The Marine Band played loud music. Still, the Washington hum was constant—a sound of ambition and money, secrets traded in whispers.
Michael stood alone in the alcove. Both John and George had dispersed into the crowd with their wives to mingle and cultivate connections.
The East Room floor was polished. It reflected the men in black tails and women in silk. Michael knew the history of the place. It was a catalogue of American authority.
The truly interesting guests were the Businessmen and Financiers. These were the wolves circling the new political reality under Roosevelt. The biggest prizes, Michael knew, were the Senators. These men controlled the rules of the game.
The music, the formal clothes, the calculating smiles—it all grew dull after an hour. Michael felt like an observer at a chess match where every move had been practiced a hundred times before.
Seeking air and quiet, Michael excused himself. He left the East Room and moved toward the south end of the White House.
As he stepped through a doorway and onto a quiet veranda overlooking the grounds, Michael caught the faint, fresh scent of cigarette smoke. He moved toward it.
He found a tall, clean-cut young man leaning against a column, quietly enjoying a smoke. The young man carried the confident air of someone accustomed to good fortune and higher education.
The young man noticed Michael and extinguished his cigarette with a practiced movement. He straightened up, offering a respectful nod and a warm smile.
"Good evening," the young man said. "It is a pleasure to find a quiet space out here. It gets a bit overwhelming inside, doesn't it?"
Michael returned the smile. "It does."
"A pleasure," the young man replied, extending his hand. "Franklin Delano Roosevelt. I am a distant cousin of the President. My mother, Mrs. James Roosevelt, is somewhere among the dignitaries."
Michael took his hand. "I'm Michael Kingston."
Franklin's smile widened. "Kingston? Are you related to the new industrial family making waves?"
"That's us," Michael confirmed.
"Well, I have visited your general stores. Quite a new idea. Who came up with that model?" Franklin asked, genuinely intrigued.
Michael shrugged slightly. "Well, you are looking at him."
He met Franklin's gaze with a subtle smile. "How old do you think I am?"
The name Harvard carried immense weight. Founded in 1636, it was the oldest institution of higher learning in America, predating the nation itself. It stood as a symbol of tradition and intellectual authority, a place where the nation's elite—the men who shaped government and commerce—were trained.
"Harvard," Michael said, understanding the value of that legacy. "That's truly something. What is it like?"
As Michael and Franklin were talking about Harvard, they heard a sudden noise see Miss Alice Roosevelt striding toward them.
Her eyes swept over the quiet space, then fixed on Franklin. Though distant relatives, they moved in the same exclusive social circles and knew each other well.
"Cousin Franklin, there you are," she declared. "Give me one," she commanded, pointing to his cigarette case.
Franklin hesitated, taking out a cigarette but holding it away from her. "Alice, it's not very ladylike for the guest of honor to be seen smoking out here."
"Don't be tiresome," she said, snatching it from his fingers. She then pulled a small, silver matchbox from her glove and lit the cigarette with a quick, practiced puff.
As she exhaled, Franklin introduced Michael. "Alice, may I present Michael Kingston."
Alice turned to Michael, her gaze sharp. "Of course. We were introduced last year in New York, weren't we? When father laid the foundation stone for the world's largest building." She took a drag. "Tell me, when will that colossal project finally be completed?"
"By the end of 1902," Michael replied.
Alice nodded, impressed by the speed. "Excellent. So what are you two currently dissecting out here?"
They talked for some time, Michael enjoying Alice's sharp wit and Franklin's easy companionship.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the air from the East Room doorway, calling Alice's name.
Alice sighed dramatically, tossing the cigarette butt over the railing onto the grounds below. "Ah, duty calls," she said. She looked at Michael, then back at Franklin. "Come on, both of you. You can't hide out here all evening. I need both of you for the next dance."
Miss Alice, without waiting for an answer, linked an arm through each of theirs, beginning to pull them toward the bright lights of the ballroom.
"Miss Alice, please," Michael said, though his protest held little force. "It's not appropriate."
Alice glanced back at him, her smile fading into a look of genuine exhaustion. "Michael, please help me. I can't dance anymore with those people and keep on smiling. My face hurts now. So please, both of you, help me."
Michael sighed and agreed, amused by her frankness.
That night, Franklin and Michael occupied most of Alice's time, much to the surprise and gossip of the other guests.
*******
The next morning, the Kingston family was mentioned in newspaper articles across the capital and New York. The coverage often featured Miss Alice Roosevelt's grand ball, detailing the attendees including the presence of the Kingston family.
By afternoon, the family was settled back into their private carriage on the train, heading back toward New York. The carriage was spacious, fitted with rich velvet upholstery and dark, polished wood, providing a comfortable sanctuary from the world they had just left.
George, resting across from John and Elizabeth, looked over at Michael, who was staring out the window, lost in thought.
"So, what do you think?" George asked, his voice soft, a simple question about the evening's festivities.
Michael knew his father wasn't asking about the champagne or the music; he was asking about the true business of the ball.
"I think," Michael began, turning from the glass, "we need some of our own endorsed people in politics."
George blinked, momentarily speechless. He had asked a father's simple question about a social event, yet his son was delivering a political strategy. George simply shook his head, unable to process the abrupt shift in topic.
Mary laughed softly, looking warmly at Michael. "Michael is quite different from others, George."
Elizabeth looked at John. "John," she said, her voice quiet but firm, "I think we need to endorse some of the candidates in the next elections, both state and national."
John looked out the window, his expression hard and thoughtful. He knew that even the immense wealth they possessed was fragile without a shield.
He knew they couldn't endorse just anyone. For the strategy to work, they needed certainty—a way to know if a candidate's public words and their true intentions were one and the same. They needed Michael's gift to identify those genuinely suitable for their cause.
John turned his gaze from Elizabeth to Michael, his eyes asking the crucial question. "Michael, are you up to the task?"
Michael knew exactly what John was asking, and he returned a bright, confident smile. "Completely. That sounds like the most interesting thing."
*******
The private rail carriage delivered the Kingston family back to New York.
By February 1902, they secured the federal charter, and the Kingston National Bank was licensed. They had gained the license with ease because of their connections to Theodore Roosevelt's administration. Without that relationship, securing a national bank charter in a competitive environment would have taken a very long time. This confirmed their belief in the necessity of gaining political power.
With $3 million in starting capital, the Kingston Bank opened branches in New York City, New Jersey, Beaumont, Houston, Chicago, Los Angeles, San Francisco.
The Kingstons completed a crucial first step by successfully entering the banking industry.