Marvel 1919 : Rise of an Empire

Don't worry, you'll get a good chapter, alright. I ain't cutting corners

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Time passed quickly, and by April, the crisp spring air had returned to Cambridge. George had buried himself in university affairs—deep in discussion with professors, exchanging ideas in seminars, testing theories against others' work. These weren't idle debates; George was deliberately consolidating the massive amount of technical and medical knowledge he'd absorbed in solitude.

He spent very little time attending to his business ventures. That was by design. When George acquired new companies, he kept their founders on board—people like Boeing and Duran, who were already pioneers in their fields. It was a strategic move: they were far better at day-to-day operations than he was currently, and keeping them in charge freed him to focus on bigger priorities.

One morning, George received an official notice from the university: the penicillin patent certificate had arrived. It had to be collected in person.

He paused for a moment, letting the weight of it settle in. This had been one of the main reasons he'd joined the university in the first place. Now, with the certificate in hand, he couldn't help but feel a ripple of satisfaction. This wasn't just another business win—it was a legacy-defining moment. Even with everything else he owned, this was going to change medicine.

The following day, MIT's president personally invited George to a formal celebration.

The evening banquet was held in a richly adorned hall, softly lit with crystal chandeliers and polished wooden floors. As George entered, the president and Professor Osborn walked straight toward him, shaking his hand with warm smiles. Their approach drew the attention of the crowd. Conversations slowed, and eyes followed.

The president stepped up onto a small raised platform and tapped his glass.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight's celebration at MIT. Please join me in recognizing the work of Professor Osborn's research team—and Mr. George Orwell, whose extraordinary contribution has brought global attention to this institution."

Polite applause followed. George raised his glass in acknowledgment, standing alongside Osborn and the others.

"Let's enjoy the evening," the president concluded. "You've earned it."

As the crowd dispersed into mingling clusters, George moved through a sea of handshakes and congratulations. Near the back of the room, he spotted a familiar face—Henry Sturgis Morgan. Henry was accompanied by a young woman in a pearl-white dress.

George made his way over.

"Henry. I didn't expect to see you here tonight. Good evening, miss," George said with a polite nod, raising his glass.

"Congratulations, George," Henry said. "I came to celebrate your patent win. Figured I should see it for myself."

"Appreciate that," George replied.

Henry grinned. "But I notice you're solo tonight. No one on your arm?"

George laughed. "Come on. I'm not even eighteen yet. No need to give the press anything to chew on."

"Well then," Henry said, motioning to the young woman beside him, "let me introduce my sister—Ginny Morgan. She just started at Harvard."

George turned and gently took her hand, kissing it lightly. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Morgan."

"Likewise," Ginny replied, smiling with an air of ease that suggested she was used to such attention but not particularly fazed by it.

The three of them drifted toward a quieter corner, where they could hear themselves over the music. Ginny was sharp, asking George about the ethical implications of controlling a life-saving drug and whether the university had pushed back on the patent.

By the end of the evening, she and George had exchanged contact details, and she invited him to visit her at Harvard sometime. George didn't mind the idea one bit.

Still, he wasn't naive. Henry didn't come to this banquet just for the champagne.

With the patent secured, the Rockefeller and Morgan families had already reached out. George's invention held vast commercial and strategic value, especially in wartime conditions. Antibiotics could save millions, and whoever controlled them would shape international policy, not just healthcare.

George had long understood that monopolizing everything was dangerous—public sentiment could turn fast. So he did what any long-game strategist would: share control, but only just enough.

The next morning, George and Henry returned to New York. Henry's father handled the formal discussions, while George remained the majority stakeholder and main technical contributor.

The resulting deal was clean. They formed a new pharmaceutical company. George would provide the patent, future R&D direction, and maintain a 60% equity stake. Rockefeller would handle staffing and labs, worth 25%. The Morgans, in turn, funded the manufacturing infrastructure, worth 15%.

In return, George offered both families minor shares in his existing holdings—Standard Oil and United Steel. Just enough to align their interests, not enough to threaten his control.

Daily operations were delegated to Rockefeller and Morgan representatives. George kept one hand on the tiller, but let them row.

He also insisted on one specific clause: George alone would control all overseas licensing for Asia and Europe, specifically Britain. Neither family objected. The money would still flow, and they knew better than to challenge the visionary who saw the future before they did.

While final documents were still in the works, George received another report—this time from his exploration team.

They'd struck oil.

After days of drilling, the engineers had noted thicker and thicker oil slicks. Eventually, their instruments confirmed it: a new field, possibly massive.

Henry Morgan stared at the figures and shook his head, laughing dryly.

"What a pity. Looks like Rockefeller gets to win again."

George gave a noncommittal smile. He already knew it would happen. As a transmigrator, he'd scouted and secured that exact site before anyone else could even look at it—when it was still untouched grassland—using predictive knowledge of future geology, early mineral indicators. Today and in the future, it will be worth more than anyone could have imagined.

Henry looked at him sideways. "How the hell do you keep doing this?"

George just shrugged. "Sometimes the dirt just works in your favor."

The comment earned a chuckle, but the truth ran deeper than anyone there could see.