After listening to his son, Alexander's first instinct was to jump to a hasty conclusion: Jack must have lost a fortune in New York. Otherwise, why would he return home so unexpectedly after three years away and start asking about the family's finances? And why ask for help now?
While his father was still assembling those assumptions in his head, Jack spoke again.
—Father, during my three years in New York… let me put it this way —Jack continued calmly— I've earned almost ten times more than you, my grandfather, and my great-grandfather earned combined over their entire lifetimes.
When the words finally sank in, Alexander shot to his feet, visibly shaken.
—Son, I thought I had raised you better. Your mother and I did not teach you to lie so blatantly —he said, raising his voice despite himself—. As a boy, you hated Braggart Johnson, the neighbor, more than anyone.
Braggart Johnson was a rancher from the adjoining land. His real name was William, but no one in the county used it. Ever since he once claimed to have had the best harvest in all of Texas—when he had barely managed to scrape by—the nickname had stuck to him like dust on boots. He bragged about his land, his cattle, and even about storms that, according to him, fell only on his property.
Jack let out a soft laugh.
—So how do I convince you otherwise, Dad? I'm not lying. I have no reason to.
Alexander stood in front of him, staring him down. A hard, steady look. Jack didn't look away or dodge it; he held it.
—I believe you.
The answer came immediately—firm, without hesitation. Alexander sat back down with a heavy motion, as if that single word had shut a door in his mind.
—You do?
—Of course. Do you think I don't know my own son? —he added, resting his forearms on his legs—. Besides, you have no reason to lie to me.
He lifted his gaze again, fixing his eyes on Jack with a seriousness that allowed no evasion.
—Now tell me… how exactly do you need my help?
Deep down, Alexander still hadn't fully accepted that absurd figure his son had mentioned. Making that much money in so little time sounded like a fantasy.
But his reasoning was simple, almost primitive. He was the father, Jack was his son, and a father always helps his son. Period.
Under that steady gaze, Jack took a deep breath, as if arranging his thoughts one last time.
Then he spoke.
—All right —Jack said, his voice low but firm— because what I'm about to tell you will decide not only my future… but the future of the entire Carter family.
The silence grew heavy.
Jack closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, breathing deeply, as if aligning invisible pieces inside his mind. When he opened them again, his gaze was no longer that of a son asking permission, but of a man who had made an irreversible decision.
—Father… —he continued— I'm going to become the most powerful man in this country.
Alexander frowned, about to interrupt him, but Jack didn't give him the chance.
—And you —he added, looking him straight in the eye— will be, in a few years, the President of the United States of America.
The words fell like a gunshot in a closed room.
Alexander didn't react immediately. He didn't laugh. He didn't shout. He just sat there, motionless, as if the air had thickened in his lungs.
Jack kept talking.
He explained his plan.
He spoke of structures, of influence, of political and economic timing. Of alliances that didn't yet exist and enemies who didn't yet know they were enemies. He broke down every step with calculated coldness—no embellishment, no unnecessary grandiosity.
An hour later—
Alexander's face was pale, almost ashen. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on some indeterminate point, as if trying to rearrange everything he thought he understood about his son.
—This… —he swallowed— this is not something that interests me, and your plan is extremely complicated. And, to be honest, I don't think I'm the right person for something like this.
Jack didn't hesitate for a second.
—Help me, Father —he said gravely—. In all of this, you're the only one I trust. Without you at the center of it, none of this will be possible.
Alexander slowly shook his head.
—Even if I say yes, there's still no guarantee it will work.
Silence settled between them.
The plan was outrageous, and he didn't like it.
Even then, part of Alexander still doubted everything his son had said, or whether he was even completely sane. But if Jack was telling the truth… then perhaps, in this country, his son really did need that kind of backing—and there was no one else who could provide it.
One shouldn't be fooled by Alexander Carter's appearance, as if he were just a stubborn Southern farmer from Texas. He had been one of the top graduates at Rice University. It was true that he had been admitted thanks to his father's recommendation—just like Jack—but that didn't take away from his merit.
Unlike most ranchers, Alexander understood that what his son was proposing was, at least in theory, possible.
As long as Jack had truly reached that level—where he could move industries and millions of dollars.
And as long as Alexander himself could rise to the occasion.
—As you said —Alexander finally spoke— we may not succeed or see it through to the end, and I don't know if you've lost your mind. But I wouldn't be a good father if I didn't support the dreams and plans of my only son… I'm willing to try, Jack.
He paused for a long, heavy moment.
—Thank you, Dad.
For the first time that night, Jack's voice let genuine emotion slip through. He stood and wrapped his arms around his father's broad, strong, almost bear-like torso.
—Hmph —Alexander grunted, not fully returning the embrace—. I don't promise it'll work, but I'll do what's in my power to make it work…
—You underestimate yourself, Dad. You have a better chance than you think.
And with that, the confidential conversation came to an end.
Alexander's footsteps echoed heavily as he left the safe room, watching his son head back to his bedroom. He closed the door behind him and walked to his own room.
The bedroom was spacious, with a small sitting area attached, furnished with a sofa and a television.
Emily, already in her pajamas, was watching TV. She stood up as soon as she saw him enter.
—Are you done talking? —she asked as her husband sat on the edge of the bed to take off his boots—. What was so important that you wouldn't even let me hear it?
She stepped closer and slipped her arm around his.
Alexander smiled softly.
—My dear… it seems we've given birth to an extraordinary man.
Emily froze, not fully understanding what her husband meant.
—…What?
—He told me a plan. An almost absurd one —he replied slowly— and, to be honest, with very slim chances of success. And he asked me to be part of it.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
—What plan? —Emily asked, now completely intrigued—. Why do you say it's impossible?
Alexander let out a low laugh and avoided answering.
—I'll tell you once I've digested it myself, because I still don't fully understand it. Can you help me get a bath ready? —he said as he started undressing.
Later, as he rested against the bathtub with his eyes half-closed and Emily gently scrubbing his back, the silence became comfortable, intimate—the kind that only exists after years of marriage.
Finally, Alexander spoke:
—Honey… Nicholson has been the Tarrant County Secretary for eight years now, right?
At her husband's abrupt question, Emily paused briefly before answering.
In the United States, counties function as second-level administrative units, below states and above cities and districts.
For a long time, they lacked a clear executive figure; power rested with administrative boards, a system that worked when the country was less complex.
However, with economic and population growth, that model became increasingly inefficient. To correct this, over the last decade states strengthened the role of the Commissioners Court, which acts as the county's general governing body. This court is responsible for key functions such as setting tax rates, approving the budget, managing public facilities, and hiring county officials.
The four commissioners, led by the county judge, each represent a district.
Nicholson held precisely that position in Tarrant County. He had been in office for eight years after serving two consecutive terms, and unlike the presidency, the law did not limit the number of reelections.
If he was capable and maintained popular support, he could remain there indefinitely.
Emily didn't understand why Alexander was bringing this up all of a sudden.
—Yes —she finally replied—. Two consecutive terms. And he's just started his campaign for a third.
In Tarrant County's case, the calendar aligned with the presidential cycle, though with a slight delay: the presidency was decided at the end of November; county elections were held in December.
It was August.
And the campaign in Tarrant was about to begin.
—Yes —she replied cautiously— because you're planning to support his reelection.
—No, I think I'm going to do the exact opposite, sweetheart.
Over the next two days, Jack truly lived the cowboy life.
On the first day, he worked alongside John, the cowboy in charge of herding, and more than a dozen ranch hands. From dawn on, they opened the corrals and pushed thousands of head of cattle and sheep toward the vast grazing lands, letting them roam freely under the open sky.
—If it were as easy as just letting them graze —John said, adjusting his hat as he watched the herd— anyone could be a rancher.
Jack adjusted the reins and gently spurred his horse.
—And yet, no one wants to get up before sunrise to do it.
John let out a rough laugh.
—That's for sure. Hey… —he glanced at him sideways— is it true that in New York they don't even know where milk comes from?
—Some of them think it's born in cardboard boxes —Jack replied evenly.
One of the cowboys farther back burst out laughing.
—So what did you do over there, huh? —John pressed on.
Jack looked toward the horizon as a herding dog closed off the right flank.
—Well, I actually run a company on Wall Street, and I've done pretty well. If you want me to help you make some money, I can help.
—Bah —John snorted— I don't trust those damn bankers. It's safer under my mattress.
—Whatever you say, John, but it wouldn't hurt to save for old age —Jack replied.
John clicked his tongue.
—I'll think about it. I've got some savings.
Jack and John had known each other their whole lives. He was his father's right-hand man, even though he was only ten years older, but he was loyal and took care of Iron River as if it were his own. That was why Jack hadn't hesitated to help him—people like John didn't like free money; they liked to earn it. Maybe he could set up a small fund for the workers, something extra they could save as a cushion.
The wind kicked up dust and the sun beat down on them. One of the ranch hands shouted from behind that a cow was breaking away.
Jack immediately turned his horse.
The work was monotonous, exhausting, and relentless. They spent hours on horseback or in vehicles, under a scorching sun and constant winds that never stopped lifting dust.
Without the help of dozens of perfectly trained herding dogs, a dozen men would never have been able to control such a tide of animals.
Before his rebirth, Jack had done that job countless times… and he had hated it, though there was a certain satisfaction in working himself to exhaustion.
Even so, he faced it again this time. And despite his excellent physical condition, he ended up completely spent.
On the third day, Jack stopped going out to the fields and spent the entire day resting at home. That same day, his parents left early for Austin. When he called, he told them he was planning to leave; his father explained they were in Austin visiting some friends and gave no further details.
—I'll be leaving tomorrow —Jack mentioned during the call.
Emily immediately snatched the phone from her husband.
—So soon? —she said, clearly displeased—. You just got here.
Mother and son talked for a while, until Alexander managed to get the phone back.
—Do whatever you want, just come visit us more often. Your mother misses you—don't make her sad —he grumbled in his usual tone, and hung up.
Jack smiled as he ended the call. His father was a man of few words.
He knew his father had taken that late-night conversation seriously… and that he was already acting on it.
So he decided to stay one more night.
On the morning of the fifth day, Jack had one of his employees drive him to the airport, accompanied by his bodyguards. The two Ford F-350s stayed at the ranch.
At Dallas–Fort Worth International Airport, a Delta Airlines Gulfstream G400 was waiting for him.
Among the four flight attendants, Jack recognized a familiar face.
Catherine Jones.
The blonde flight attendant who had flirted with him on a previous flight.
Seeing her again made an immediate impression.
When he boarded the plane, Jack smiled at her.
The other attendants didn't receive that gesture.
Catherine noticed… and confirmed she had made the right decision staying those extra days in Fort Worth, since she had specifically requested to be assigned to Jack's return flight.
Once in the air, Jack handed her a card.
—Hello, Catherine. This is my card —he said casually—. If you're willing to work for me, come before September to the thirtieth floor of the Tishman Building, on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.
He paused briefly.
—I think it could be an opportunity to change your life.
The surprise was evident, but Catherine reacted immediately.
—Of course, sir —she replied with a calm smile—. May I ask what I should do in the meantime?
Jack raised an eyebrow, satisfied.
—First tell me something… did you go to college?
—Yes —she answered without hesitation—. I'm from Los Angeles. I studied Business Economics and Psychobiology at UCLA.
That did surprise him.
UCLA was no ordinary university, and both degrees were demanding. If she was telling the truth, that woman was not only beautiful, but brilliant.
—Then —Jack said after a second— I suggest you start reading about corporate management.
—Understood —she replied.
Jack closed his eyes and fell asleep. Catherine brought him a glass of ice water and didn't disturb him again.
Two and a half hours later, the Gulfstream descended toward John F. Kennedy International Airport.
Before disembarking, Jack looked at Catherine again.
She returned his gaze with a gentle smile.
A VIP transport took him straight to the private exit, where David Jones from Amex, his driver Andy, Mrs. Ashman… and a stunning woman were waiting.
The beautiful, young Anne Hathaway.
When she saw him, Anne let out a small cry of excitement and ran toward him.
They met halfway. Anne leapt into his arms, wrapping her legs around him as naturally as she had so many times before in his apartment.