The week after the election passed in fragments that felt disconnected from the triumph they supposedly represented. Jimmy moved through Birmingham like someone observing his own life from distance, watching himself execute remaining operational tasks while feeling increasingly detached from their purpose.
Webb took office on October 18th, three days after the election. The ceremony was brief and bureaucratic—oath administered in Council Chambers, new councilman seated among colleagues who'd served for years, official photograph taken for newspapers.
Dr. Foster attended with several campaign volunteers. The Shelbys were conspicuously absent, maintaining the fiction of Webb's independence.
Jimmy watched from the public gallery as Webb took his seat in the council chamber where Jimmy had first observed Birmingham's political theater months ago. The teacher looked uncomfortable in formal attire, still adjusting to being Councilman Webb instead of Mr. Webb who taught arithmetic to Small Heath children.
The session itself was routine—procedural votes, budget discussions, the mundane machinery of municipal governance. Jimmy took notes mechanically, documenting how Webb voted on various measures.
Then came the motion about Small Heath school repairs—increased funding for building maintenance, classroom improvements, teacher resources. Everything Webb had campaigned on, everything that would actually help the children he'd spent fifteen years teaching.
Webb voted yes without hesitation, joining the narrow majority that approved the measure. His first official act as councilman was exactly what Jimmy had recruited him to do—helping working-class families through legitimate political channels.
The second significant vote came twenty minutes later—proposed revision to betting establishment regulations that would have benefited Shelby operations by reducing oversight requirements. Technical measure, barely discussed, the kind of insider legislation that passed regularly through procedural votes.
Webb voted no.
Jimmy felt the refusal like physical impact. The vote didn't matter practically—the measure passed anyway with comfortable majority. But symbolically, it demonstrated what Jimmy had claimed to want: genuine independence.
Webb wasn't puppet voting as directed. He was complicated ally making his own decisions.
Tommy would be furious. Or perhaps satisfied—he'd authorized "sustainable influence" rather than total control. Either way, Webb had proven he was exactly what the election had produced: independent politician with Shelby connections who'd vote his conscience even when it cost them.
Jimmy had achieved his stated goal perfectly. So why did success feel like defeat?
He left the gallery before the session concluded, unwilling to watch more evidence that his manipulation had produced exactly the complicated outcome he'd designed while somehow failing to achieve anything meaningful.
---
Ada's residence felt wrong when Jimmy arrived that afternoon—too warm, too welcoming, the comfortable space now tainted by knowledge of how thoroughly he'd violated the trust it represented.
She greeted him with genuine pleasure, pulling him into embrace before he could prepare defensive distance. "James! I was hoping you'd visit. I wanted to thank you."
"Thank me?" The words felt surreal.
"For protecting me from Tommy's anger. For giving me space to act on principle despite family pressure." Ada led him to the sitting room, making tea with her usual hospitality. "I know you reported my help to Winters. I know the family was furious. But you convinced Tommy to let me continue my Reform Club work, to maintain my political connections. That couldn't have been easy."
Jimmy accepted tea he didn't want, the cup warming his hands while ice settled in his chest. "You're welcome."
"I mean it." Ada settled across from him, her expression open and grateful. "You could have exposed me completely. Instead, you protected our friendship while managing family obligations. That takes real courage."
The irony was suffocating. Ada believed he'd protected their friendship. He'd actually manipulated her so thoroughly she thought her controlled betrayal was independent action, that her managed resistance was genuine heroism.
"Catherine performed brilliantly," Ada continued, unaware of Jimmy's internal devastation. "Thirty-one percent for an Independent candidate with minimal funding—that's remarkable achievement. She proved Birmingham wants genuine reform."
"Webb wanted genuine reform too."
"Webb wanted reform within constraints that serve Shelby interests. That's not the same thing." Ada's conviction was absolute. "Catherine was willing to challenge power structures directly. That's why I helped her, even knowing it would damage family relationships."
"You think your help made a difference?"
"I know it did. The strategic information I provided helped her campaign respond to Webb's positions, counter his advantages, position herself as more authentic alternative."
Ada's pride was visible, devastating. "I couldn't let the Shelbys corrupt Birmingham's government without opposition. Someone had to stand for principle."
Jimmy set down his tea, unable to maintain the pretense of casual conversation. "And you're satisfied with the outcome? Winters lost."
"She lost the election but won the moral argument. Sixty-five percent of Birmingham rejected Conservative tradition. That's progress, even if the victory went to a candidate with... complicated connections."
Ada smiled sadly. "I proved to myself that family loyalty and personal principle can coexist if you're brave enough to maintain both."
The statement nearly broke Jimmy's composure entirely. Ada believed she'd proven principle and family could coexist. She had no idea that her "principle" had been manipulated to serve family interests, that her "resistance" had been managed by the friend she trusted absolutely.
"You're proud of yourself," Jimmy said quietly.
"I am. I stood for what's right despite consequences. I helped a genuinely good candidate while maintaining family relationships. I proved you don't have to choose between loyalty and conscience—you can honor both through courage and careful management."
The words were knives. Every statement revealed how completely Jimmy had deceived her, how thoroughly his manipulation had succeeded.
Ada's conscience was clear because he'd constructed a version of reality where her actions appeared heroic while actually serving the purposes she'd opposed.
He'd protected her by denying her the truth. Saved her by making her believe a lie that satisfied her moral sense while violating it completely.
"I'm grateful for our friendship, James." Ada reached across to squeeze his hand, the gesture carrying genuine affection. "You understand that principle matters. You proved it by protecting my ability to act on mine, even when it complicated your work for Tommy. That's what real friendship looks like—supporting each other's integrity even when it creates difficulties."
Jimmy couldn't speak. If he opened his mouth, he'd tell her everything—how he'd manipulated her resistance, controlled her "independent" actions, used her idealism as tool for achieving the outcomes she'd tried to prevent.
How her heroism had been his manipulation, her moral clarity his strategic weapon.
But telling the truth would destroy her. She'd lose her pride in maintaining principles, her satisfaction at standing for what's right, her belief that courage and principle could coexist with family loyalty.
She'd learn that everything she valued about her choices had been violation disguised as victory.
So Jimmy said nothing. He squeezed her hand in return, accepted her gratitude for manipulation he'd disguised as protection, and left before the guilt became visible.
Walking back to Small Heath through Birmingham's afternoon smoke, Jimmy felt something fundamental break inside himself. He'd achieved perfect outcome for Ada—she was safe, her conscience clear, her principles apparently maintained.
She believed she'd resisted successfully while actually being controlled completely.
That was the cruelest thing he'd ever done. Not because it harmed her, but because it denied her reality so thoroughly she'd never know she'd been violated. Because it meant her satisfaction was based on lie he'd constructed, and maintaining that satisfaction required him to never tell the truth.
He'd saved her by destroying her ability to understand what she'd been saved from.
Intelligence without empathy. Protection through deception. Love expressed as violation.
This was what winning looked like when you thought three moves ahead and realized every move required destroying pieces of people you claimed to care about.
---
Polly found Jimmy in his corner office at the betting shop late that evening, staring at notes he wasn't actually reading. She closed the door and sat across from him without invitation.
"You're wondering if you're a monster," she said.
Not a question. Jimmy set down his pen. "Am I?"
"That depends. What do you think monsters do?"
"Hurt people. Destroy lives. Operate without conscience."
"Then no, you're not a monster. Monsters don't feel guilt." Polly lit a cigarette, studying him through the smoke. "You feel guilty because you've manipulated everyone you care about while calling it protection. That's not monstrosity. That's tragedy."
"What's the difference?"
"Monsters don't ask that question." Polly tapped ash into the tray. "You've spent three months treating people like chess pieces. Tommy thinks he got partial victory—you managed his expectations. Webb thinks he maintained independence—you guided his education.
Ada thinks she acted on principle—you controlled her resistance. Catherine Winters thinks she ran honest campaign—you shaped the battlefield. Everyone believes their own version of reality. Only you know the truth."
"I protected them. Achieved outcomes that satisfied everyone's needs."
"You treated them like children who couldn't handle reality, so you constructed realities they could handle. That's not protection, Jimmy. That's playing God."
Polly's voice was sharp but not unkind. "You decided what truth each person could bear, then manipulated circumstances to make your version of their truth feel real."
"The alternative was destroying them. Ada would've been exiled. Webb would've withdrawn and accomplished nothing. Section D would've continued undermining us unopposed."
"Maybe. Maybe exile and failure are consequences people deserve for their choices. Maybe protecting people from consequences is just another form of control."
Polly leaned forward. "You asked if you're a monster. Wrong question. Right question is: have you lost the ability to see people as anything except variables to be managed?"
Jimmy had no answer. Because he wasn't sure anymore. When he looked at Ada, he saw strategic asset to be controlled. When he evaluated Webb, he calculated independence within manageable parameters.
When he considered Section D, he planned their manipulation three moves ahead.
People had become problems. Emotions had become tactics. Relationships had become leverage.
"I saved them," Jimmy said finally.
"You denied them reality. Ada's conscience is clear because she doesn't know you manipulated her. Webb's satisfied because he thinks his choices were his own. That's not salvation, Jimmy. That's cruelty disguised as care."
Polly stubbed out her cigarette. "The worst part is you've convinced yourself it's acceptable because outcomes are good. That strategic success justifies human violation."
"What should I have done?"
"Maybe told the truth. Maybe accepted that some problems don't have solutions that satisfy everyone. Maybe chosen which principle mattered most and lived with consequences honestly."
Polly stood, preparing to leave. "Instead, you created perfect outcomes through manipulation so subtle victims never realized they were victims. That's brilliant. Also monstrous. The fact that you can be both is what makes this tragedy instead of simple villainy."
She paused at the door. "Be careful, Jimmy. You've proven intelligence can solve any problem. But you're losing what makes intelligence worth having—empathy, conscience, humanity. You're becoming exactly what you manipulate: a piece in someone else's game. Except you're playing against yourself."
After she left, Jimmy sat alone in his office surrounded by evidence of successful operations. Webb's election victory. Ada's managed betrayal. Section D's neutralization. Tommy's political foothold.
Every goal achieved through strategic brilliance.
Every person violated through manipulation they'd never recognize.
Polly was right. He wasn't a monster. Monsters didn't feel guilt about destruction they caused.
He was something worse—intelligent enough to recognize what he was doing, strategic enough to do it perfectly, broken enough to convince himself it was acceptable.
---
Mrs. Price's kitchen was warm and quiet when Jimmy arrived near ten o'clock, the boarding house settled for the night. She was knitting by lamplight, the rhythmic clicking of needles providing soundtrack to the peaceful space.
She looked up as he entered, gesture to the empty chair without speaking. Jimmy sat, accepting the tea she poured from the pot she'd apparently been keeping warm for him.
"You look terrible, cariad."
"I feel terrible."
"Good. That means you haven't lost yourself completely." Mrs. Price returned to her knitting, the needles clicking steadily. "You've been avoiding me since the election. Afraid of what I'd say about your victory?"
"Afraid you'd see what I've become."
"I already see it. Question is whether you do." She set down her knitting, giving him full attention. "Tell me what's bothering you. Not the strategic complications. The human ones."
So Jimmy told her. About manipulating Ada into controlled betrayal while letting her believe she'd maintained principles. About guiding Webb into independence he'd carefully designed. About managing everyone's reality so thoroughly they'd never know they'd been played.
About achieving perfect outcomes through perfect deception.
Mrs. Price listened without interrupting, letting him empty everything accumulated since the election.
"You saved them by spending yourself," she said when he finished. "That's the cost you've been avoiding acknowledging. You protected everyone else by sacrificing pieces of your own humanity you'll never recover."
"Was it worth it?"
"Only you can answer that. Can you live with what you've become?"
Jimmy stared at his tea. "I don't know. I look at Ada's satisfaction and feel sick that it's based on lie I constructed. I watch Webb vote independently and feel empty that his independence is within parameters I established. I've achieved everything I planned, and it feels like I've lost everything that matters."
"That's because you have." Mrs. Price's voice was gentle but firm. "You've proven you can manipulate anyone into any outcome. You've demonstrated that intelligence can triumph over every obstacle. You've solved impossible problems through strategic brilliance.
And in the process, you've lost the ability to connect with people honestly, to let them make their own mistakes, to accept that some problems don't have clever solutions."
"So I'm evil?"
"No, love. You're brilliant and isolated. Those often go together." She poured more tea with steady hands. "Evil requires intention to harm. You intended to protect. But protection through deception costs your own soul. You saved them by spending yourself."
"Then I should feel good about the sacrifice."
"Should you? Or should you grieve for the person you were before you learned to treat love as leverage?" Mrs. Price returned to her knitting. "You asked if the cost was worth it. I'll tell you this—Ada's sleeping peacefully tonight, proud of her principles.
Webb's planning his first council initiatives, satisfied with his complicated independence. Tommy's expanding his legitimate operations, pleased with sustainable influence. Everyone you manipulated is happy."
"And I'm miserable."
"Because you're the only one who knows the truth. You carry knowledge they'll never have. That's the burden of your cleverness—seeing connections, controlling outcomes, living alone with understanding nobody else possesses."
Mrs. Price's needles clicked rhythmically. "You can't share that burden without destroying the people you protected. So you carry it alone. Forever."
The words settled over Jimmy like Birmingham's smoke. He'd saved everyone by denying them truth. The cost was living alone with that truth permanently.
"Can I come back?" he asked quietly. "From what I've become? Can I learn to see people as people again instead of variables to be managed?"
"I don't know, cariad. You've trained yourself to think strategically for so long that genuine emotion might feel foreign now. You've convinced yourself that manipulation is protection until the distinction disappeared."
Mrs. Price looked up from her knitting, her expression sad. "The question is whether you want to come back, or whether you've accepted that this is who you are now. The brilliant strategist who achieves perfect outcomes while living alone with the cost."
Jimmy had no answer. Because he wasn't sure anymore whether the person he'd been before joining the Shelbys still existed, or whether that person had been gradually replaced by the manipulator who'd emerged through months of choosing strategy over empathy.
He finished his tea and stood to leave. Mrs. Price squeezed his hand as he passed.
"I love you anyway, James. Even knowing what you've become. Even seeing how you've lost yourself in the cleverness. Just remember—you can fool everyone else, but you can't fool your own mirror. Eventually, you'll have to face the person looking back."
Walking back to his room, Jimmy felt the weight of isolation more acutely than ever. Mrs. Price was right. He'd saved everyone by spending himself.
And the spending was permanent.
---
The cemetery was quiet near midnight, Birmingham's industrial sounds muted by distance and late hour. Jimmy walked through familiar rows toward Mary's grave, the path worn by months of regular visits that had become less frequent as political operations consumed his time.
Her headstone gleamed in moonlight filtering through smoke, the inscription he'd read hundreds of times still carrying emotional weight: Mary Elizabeth Cartwright, 1897-1917. Beloved Sister. Lost Too Soon.
Jimmy knelt beside the grave, pulling weeds that had grown since his last visit weeks ago. The maintenance felt like penance for neglect, for being so consumed by political manipulation that he'd forgotten the person whose death had started everything.
"I won," he told the headstone. "Destroyed Chandler. Achieved political power for the family. Used the same methods you died opposing—manipulation, deception, strategic thinking that treats people like problems to be solved. You'd be horrified by what I've become. Or maybe proud? I honestly don't know anymore."
The grave offered no response. Mary had been dead six years, her ghost quiet since Chandler's destruction. The revenge that had driven Jimmy's integration into the Shelbys was complete, justice achieved through the elaborate con that exposed Chandler's crimes.
But standing at her grave after the election, Jimmy realized Mary's ghost had been replaced by different haunting.
"You believed in principle above all else," he continued. "Ada inherited that from you—same absolute conviction that right and wrong matter more than pragmatism. And I controlled her principles to achieve practical outcomes. Used her idealism as weapon while letting her believe she was acting heroically. What does that make me?"
Still no answer. Mary was at peace. The sister who'd died discovering corruption, who'd tried to expose theft and been murdered for her integrity—she was settled, avenged, honored.
Jimmy wasn't haunted by Mary's ghost anymore. He was haunted by the ghost of who he'd been before he became this—before he learned to manipulate everyone while calling it protection, before he convinced himself that intelligence without empathy was acceptable, before he became the person who could violate Ada's trust while claiming to save her.
"I miss being the person who believed intelligence without empathy was incomplete," Jimmy said quietly. "Now I'm intelligence without empathy. And I'm very good at it. So good that I can justify anything through strategic rationalization."
The cemetery was silent except for distant factory sounds and Birmingham's eternal smoke. Jimmy had come here regularly after joining the Shelbys, telling Mary about his progress, his integration, his successes.
The visits had been comfort and confession, maintaining connection to the person he'd been before criminal employment complicated everything.
But tonight, standing at her grave after achieving everything he'd planned, Jimmy realized the visits had become less frequent not because he was busy, but because facing Mary's memory meant facing the gap between who he'd been and who he'd become.
The person who'd mourned his sister had believed in justice through legitimate means, in helping people without violating them, in maintaining principles even when pragmatism seemed easier.
That person would be horrified by what Jimmy had become—the manipulator who treated love as leverage, who solved problems by denying people's reality, who achieved perfect outcomes through perfect deception.
"I'm sorry," Jimmy said finally. "For using your death to justify becoming someone you'd despise. For avenging you by becoming the kind of person who'd manipulate his closest friend while claiming to protect her. You deserved better than being the justification for my transformation into exactly what you fought against."
He stood, brushing dirt from his trousers, preparing to leave. The regular visits would become even less frequent now—not because Mary was at peace, but because Jimmy couldn't face the comparison between who he'd been and who he'd become.
Mary's ghost was quiet, settled, at rest.
But Jimmy was haunted by the ghost of his former self. The person who'd believed intelligence should serve humanity rather than manipulate it. The person who'd thought strategy and conscience could coexist.
The person who'd joined the Shelbys seeking revenge and found family, before learning that family required him to become someone his former self wouldn't recognize.
That ghost would haunt him forever. Not the sister he'd lost, but the person he'd been before loss taught him that survival required sacrificing the principles that made survival meaningful.
Walking out of the cemetery through Birmingham's smoke and shadows, Jimmy felt the isolation settle permanently. He'd saved everyone by spending himself. Achieved perfect outcomes through perfect manipulation.
Proven that intelligence could triumph over every obstacle.
And he'd lost the ability to explain to anyone—even himself—why the victory felt like defeat.
Mary was at peace. Jimmy was not.
The blood kept seeping somewhere, whether from butcher shops or moral compromises or the space between who you were and who you became.
The important thing was maintaining the illusion that surfaces were clean.
That was Jimmy's specialty, after all.
Making everything look perfect while corruption festered underneath.
Including himself.