novelnext Chapter 138 The Zhang Family
Chapter 138 The Zhang Family
Chapter 138 Going Home (Bonus Chapter for 26000 Monthly Tickets)
Leo drove aimlessly through the streets.
He had just escaped from that suffocating underground archive.
The wheels rolled over the wet asphalt, making a monotonous noise.
Before I knew it, the scenery around me had changed.
The towering glass-walled office buildings have disappeared, replaced by low red brick houses, cheap bars with neon signs, and abandoned factory walls on both sides.
Leo slammed on the brakes, and the car stopped at an intersection.
He looked up and saw a familiar door.
Steelworkers Community Center.
That was where he started his career, the cradle of his political life.
Leo gripped the steering wheel tightly; he didn't get out of the car.
Looking at the door through the windshield, he felt a strong urge to escape.
He was afraid to go in.
A few months ago, he was a hero here.
He vowed here to fight against the oligarchs, to protect the interests of the workers, and to take Pittsburgh back from the capitalists.
The workers believed him, lifted him high above their heads, and carried him into the city hall.
And now?
Articles flooded the internet, accusing him of being a traitor and a Judas.
In the Carnegie Library auditorium, students had completely turned against him; business owners stood by with their arms crossed; only the workers seemed to be on his side.
But as the days went by, public opinion intensified, and he didn't know how the workers' emotions would change.
Although he had to sell the port to Morganfield for $500 million in bonds and for the revitalization plan.
But in the eyes of these simple workers, this is perhaps the most blatant betrayal.
He was afraid to see the disappointment in Frank's eyes, afraid to see those who had once cheered for him now looking at him with indifference or even hatred.
"What? Afraid to get off the bus?"
Roosevelt's voice echoed in my mind.
"You spent several nights rummaging through documents in that dusty basement, trying to find a way out for yourself using legal provisions. Now the path is right in front of you, but you don't dare to take a step?"
"I just—don't want to face them," Leo said in a low voice. "At least not now. I haven't won the case yet, and I haven't proven that my choice was right."
"You can never prove to everyone that you're right, Leo."
Roosevelt's voice turned serious.
"But you have to face the people who put you in that position."
"If you don't even have the courage to face them, then you don't deserve to go to court to face questioning, nor do you deserve to go to Washington to face those cannibalistic politicians."
"get off."
"Go see them, go see the real Pittsburgh."
Leo took a deep breath.
He opened the car door, straightened his suit, which had become wrinkled from staying up all night, and strode towards the door.
He placed his hand on the doorknob, paused for a second, and then pushed it open forcefully.
"Squeak!"
A wave of heat hit me.
The hall was originally noisy, with dozens of men in work clothes eating breakfast, loudly discussing last night's ball game, or complaining about the damn weather.
But the moment Leo walked in, all the sounds disappeared.
It's like pressing the mute button.
Dozens of eyes turned around and focused on the young man at the door.
Leo stood there, feeling an invisible pressure.
He subconsciously tightened his collar.
No one speaks.
No one greeted them.
Leo's gaze swept over those familiar faces.
He saw George, who was holding half a sandwich in his hand with his mouth slightly open.
He saw David, who was holding a coffee cup and had a complicated look in his eyes.
They've all seen that news article.
They all knew about the port concession.
Leo opened his mouth, wanting to say something, to explain, to tell them the importance of those five hundred million dollars.
But he couldn't make a sound.
Faced with these genuine gazes, any political rhetoric seems pale and powerless.
In the midst of this suffocating silence, a strange sound rang out.
"Squeak—squeak!"
That was the sound of wheels rolling over the wooden floor.
From the direction of the kitchen, a wheelchair slowly drove out.
Margaret sat in her wheelchair, her hair neatly combed, the silver strands shimmering under the light.
She was holding a large plate piled high with freshly baked blueberry pancakes, steaming hot and emitting an enticing sweet aroma.
Margaret pushed the wheelchair to Leo's side.
She looked up at the young mayor in front of her, who looked exhausted, had bloodshot eyes, and a full beard.
Leo lowered his head, not daring to look her in the eye.
That was the person he felt most guilty towards.
He was someone who paid a heavy price for his campaign.
If she also called him a traitor, Leo felt he might break down on the spot.
"What are you standing there for?"
Margaret spoke.
"Leo, you look like a homeless person to me. Haven't you had breakfast yet?"
Leo was stunned.
He looked up and saw the familiar smile on Margaret's face.
"Here, take it."
Margaret handed the plate to Leo.
"Freshly baked, blueberry filling, eat it while it's hot."
Leo reached out with trembling hands and picked up a waffle.
The edges of the pancakes were baked until golden brown, emitting an enticing sweet aroma.
In the past, whenever a campaign ended or he was just passing by, he would stop in for a bite, even if it meant taking a detour.
Back then, this taste represented a kind of warmth belonging to "our own people".
But now, he took a bite.
My mouth feels dry, and I can't taste the original sweetness anymore.
The hall remained quiet, with dozens of workers' eyes fixed on him like spotlights.
Leo raised his head, his gaze passing over the crowd to Margaret, and then to Frank and Old Joe standing in front.
"Margaret—and everyone else."
Leo's voice sounded strained.
"Have you read that article?"
He didn't mention which article, but he knew everyone understood what he was talking about.
The air froze for a few seconds.
No one answered.
A few coughs were heard from the crowd.
"You mean that article online?"
Old Joe took two steps forward and spat on the ground, the action both crude and natural.
"I saw it," Old Joe said. "I saw it last night; my grandson read it to me."
He scratched his messy gray hair, a hint of disdain on his face.
"The rubbish articles written by those college students are more difficult to understand than the instruction manual for my excavator. What monopoly, what procedural justice, what exclusivity clauses? I got a headache after reading half of them."
Old Joe paused for a moment, his cloudy eyes fixed on Leo.
"They say you're a traitor, that you betrayed us."
Leo lowered his head.
He is awaiting trial.
Waiting for the words "Get out," waiting for the badge to hit my face like it did in the auditorium before.
"That's true."
Leo admitted in a low voice.
"The legal analysis in the article is correct; I did sign that contract. I granted Morganfield the operating rights to the inland port for a term of fifty years. I gave them an exclusive position, allowing them to monopolize future logistics pricing power."
"I made this deal in order to get that bond."
Leo looked up, his eyes full of honesty.
"If you feel betrayed, if you think I'm a liar, you can scold me, I accept it."
He was mentally prepared for an outburst of anger.
However, there was no roar.
"Squeak!"
The sound of the wheelchair rang out again.
Margaret pushed the wheelchair and came up to Leo.
She reached out and took Leo's hand, pulling him closer to her so he would look directly into her eyes.
"Look at me, child."
Margaret's voice sounded somewhat forceful.
"Look at the people in this room."
She pointed around.
"We old folks have spent our whole lives dealing with coal dust, rust, and bills. We don't understand the Sherman Antitrust Act or what a franchise really means. Those legal provisions are less relevant to us than supermarket discount coupons."
"We only know a few things."
Margaret's fingers pinched hard, making Leo's hand hurt a little.
"Who sent someone to fix the road in front of our house when it had been in disrepair for ten years and no one had taken care of it?"
"Who helped me get my compensation back when I was pushed down by the police, broke my leg, and was left lying in bed waiting to die?"
"Who was it that, on that bitterly cold morning, risking arrest, stood on the lawn of City Hall, pointing their finger at the arrogant mayor and yelling at him, speaking up for us poor people?"
Margaret released her grip and pointed at Leo's chest.
"It's you."
"Leo Wallace".
"Those who write articles, they sit in air-conditioned rooms, drinking coffee, typing on their keyboards and calling you a traitor. Because they don't need to worry about next month's heating bill, they don't need to worry about their children not having school."
"They have the right to talk about morality because their bellies are full."
"But we don't have the luxury."
Frank walked over from the side.
He looked at Leo.
"Leo".
Frank reached out and patted Leo hard on the shoulder.
"Bang."
"Do you think the workers weren't cursing? Of course they were."
Frank said frankly.
"Last night at the union bar, everyone was cursing. Cursing this damn world, cursing why we wanted to build a road..."
"If you want to find a job, you have to beg that vampire Morganfield to agree."
"We hate Morganfield, we hate the feeling that we'll always just be used as waste."
"but."
Frank stared intently into Leo's eyes.
"You need to understand one thing."
"They're cursing the world, cursing that necessary transaction."
They're not insulting you.
Leo was stunned.
"No—are you insulting me?"
"Of course not." Frank took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out and put it in his mouth. "Although the brothers haven't had much education, they still have a gut feeling about who treats them well and who is taking advantage of them."
"We know who you signed that document for."
"If it weren't for the need to raise money to pay our salaries, you could have just sat in your office like those politicians of the past, drinking tea and telling us you were having financial difficulties and to wait."
"6
"You got yourself all dirty so that we could have food to eat."
Frank took the cigarette down, held it between his fingers, and pointed it at Leo.
"Leo, listen up."
"If you have to sell your soul to the devil to get bread for us poor bastards."
"Then we only have one thing to say."
"Don't let the devil eat you up."
Leo looked at Frank, at Old Joe, and at the workers around him who were silently nodding.
An indescribable bitterness assaulted his nasal cavity.
He thought he had lost his base of support and that he had become the target of public criticism.
But he forgot that these people were living in the mire, and they knew the rules of the mire better than anyone else.
When it comes to survival, obsessive-compulsive disorder is a sin.
They don't need a perfect saint; they need a alpha wolf to keep them alive.
Even if this wolf has to wallow in the mud to hunt, as long as he brings back the meat and shares it with the pack.
He is the leader.
Margaret took a thermos from the side, poured a steaming cup of black coffee, and handed it to Leo.
The warmth of the cup wall transferred to his palm, dispelling the coldness from Leo's fingertips.
"Drink it."
"Margaret commanded."
"No matter what you become in court, no matter how much malice you learn in that city hall full of lies."
"I don't care what the newspapers and the internet say about you."
"As long as you remember the way back, as long as you still recognize this door."
"We'll always keep hot coffee for you here."
"Go do what you're supposed to do, child."
Margaret patted Leo's hand.
"Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty."
"You can wash your hands if they're dirty, as long as your heart isn't completely black."
Leo lowered his head, looking at the black liquid in his hand.
At that moment, he felt something inside him shatter.
What is forming now is something much harder.
That strength was drawn from these people at the very bottom of society.
Rough and primitive, but that is the true foundation of power.
"That's right."
Roosevelt's voice rang in my mind at just the right moment.
"You finally understand, Leo."
"Power never comes from the legal provisions written on paper, nor from the gavel in the judge's hand."
"Power comes from the consent of the ruled."
"It is the trust of these people that gives your power legitimacy."
"They don't care if you're perfect or if you meet the moral standards of those elites."
"They only care about one thing: whether you belong to them."
"As long as they're still standing behind you, as long as they're still willing to leave you a cup of hot coffee."
"So even if courts all over the world convict you, you will still own this city."
Leo looked up.
He ate the remaining half of the pancake in a few bites, and the taste that had been dry just minutes before suddenly became incredibly sweet.
He tilted his head back and drank the hot coffee in his cup in one gulp.
Bitter, scalding hot, and invigorating.
The anxiety that had been swirling in his chest, the despair of searching for legal loopholes but finding none, vanished in that instant.
That calm, the calm that was ready to destroy everything and rebuild everything, returned to him.
Leo wiped his mouth.
He looked at Margaret, then at Frank.
Thank you.
Leo's voice was soft, but steady.
"I know what to do."
"What I need to do is cut that chain."
Leo's eyes sharpened.
"That chain that bound me to Morganfield and separated me from the people."