.’"

Montoro’s jaw tightened. "That is not proof that we ordered an attack."

Bradford crossed his arms. "It’s mighty convenient that this happened right after your fleet got those orders."

Matthew, still silent, studied the docunts. Sothing felt off.

The phrasing was vague. The words could be interpreted in many ways. Nowhere did it explicitly say "attack Arathian ships."

Matthew looked up at Bradford. "Who decrypted these transmissions?"

Bradford didn’t hesitate. "Naval Intelligence."

Matthew nodded, his mind working rapidly. If Spain had truly ordered this attack, Madrid would be acting very differently. Instead, they were scrambling for answers.

He turned to Montoro. "You said you’re investigating this internally?"

Montoro nodded firmly. "Yes, and I will personally ensure you receive our findings within the next forty-eight hours."

Matthew turned to his officials. "Then we will wait. No mobilization, no retaliation. We give Spain ti to present their findings."

Sinclair clenched his fists but nodded.

Bradford, however, scowled. "Mr. President, with all due respect, waiting is a mistake. This was a deliberate act of war. Arathia should strike first, before Spain can prepare a response."

Matthew’s eyes hardened. "I will not send Arathian soldiers to die without knowing the full truth."

Bradford’s jaw tightened, his frustration barely contained. "And what if Spain uses this ’investigation’ to buy ti? To reinforce their positions in Cuba and the Pacific? We should be preparing for war now!"

Matthew’s voice remained steady. "We already are. Our fleet is on high alert, our troops are ready—but we will not strike first."

Bradford exhaled through his nose, clearly displeased, but said nothing further. Explore stories on .Côm

Montoro stood, adjusting his coat. "Thank you for your patience, Mr. President. We will find the truth."

Matthew nodded. "See that you do."

As Montoro left, the tension in the room lingered.

Bradford turned to Matthew one last ti. "I hope, for our country’s sake, you’re making the right choice."

Matthew didn’t respond.

Bradford gave a curt nod and exited, his boots clicking against the marble floor.

As soon as the doors shut, Matthew exhaled sharply.

Sinclair leaned in. "Do you trust the Spanish to tell the truth?"

Matthew glanced at the docunts again. "I don’t know. But sothing about this doesn’t feel right."

Welles sighed. "And if they did order the attack?"

Matthew’s gaze hardened. "Then Arathia will not hesitate to respond."

For now, they would wait.

But the pieces were already moving.

And not all of them were in his control.