February 1901 marked the official commencement of the Kingston family's next ambitious endeavor : the construction of their towering skyscraper. The groundbreaking ceremony was a significant event, attracting considerable attention. The newly elected Vice President, Theodore Roosevelt, himself a figure of immense public fascination, graced the occasion to lay the cornerstone. This garnered significant media coverage, sparking genuine interest and excitement around the project and its audacious scale.
The Kingstons shrewdly used this platform to publicize Henry Grey's revolutionary wide-flange steel beams, highlighting their superior strength and efficiency as the very foundation upon which this record-breaking structure would be built. Advertisements appeared in their own New York Inquirer and other prominent newspapers.
By April, the Kingston family had settled into a new, expansive residence in the heart of Greenwich Village. Their decision to relocate from their previous home was driven by a growing need for enhanced security, necessitated by their increasing wealth and the expanding number of personnel now part of their household. They chose Greenwich Village for its unique location, offering convenient proximity to John and George's offices in Wall Street, while also providing a more tranquil and private atmosphere compared to the bustling Upper West Side, which was increasingly becoming a haven for the city's wealthiest families.
Their new mansion is a sprawling three-story building boasting an impressive 30,000 square feet of living space. The mansion featured thirteen generously sized bedrooms, a well-appointed home office for John and George, a large function room suitable for hosting gatherings, a state-of-the-art kitchen, ample storage, and separate staff quarters to accommodate their now twenty-person household. This included four dedicated bodyguards, who worked in shifts to ensure round-the-clock security. The house also included a quiet study for Elizabeth and Mary, a gymnasium, and a sizable back garden offering a private green oasis in the bustling city.
It was in the mansion's new gymnasium that an interesting scene now unfolded. The gymnasium was a space normally utilized by the Kingstons' bodyguards to maintain their fitness, and occasionally by John and George for exercise. But today, it was reserved for a special purpose: Michael was holding his regular sparring session. Roughly one month prior, Michael had approached John, expressing a keen interest in learning how to fight. John, seeing his son's interest, had tasked Seamus, the head of the newly formed Kingston Security Agency, with arranging a suitable instructor.
Kingston Security Agency, having been formally registered only recently in February of 1901, and providing its security services exclusively to the Kingston family without generating any external income in the prior year, was therefore not included in the family's financial reports for 1900.
However, by April 1901, the agency had rapidly grown, with nearly sixty security personnel and bodyguards now stationed across the various Kingston properties. Recruitment efforts were still actively underway to further expand their ranks. Having secured their registration and licenses in February, Kingston Security also began offering its professional services to external clients starting this very month of April, marking their official entry into the security services market.
The rhythmic thud of bodies hitting the padded floor echoed through the gym as Michael and Robert engaged in their sparring session. This was no formal martial arts practice; Robert, drawing on his military training, primarily utilized wrestling techniques – powerful holds, takedowns, and grappling maneuvers. Michael, on the other hand, fought with a raw, scrappy energy, using anything and everything at his disposal: quick twists, sudden pushes, and leveraging his lower center of gravity.
Around the perimeter of the gym, John, George, Mary, and Elizabeth watched with a mixture of amusement and pride, offering words of encouragement to Michael. Several other bodyguards, off-duty but maintaining a watchful presence, also observed the session, alongside a few members of the household staff who had paused their chores to witness the young Michael sparring. "That's it, Michael! Move your feet!" John called out. "Good block, dear! Keep going!" Mary added, her voice laced with supportive concern. Seamus stood with his arms crossed, observing Michael's progress with a keen, analytical eye.
The intensity of the sparring picked up. Robert, towering at 6 feet and weighing a solid 185 pounds (approximately 84 kilograms) of pure muscle, managed to maneuver Michael to the mat. With a grunt, Robert shifted, his considerable weight settling squarely on Michael's chest. Michael, though standing tall for his eleven years at 5 feet 6 inches, looked small in comparison to Robert, weighing in at just 114 pounds (approximately 52 kilograms). Yet, despite the significant size and strength difference, this was no easy match. After nearly a month of dedicated training, Michael was surprisingly agile and determined, able to hold his ground against the far more experienced fighter. Robert pinned both of Michael's arms above his head, a classic wrestling hold that usually signaled surrender. A hush fell over the small audience as it seemed the match was over.
But Michael, though momentarily winded, was far from defeated. With a sudden burst of energy, fueled by sheer determination, he bucked his hips upwards with all his might, momentarily throwing Robert off balance. Simultaneously, he twisted his torso sharply and brought one knee up, using the leverage to create just enough space to slip one arm free. Before Robert could fully recover, Michael used his freed arm to push against Robert's shoulder, creating enough momentum to roll them both over.
"Alright, that's enough for now," Seamus's voice boomed, cutting through the air. He stepped forward, his gaze steady. "Good effort, Michael. Robert, well done." He offered a curt nod to both, effectively bringing the sparring session to a close.
As the sparring ended, Seamus approached the Kingston family, who were gathered by the edge of the gym.
"How did he do?" John asked, a hint of pride in his voice.
Seamus looked thoughtful for a moment. "Has Michael ever been in a fight before?"
Elizabeth frowned, "No, of course not."
"Why do you ask?" Mary inquired, her gaze turning slightly concerned.
Seamus shrugged slightly. "Just the way he fights... it's like a small guy who's been in a lot of fights. What strikes me is his composure. He isn't flustered in the least, which is unusual for someone with no fighting experience. There's a certain intensity about him, a feeling that he's holding something tightly within."
The whole family exchanged confused glances. They had never witnessed Michael display such raw aggression or anger.
Seamus chuckled, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Or maybe," he said, "he's just a genius. He seems to be good at everything else."
The family laughed, relieved, and echoed Seamus's playful sentiment. "Yes, perhaps he's just a natural at this too," John agreed.
But Seamus's initial observation was closer to the truth than they could have imagined.
In his dreams, Michael, as Dean, had experienced a world consumed by relentless war. From the tender age of eight, standing at a small 4 feet tall, Dean had been forced to fight for survival on the streets. His father, a soldier, returned home after three long years, bearing the scars of war, a missing leg a constant reminder of the conflict. Dean, just ten at his father's return, had spent those years helping his mother with his gift of prediction. Even with foresight, many confrontations were unavoidable.
A country at war bred lawlessness, and Dean, a skinny eight-year-old who grew to be a still-small 4 feet 4 inches eleven-year-old, had to either fight off older boys for scraps or pay them for safety. One unexpected advantage of his gift was the almost preternatural ability to sense an attack before it landed, allowing him to avoid the worst of it. It demanded lightning-fast reactions, but the sheer necessity of those street fights had honed his reflexes to an incredible degree. By the time Dean was eleven, he was frequently facing off against older, more experienced brawlers, each encounter etching a certain grim determination and underlying intensity into his very being.
Now, Michael was instinctively drawing upon these deeply ingrained reflexes during his sparring sessions with Robert, using each opportunity to consciously sharpen the fighting instincts that lingered from his dreams of Dean's past.