novelnext Chapter 125 The Egg Without a Crack
Chapter 125 The Egg Without a Crack
Chapter 125 The Egg Without a Crack
The red-brick office building next to Pittsburgh City Hall now bears a sign that reads "Senator John Murphy's Campaign Headquarters".
This used to be the office of a bankrupt logistics company. Now, dozens of phones are ringing incessantly as volunteers, wearing headsets, repeat their memorized campaign rhetoric into the microphones.
On the huge map of Pennsylvania on the wall, red and blue markers were densely packed.
Karen Miller stood in front of the map, her finger tracing invisible battle lines across it.
"The situation is very deadlocked."
Karen's voice was calm.
"We're very stable in the West, in Allegheny County, Beaver County, and Westmoreland County, the heartland of steel and coal, where Murphy's approval rating is over 60 percent."
"The union played a role, and Leo's endorsement is hard currency here."
The finger moved eastward, crossing the Appalachian Mountains, and stopped in the densely populated area along the Delaware River.
"But here in Philadelphia, and in the surrounding Montgomery, Bucks, and Chester counties, that's Aston Monroe's backyard, where he also has a 60 percent approval rating."
"Those highly educated suburban middle-class people, those white-collar workers in the finance and pharmaceutical industries, they buy into Monroe's approach."
"Monroe not only has money, he also has the media. Philadelphia's television stations and newspapers are reporting on this modern designer every day, portraying him as the hope for Pennsylvania's future."
Karen's finger finally stopped in the middle of the map.
It was a vast, sparsely populated area known as Pennsylvania’s T-shaped area.
Here are countless dilapidated towns, vast farmlands, and forgotten industrial ruins.
"The T-zone, Russell Warren's absolute territory, where he held sway for a full thirty years. To the voters there, Warren was more than just a senator; he was a symbol, a defender of a way of life."
"He represented gun rights, Sunday churches, and underground coal. He drank with the miners, attended the farmers' funerals, and his name was even printed on the water dispensers in those towns."
Ethan looked up at Leo, his tone stern.
"We're trying to storm a heavily armed fortress. In that wasteland, Murphy is a complete stranger, a big-city, all-talking Democratic politician."
"In the local people's ingrained perception, Democrats meant closing mines, taking away guns, and condescending preaching. Warren used this 30-year-old cultural divide to build a high wall."
"Data models show that, barring a miracle, Murphy's vote share in the West will be completely overwhelmed by Philadelphia's population advantage and the Red Sea in the middle, and our chances of winning are currently less than 30%. This is indeed very difficult, extremely difficult."
Leo sat on the sofa in the corner, holding the day's newspaper in his hand.
On the front page of the newspaper, Aston Monroe is seen cutting the ribbon at Philadelphia's brand-new biotechnology park, his smile confident and elegant, surrounded by countless elites.
“We’ve known for a long time that Monroe is rich. We’ve known that Warren is powerful.” Leo closed the newspaper and tossed it aside. “But money can’t buy trust, and seniority can’t keep out hunger. What the people in those small towns need is a feeling, a feeling that someone really cares about their lives.”
Leo stood up and clapped his hands.
"So we don't have time to lament how difficult the situation is; we need to get to work immediately."
"Get Murphy's statewide speaking tour going as soon as possible. Let him go to those forgotten corners, shake hands, make promises, and turn our five hundred million dollars into hope in their eyes."
The work continued until late at night.
When the last volunteer left, the clock had already struck one in the morning.
The intense mental work has pushed everyone's nerves to their limits, and they desperately need an outlet to release the pressure.
"Let's go." Leo stood up, grabbed his coat from the back of the chair, and said, "Let's get a drink. I know a place nearby that's still open."
Thirty minutes later.
Four figures slipped into an underground bar two blocks away from the city hall.
The lighting was dim, the floor felt sticky underfoot, and a jukebox in the corner was playing country music from decades ago.
They found a booth at the very back and sat down.
The waitress was a burly middle-aged woman. Without asking what the group wanted to drink, she brought over four pitchers of golden beer and a plate piled high with fried onion rings.
Leo loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt.
He picked up the heavy mug of beer and took a big gulp.
The icy, bitter, foamy liquid rushed down my throat and into my stomach, sending a comfortable shiver down my spine.
"ha-
—
Leo let out a long sigh and leaned back against the somewhat damaged leather backrest.
"To be honest, although being mayor feels good, sometimes I really miss those days."
Leo looked at his three companions across the table.
"There is only one enemy, only one goal. There's no need to worry about whether the sewers are clogged, whether the garbage truck is broken, or arguing with that old stubborn Moretti in the office over a few tens of thousands of dollars in budget."
"Electing a campaign is like hunting: simple, direct, and exciting."
"And governing—" Leo shook his head, "governing is like planting rice in a swamp. You have to bend over, your feet are covered in mud, and you're always worried about leeches biting your legs."
Sarah smiled.
She casually tied her long hair behind her head, picked up an onion ring, and stuffed it into her mouth.
"Come on, Mr. Mayor, you're a big shot now. Yesterday, my cousin who's in real estate asked me if I could get your autograph. He said getting his daughter into that public daycare is harder than getting a spot at Harvard."
Sarah's tone was teasing.
"But I also miss those days. Back then, we had nothing, just living in that dilapidated prefab house, and we felt like we could change the world."
Now that we're truly changing the world, we feel exhausted.
"The endless stream of trivial matters can really wear down a person's enthusiasm."
Under the influence of alcohol, Ethan also seemed to relax a bit.
"That's the price of power, folks." Ethan picked up his beer and took a sip. "When I was in Washington, I saw a lot of passionate young people. They came to Capitol Hill with a gleam in their eyes, and after two or three years, that gleam would be gone."
"They've become the kind of bureaucrats they used to hate, only concerned with procedures and rules every day."
"Leo hasn't changed at least," Ethan said, looking at Leo. "The way he slammed his fist on the table in Moretti's office is still the same old bastard."
Everyone laughed.
Karen didn't smile; she held her wine glass, her eyes somewhat unfocused.
"I don't want to spoil the fun," Karen said, swirling the drink in her glass. "But I have to say, my life is a complete mess right now. I haven't been back to my apartment in Washington for three months because of this campaign."
"My neighbor called me yesterday and said my cat might be depressed because it started peeing on my pillow."
"
"That's because it's thinking of you," Sarah comforted her.
"No, that's its protest," Karen sighed. "It knows better than I do that I'm married to my job. My ex-husband left me because he couldn't stand me replying to emails late at night."
"Sometimes I wonder, what was the point of all that effort we put into getting Murphy into the Senate? Was it to give him a chance to perform on a bigger stage? Or was it to prove ourselves?"
"To win."
Leo answered very readily.
"We're gamblers, Karen. Gamblers don't care how they spend their winnings; they only care about the moment they win."
"And," Leo glanced at Karen, "your cat will forgive you, as long as you bring it the best canned food when you go back."
""
"I hope so." Karen gave a wry smile, raised her glass, and said, "To my cat."
"Respect for cats."
The four cups bumped together.
After a few rounds of drinks, the warm atmosphere of camaraderie gradually dissipated, and the harsh reality regained its dominance.
They came to relax, but they couldn't let their guard down.
This is the fate of campaign teams.
As long as the ballot boxes remain closed, the war is not over.
"Let's continue discussing how to win votes away from Warren."
Leo put down his glass, the bottom of which tapped softly on the table.
The atmosphere at the table didn't become heavy because of this topic; instead, it was filled with excitement.
Everyone knows that, given the current situation, attacking his party rival Aston Monroe is a poor strategy; it would be a suicidal act that violates the Washington Peace Accords.
The only way out is to tackle the toughest challenge: Russell Warren.
Leo took Sarah's tablet and pulled up a map of Pennsylvania's electorate distribution.
"Take a look at this picture."
Leo pointed to the large red area in the middle of the map, a vast area sandwiched between the two blue islands of Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. "This is Warren's territory, also known as the Pennsylvania Wilderness. Millions of white blue-collar workers, farmers, and miners live here."
"They are the Republican Party's stronghold."
Karen adjusted her glasses and analyzed, "The data shows that voters in these areas have a deep-seated aversion to the Democratic Party. They believe that the Democratic Party only cares about gender issues and illegal immigrants, and doesn't care about their lives."
"Even if Warren does nothing, just by criticizing liberals on TV every few years, he can take away 70% of the votes here."
"That's right, that's a mindset."
Leo's finger swiped across the screen.
"We must see what lies beneath this red background."
"Did they vote for Warren because they genuinely admired this senator who had ridden in luxury cars in Washington for thirty years? No. They voted for him because they felt he was one of their own, or at least, he wasn't one of those high-and-mighty Philadelphia elites."
"However, this kind of loyalty based on cultural identity is fragile in the face of hunger."
Leo looked up, his gaze fixed intently on his team members.
"We want to tell voters in deep red counties that Senator Warren is very vocal in Washington about anti-abortion and anti-gun control. But he voted for trade agreements that would have forced your factories to relocate, and he voted against bills that would have increased Medicaid for you."
"He used patriotic slogans to win your votes, and then turned around and sold you to Wall Street."
"And that Democrat Murphy you all hate, although he's not perfect, he really brought money to fix your roads and contracts to hire you to do the work."
"As long as we can make this logic work," Leo clenched his fist, "we have a chance to break into Warren's voter base."
Ethan quickly jotted down in his notebook: "So, we need solid evidence that Warren betrayed the workers."
"That's right, check his voting records."
Leo looked at Karen.
"Karen, starting tomorrow, have your team dig up all of Russell Warren's past voting records."
"I need a list."
"A list of evidence of Warren's betrayal of Pennsylvania workers."
"We're going to print a million copies of this list and plaster them on every gas station, every bar, and every factory gate in western Pennsylvania."
"We need to ask those who have voted for him for so many years a question: What has he done for you?"
Karen nodded and quickly jotted it down in her phone's notes app.
"clear."
Leo raised his glass.
"Gentlemen, the strategy has been decided."
"Cheers."
"Cheers!"
The four cups bumped together again.
Leo looked at his companions' excited faces.
He knew that he could never go back to that innocent version of himself.
But he doesn't regret it.
"Boss, check please."
Leo slapped a few crumpled banknotes on the bar.
Pushing open the bar door, the night breeze, carrying moisture, rushed in, instantly dispelling the slight intoxication brought on by the alcohol.
The country music and noise behind me were shut out by the door, and the world became damp and quiet again.
After that night, the sky over Pittsburgh never cleared up again.
The clouds hung low, pressing heavily on the spine of the Allegheny Mountains.
A light rain began to fall, enveloping the entire city in a gloomy, damp chill.
Three days passed in the sound of rain.
The fervor of the rally in the bar had long since faded, and coffee cups were piled up like a small mountain on the desks at the campaign headquarters.
"Bang."
A dull, loud bang.
Karen Miller slammed a stack of documents, more than ten centimeters thick, onto the center of the conference table.
It was a pile of printed paper, the edges of which had curled up from repeated handling, and it was covered with dense marks of various colored markers.
This is a collection of all of Senator Russell Warren's past voting records, proposal records, and committee speaking records in the Senate, which her team spent three days and three nights digging out from various public databases.
"It's no use."
Karen pulled out a chair, slumped down, and rubbed her throbbing temples.
There was a sense of frustration in her voice.
"It's all waste paper."
Leo sat in the main seat, twirling a pen in his hand.
He stared at the pile of documents, his brow furrowed.
"What do you mean?" Ethan picked up the top document. "Any politician who stays in Washington long enough will have loopholes in their voting record."
“Warren is different.” Karen shook her head. “He’s not an ordinary politician; he’s a cunning and shrewd man.”
Karen pointed to the pile of documents and began to review her findings.
"Our original strategy was to attack him for supporting the relocation of factories and for selling out Pennsylvania's manufacturing industry for the benefit of Wall Street. This was the approach that best fit our class war narrative."
"This should have been a foregone conclusion," Karen added. "He's a Republican, and normally, Warren would unconditionally support any Republican policy, especially those bills that help large corporations reduce costs."
"But you'll see for yourselves."
Karen opened a voting record regarding subsequent supplementary provisions of the North American Free Trade Agreement.
"Warren voted against it in that vote."
Leo paused for a moment.
"A dissenting vote? He's a Republican, and that's a bill pushed by Republicans."
“That’s right, he voted against it.” Karen sneered. “And he also gave a 30-minute speech, denouncing the damage that free trade had done to domestic industries. That speech is still on the homepage of his campaign website, titled ‘For Pennsylvania’s Last Blast Furnace.’”
Ethan quickly flipped through the records at the back, his expression growing increasingly grim.
"Not only that," Ethan added, "he also voted in favor of the bailout of the auto industry after the financial crisis. Although the prevailing Republican opinion at the time was to bankrupt Detroit, he sided with the unions."
"He also proposed twelve amendments to protect the state's strategic resources," Karen continued. "Although these amendments all failed due to lack of budgetary support or procedural issues, none of them actually became law."
"However, in the congressional records, Russell Warren's name is always associated with protecting industry and supporting workers."
99
Frank sat in the corner, scratching his head as he listened.
"This old man is a good person?" Frank looked confused. "Then why are we attacking him? Aren't we just wrongly accusing an innocent person?"
'
"No, Frank."
Leo spoke, his voice low and deep.
"That's what makes him so terrifying."
Leo picked up a document and stared at Warren's flamboyant signature.
"He voted against it because he knew the bill would pass. Even without his vote, the bill would become law by an overwhelming majority."
"He's putting on an act."
Leo's eyes sharpened.
"It's a political calculation. The whip allowed him to defect at such an insignificant moment in exchange for his prestige in his home constituency."
"He made the deals in Washington, getting his financiers the trade agreements they wanted. Then he returned to Pennsylvania, stood before the workers, waved his record of dissenting votes, and proclaimed: 'Look, I did my best; Washington let us down.'"
"He has it both ways."
Karen nodded, acknowledging Leo's analysis.
"That's the problem, Leo. We know he's acting, you know, I know, but the voters don't."
Karen's fingers tapped on the table.
"To an ordinary steelworker, all he saw was Senator Warren shouting himself hoarse to protect the factory."
What he saw was a photo of Warren slamming his fist on the table at a hearing to secure bailout funds for a factory on the verge of bankruptcy.
"Judging from the written record of the legislation, Warren was practically the last guardian of Pennsylvania's industry, and he packaged himself as a tragic hero who was glorious in defeat."
"If we jump out now and accuse him of betraying the workers, he only needs to throw these voting records in our faces. Then, it won't be him who will be seen as a liar, but us."
"We can't attack him from a policy perspective," Karen concluded. "He's a flawless egg; he operates within the rules and has cleaned himself up like a blank sheet of paper."
Silence fell over the meeting room.
They had prepared their cannons and ammunition, only to find the enemy hiding in a fortress built entirely of morality and law.
Leo flipped through the records.
Russell Warren handled countless bills in the Senate, yet he didn't leave behind a single obvious weakness.
He's like a ball coated in grease; no matter which angle you try to grab him from, he'll slip away.
That's what makes veteran politicians so terrifying.
They leave no trace.
Leo threw the file back on the table, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
"Mr. President," Leo asked in his mind, "have you ever met someone like this? Someone who takes hypocrisy to the extreme, even deceiving historical records."
"That kind of person?"
Roosevelt let out a disdainful snort.
"There are people like this everywhere in Washington. They are a product of Capitol Hill and are the best survival masters who have evolved under this system."
"They know how to be tough when they have to compromise, and how to be kind when they have to be ruthless."
"They use voting records to build their own monuments and use amendments to whitewash themselves."
Roosevelt looked at Leo.
"Leo, you made a mistake."
"You and your team have been fooled by these pieces of paper."
"You're searching for the truth in these papers like you're searching for water in the desert. You think that by going through all the voting records, you can find evidence of his betrayal."
"Too naive."
"True deals are never written into the minutes of Congress. True betrayals don't happen in front of the ballot box under the spotlight."
"Don't look at these papers, Leo, they're full of lies."
"Go and see the people."
Leo asked in his mind, "A person? What person?"
"The people surrounding him."
"A senator is not fighting alone; he is at the heart of a vast ecosystem."
"His chief of staff, his policy advisor, his legislative assistant, his campaign manager."
"And then there are the lobbying groups that swarm around him, and those old friends who often appear in his office."
"Go and investigate these people."
Roosevelt's voice became clear.
"Find out where his former chief of staff is working now. Is he on the board of some energy giant?"
"Where did his legislative assistant go after leaving the company? Did he go to a top lobbying firm on K Street?"
"What kind of federal contracts did those friends who frequently hosted fundraising dinners for him receive?"
"This is Washington's famous revolving door."
"It doesn't matter if Warren votes against it in the Senate. As long as his former chief of staff is sitting in the office of that beneficiary company counting money, that's enough."
"The transfer of benefits is never a straight line. It is a network, it is covert, and it is accomplished through the exchange of countless personal favors and positions."
"He can wash his own hands very clean, but he can't wash everyone's hands clean."
Because greed has inertia.
"Those who follow him are after money and power. Warren must feed them, he must leave them a way to make a living."
"Those passages are his gaps."
Roosevelt's words pierced through the fog before Leo's eyes.
He suddenly opened his eyes.
In the conference room, Karen and Ethan were still struggling with the pile of documents, trying to find even the slightest logical flaw.
"Stop looking."
"Leo spoke up."
Karen looked up: "What?"
"I said, stop looking at those voting records." Leo stood up, pushed all the thick pile of documents on the table aside, and cleared a blank space on the desktop.
"Those are all the things he wants us to see."
Leo picked up a marker and wrote "Russell Warren" on the whiteboard.
Then, he drew several blank circles around the name.
"We need to change direction."
Leo looked at his team.
"We need to investigate people."
"Karen, I want you to use all your connections in Washington."
"We need to know the list of Warren's past chiefs of staff, legislative directors, and senior policy advisors."
"We need to know where they are now, who they work for, and what their annual salary is."
"Ethan, you go investigate Warren's family relationships. His wife, his children, his siblings. We need to know about the financial dealings of their foundations, consulting firms, and even charities."
"Sarah, have your people keep an eye on the public relations departments of those major local energy companies and see if there are any familiar names on their executive lists."
Leo's eyes turned cold.
"He packaged himself as a saint, a non-stick pan."
"But he still needs to eat, and the people around him still need to eat."
"Since there are no loopholes in his laws, then we'll investigate his dinner table."
"I don't believe that everyone around him is as clean as he is."
"Just catch one."
Leo drew a heavy arrow on the whiteboard, pointing to Warren's name.
"As long as we find evidence that he is using his influence to benefit his cronies."
"The golden statue of that worker guardian will collapse."
Karen's eyes gradually lit up as she listened to Leo's plan.
This is the true Washington style of play.
Instead of dwelling on whether the policies are right or wrong, the focus is now on directly attacking the chain of vested interests.
"I understand." Karen closed her laptop. "Investigating nepotism is one of my strengths."
Give me two days.
Karen stood up and picked up her briefcase.
"I'll go through his entire social media feed."
"Even if his dog steals and eats the neighbor's bones, I can find out for you."
Leo nodded.
"Go."
"Find that gap."
"Then, we stuffed the explosives in."
Outside the window, the rain has stopped.
Russell Warren thought he had hidden himself well.
However, under the sun of power, as long as there is a body, there will always be a shadow.
And Leo, now, must step on that shadow.