James Monroe would consider himself an intelligent man. He was a politician, after all. Had been nearly his entire life. From Virginia to New York City, he quietly rose through the ranks.

James was quiet. Silent. Cold. Calculated. He observed and, when the time was right, he attacked. He wasn't as loud and abrasive with his ideas as others—such as Jefferson. He liked the man, may even go as far as to say he adored him, but he disagreed with his debating style. James actually quite liked everyone. All but one.

Alexander Hamilton. A man he believed to be two-faced and disgusting. Their animosity, while often political, easily turned personal. He hated Hamilton. But he wasn't one to downplay his enemies. He knew Hamilton was intelligent—scarily so. He'd go as far as to say he was one of the most intelligent men in the current government. And he wasn't "out there." He matched energy. Yell in his face, hed yell back. But sit back and watch, well, he would too. He was smart enough to grt his point across without giving his rivals a foothold. The man frightened him.

In front of Congress, which James was a part of, Hamilton was giving a speech to try and convince them to support his debt plan. He knew it was well put together, it very well might even work. But he figured it gave the centralized government too much power. As did everyone else.