Rivalry.

Guest and Thomas Jefferson—two minds that could never harmonize, forever caught in dissonance. Opposites not only in thought, but in temperament, vision, and voice. Yet there was one flame they both fanned with equal passion: their shared hatred for each other.

What began as petty bickering evolved into full-fledged debates, echoing like thunderclaps through the hallowed halls of power. Cabinet meetings became battlegrounds. A single disagreement was all it took to ignite another storm.

It was exhausting.

Not only for them, but for every poor soul caught in the crossfire. President Washington’s patience wore thin. Alexander Hamilton, already high-strung, was at his wit’s end. Aaron Burr’s silence grew heavier. James Madison, perpetually torn, found little solace. Even the staff tiptoed through the tension like ghosts in a war zone.

So—Washington came up with a solution, one that neither of them could disagree with. A room. Four walls. One table. Two chairs. And no exit until some semblance of peace was forged.

There they sat—Jefferson and rein, each facing the other like reluctant players in a game they never agreed to join.

Thomas leaned back, eyes narrowing, and with a familiar mixture of disdain and theatrical sighing, scoffed.

"This is stupid..."

he muttered, barely hiding his exasperation.

"If you just didn't make a fuss over everything I say, we wouldn't be here."