Following Michael's meeting with the scientists, the Kingston Labs settled into a period of intense, arduous work. The sound-on-film project had begun in earnest, but the team knew it would take many more months before a stable, commercially viable prototype could be achieved.
As the scientists wrestled with vacuum pressures and light valves, the world outside spun violently.
April 1908 arrived, and with it, a great tragedy.
Michael stood alone on the highest, western-facing deck of his Boston residence, overlooking the harbor. He was dressed in a simple dark suit, his silhouette rigid against the smoky crimson glow dominating the sky to the northwest. The air, even miles away, was thick with soot and the sharp, metallic smell of combustion.
The Great Chelsea Fire of 1908 was raging. Fueled by a relentless forty-mile gale that whipped across the city, the fire had jumped rail tracks and roads, consuming everything in its path with terrifying speed. The gale had transformed the small conflagration into an elemental disaster, a hungry, living thing consuming the city's heart.
Michael watched the distant struggle with a grave, set look on his face, his expression betraying the immense frustration and helplessness that came with knowing the full scope of the disaster yet being unable to entirely stop the raw power of nature.
Three months earlier, during a seemingly innocuous visit to the industrial city of Chelsea, his gift had sounded a strong, insistent warning—a visceral certainty that a large-scale catastrophe was imminent in that specific area. An event large enough to impact an area that size could only mean a handful of situations: massive flooding, a devastating earthquake, a fire or a widespread epidemic. Knowing that he could not effectively prevent an epidemic, Michael immediately concentrated his efforts on preparing the city for a fire.
He had acted immediately, spending his own money and leveraging his industrial power in a preemptive intervention. The year before, Michael had quietly acquired the Knox Automobile Company, a small manufacturer of early commercial and utility vehicles, and merged it into Kingston Motors. The new division now manufactured heavy-duty, motorized fire trucks—a massive upgrade from the traditional, horse-drawn steam pumpers. Michael had donated twelve of these state-of-the-art motorized fire trucks to the Chelsea fire department. He had also invested significant capital into the wholesale refurbishment and maintenance of the area's fire water hydrants, ensuring they had the necessary pressure and flow to fight a massive blaze. He provided rigorous training to the fire department on the new equipment, ensuring every man knew exactly how to operate the machinery.
Yet, even with all these precautions, the sheer force of the forty-mile gale was something Michael could not counter. The wind propelled the flames through the crowded wooden tenements and industrial yards, and the fire roared past all man-made barriers.
Michael immediately called for his secretary and butler, Jack Cooper, who appeared moments later.
"Jack, contact Kingston Security Services immediately," Michael commanded, his voice cold and precise. "Deploy every available KSS personnel in the Boston region—approximately seventy to eighty men—to Chelsea now. They are to assist the Fire Department in dousing the flames and maintaining order. Move now."
Jack, seeing the intensity in Michael's eyes, nodded sharply and moved immediately to execute the orders.
He quickly placed the emergency call to the KSS Boston branch, knowing that almost one hundred men were available for immediate deployment.
It was hours later, after the last defiant embers had been beaten down, that Michael finally arrived in Chelsea. His metallic blue automobile was forced to a stop blocks away, unable to navigate the wreckage. He stepped out and walked toward the devastation, Jack Cooper trailing him silently.
The scale of the destruction was shocking. Where streets of wood and brick had stood, there was now only a vast, smoking ruin of ash, twisted metal, and shattered glass. The smell of burnt wood and coal tar was overwhelming.
Around the perimeter of the devastation stood the displaced citizens—the men, women, old, and young children who had lost everything. They were huddled in stunned silence, their faces illuminated by the eerie, faint glow of the dying heat. Some openly wept, tears carving paths through the soot on their cheeks. Others possessed a vacant, lifeless look, staring blankly at the ruin of their homes. Still others, exhausted, had only dried tears marking the end of their immediate grief. Crucially, Michael could hear the unmistakable sound of kids crying from hunger—a stark, visceral reminder of the immediate crisis.
Michael found a group of his men—the KSS personnel, their dark coats stained with water and ash—standing near a fire engine. He approached them first, nodding to them in acknowledgment of their efforts.
"Good work, gentlemen," Michael said quietly, then his gaze swept over the ruined landscape and the traumatized crowds once more. He sighed, the sound heavy in the smoky air.
"Mark Brown," Michael called out. A tall, mid-forties man in charge of the Kingston Security Services Boston branch stepped forward, wiping soot from his brow.
"Sir," Mark Brown replied, his voice rough.
"How much damage, Mark?" Michael asked, his eyes still on the horizon of loss.
"We contained it, sir, thanks to the motorized trucks and the water pressure. But the wind was too much. We estimate 8000 people lost their homes. About 2,000 buildings were burned, including homes, churches, libraries, and schools, leaving approximately 9,000 people homeless. The property damage is catastrophic, but it could have been far worse."
Parked behind Michael's car were several Kingston Motors trucks, already unloading wooden crates of food and blankets. Michael had not come empty-handed.
Michael pointed to the arriving trucks. "There will be more coming in hourly, Mark. Distribute that food immediately to the crowds and ensure the children are fed first. Use every available man."
"Yes, sir."
Michael waited, rigid with tension. "Casualties?"
Mark Brown shook his head. "The fire department confirmed it, sir. No people were killed. There were injuries, mostly burns and smoke inhalation, but no fatalities."
Michael let a slow, deep breath escape him, the sheer weight of relief settling heavily onto his shoulders. "No lives lost. That is a victory," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over the survivors. "The only one that matters."
(In the real history of the 1908 Chelsea fire, the damage was far more catastrophic, destroying 3,000 buildings, displacing over 15,000 people, and resulting in 18 fatalities.)
Michael's meticulous, costly preparations, had achieved what Michael intended. The newly acquired and maintained equipment, combined with the quick, decisive actions of the well-trained department, meant that the fire was fought at its core, and crucial evacuation routes remained open.
Michael turned back to Jack Cooper, his focus clipped and decisive, bringing his attention back to the present crisis. "Jack, the fire is out, but the work is just beginning. We will give whatever help is needed to the people of Chelsea."
Jack Cooper nodded instantly.
"Contact Kingston General Stores," Michael commanded. "Instruct them to clear the surplus goods from every warehouse in Massachusetts and send it immediately to Chelsea. We need makeshift tents, food, blankets, spare clothing, whatever can be spared."
Jack pulled out a small notebook and began listing the directives.
"Ask our flagship newspaper in Boston to run an advertisement tonight, asking for help from all neighboring counties and towns," Michael continued. "I will contact the family myself to arrange the same appeal in all Kingston-owned newspapers nationwide."
He pointed toward where trucks and vehicles were starting to stage. "Use Kingston Motors' vehicles, rent every available truck if you must, but goods must be transported without delay."
Michael turned back to the crowd, his final order ringing with absolute seriousness. "No man, woman, or child should die of hunger, exposure, or disease because of this fire. Ensure they are sheltered and fed."
Jack Cooper nodded, his mind working through the logistical complexity of the operation.
Jack Cooper nodded, his mind working through the logistical complexity of the operation.
Jack closed his notebook with a soft snap. "It will be done, Mr. Kingston."
As Michael turned to leave, heading back toward his car, Jack Cooper spoke, his voice lowered in a moment of personal questioning. "Sir, if I may. I know for a fact you can spare far more than what you will raise like this, and I know you want to give it. Why go through the trouble of the advertisements and the public appeal? Why not just provide the relief directly, and immediately?"
Michael stopped, looking at Jack, his gaze fixed on him. "Because, Jack, it is not only the rich man's duty to provide help; it is every human being's duty to help others within their means. If we simply write one large check now, they will expect the same next time, and they will blame us if the scale of the next disaster makes it impossible. We have to make people responsible for other people."
Jack Cooper's eyes widened slightly, absorbing the profound calculation that went into this.
Having served Michael for three years now, he is still trying to understand his employer completely.
He is young, but he possesses the weary wisdom of an old soul. He is ruthless when needed and yet profoundly kind. He is doing this not for publicity or because of self-righteousness, but simply because he cannot bear to see the pain and knows that it is the right thing to do. He is not just a great man, he is better - a good man.