novelnext Chapter 152 Who is against "Made in America"?
Chapter 152 Who is against "Made in America"?
Chapter 152 Who is Opposing "Made in America"? (Bonus chapter for Alliance Leader "Book Friend 2022...")
Erie City Hall, Mayor's Office.
Ron Smith threw the receiver back onto the landline with a violent thud.
He had just ended a call with the state investigation team.
The young bureaucrat from Harrisburg informed him in a curt tone that all of Erie’s cross-regional purchasing accounts had been preemptively frozen.
After hanging up, Smith picked up another phone and dialed a number.
Scranton, Joe Byers.
The call was answered almost instantly.
"Ron?" Byers' voice sounded like someone was choking him, with obvious panting. "You got it too?"
"Got it," Smith said. "Harrisburg is serious this time. It seems Monroe's campaign is in a pretty bad situation, and he's getting desperate."
"What do we do?" Byers' voice was filled with panic. "My cement plant is still shipping orders, the trucks are still on the road, and for every ton of that damn cement that's shipped out, my plant is losing money on a ton. But I haven't dared to tell the workers and bosses that the funds have been frozen; I'm afraid they'll tear down the city hall on the spot!"
"Don't worry," Smith interrupted him.
"Joe, think it over carefully," Smith said in a deep voice. "If you back out now, that's a unilateral breach of contract. Leo Wallace has a contract; he'll sue you, and he'll definitely win. You won't just lose your money; you'll be left with nothing."
"And have you thought about the consequences? Your factory owners will hate you because you've cut off their livelihood. Your voters will think you're spineless, scared out of your wits by a single phone call from Harrisburg. You'll be caught in the middle."
2
"What else can we do? Are we just going to wait for those workers to come and cause us trouble?" Byers asked.
"We don't need to take the blame ourselves."
Smith walked to the window and looked at the sky outside.
"Think about it, who actually paid for this? Pittsburgh. Who started this alliance? Leo Wallace."
"Now that problems have arisen, whether it's Harrisburg's obstruction or the break in the funding chain, ultimately it's his responsibility."
"We are the victims, Joe."
Smith's voice turned cold.
"We are victims who believed in his alliance plan."
Biles was silent for a few seconds on the other end of the phone, then his breathing gradually calmed down.
"you mean----"
"We won't say that the state has frozen the funds," Smith suggested. "We'll just say that there's a problem with the remittance from Pittsburgh."
"Tell your subordinates that the advance payment cannot be received due to some technical issues with the Pittsburgh city government or a blockage in their financial approval process."
"Turn the fire on Leo."
Smith spoke faster and faster.
"Let our workers yell at him, let our factory owners put pressure on him, and let that anger burn all the way back to Pittsburgh along the highway."
"We're going to make Leo Wallace feel the pain."
"If he wins, we continue to make money; if he loses, we'll say we were scammed too."
Biles took a deep breath on the other end of the line.
"Ron, you're such a jerk."
"Same here," Smith said. "Just trying to survive."
hang up the phone.
Ron Smith pressed the intercom on his desk.
"Come in."
The mayor's secretary walked in.
"Mr. Mayor?"
"Call Jim Bell at United Steel."
Smith leaned back in his chair, the gloom on his face gone, and now he acted as if he were quite tired.
"Tell him that, unfortunately, due to some unforeseen technical difficulties in Pittsburgh, the advance payment for the steel, which was supposed to arrive today, has been frozen."
"Remember to emphasize that it is a technical malfunction, and do not mention the state investigation."
"I also need to tell him that I am trying my best to coordinate, but there is no clear timetable at the moment."
The secretary paused for a moment, seemingly wanting to say something, but seeing Smith's emotionless eyes, she obediently nodded.
"Understood, Mr. Mayor."
The secretary left.
The office door closed in front of Smith.
Ron Smith leaned back in his leather chair, his back hunched, looking as if he had aged ten years in an instant.
He rummaged in the drawer for a while and pulled out a bottle of blood pressure medication.
He unscrewed the bottle cap, poured out two white pills, tilted his head back, threw them into his mouth, and swallowed them forcefully.
He closed his eyes, waiting for the medicine to take effect and for the blood that was pounding wildly in his veins to calm down.
The call had ended, but he knew perfectly well what it meant.
Those were thousands of leave-without-pay notices that were about to be issued.
That's the silence that thousands of families will face at the dinner table this weekend.
Those are the heads that countless fathers had to lower when faced with their children's eyes pleading for new toys.
That was despair.
He personally conveyed this despair to the workers who had once shouted his name at rallies through a chain of administrative orders.
But he had no choice.
Or rather, he instinctively chose to keep his position over the workers' jobs.
This is a politician's survival instinct.
Smith stood up and slowly walked to the window.
Outside the window, Erie was bathed in sunlight.
In the distance, in the industrial zone, the massive chimneys of the United Steel Plant were spewing thick smoke into the gray-blue sky; those were the last batch of production lines that hadn't yet shut down and were still running.
The sunlight illuminated the dilapidated factory buildings and run-down streets, making the city's aging and impending poverty impossible to hide.
Seeing all this, Smith's guilt and struggle quickly faded, and his expression became numb.
He raised his hand, placing his palm against the cold glass, feeling the chill coming in from the outside.
"Don't hate me."
Smith looked down at the bustling but dying neighborhood below, his voice hoarse.
"That's how the world works; big fish eat little fish, that's the rule."
He withdrew his hand, straightened his suit collar, and looked at his impeccably dressed reflection in the glass.
"If you have to blame someone, blame yourselves for being born into the wrong family."
United Steel Plant, Erie.
A huge overhead crane moved slowly across the factory roof, with a bundle of freshly cooled H-beams hanging from its hook.
The blinds in the manager's office were drawn, shutting out the noise from the workshop.
Factory manager Jim Bell sat behind his desk, his fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly.
He just hung up the phone at the mayor's office.
On the other end of the phone, Ron Smith's secretary informed him in a rather curt tone: "I regret to inform you, Mr. Bell, that the advance payment for the steel, which was supposed to arrive today, has been frozen due to some unforeseen technical difficulties in Pittsburgh. The mayor is trying his best to coordinate, but there is no clear timetable at the moment."
"A technical malfunction?"
Jim gave a cold laugh.
He's been in this business for decades, so he knows all too well the subtext behind those five words.
That means the money is gone, it means someone is trying to renege on their debt, it means he has been abandoned.
"Don't try to fool me with this nonsense!" Jim roared into the microphone, unable to contain his anger. "We signed a contract! It's protected by law! My warehouse is overflowing with steel, and the workers—"
"Mr. Bell."
The secretary coldly interrupted him.
"Please get the facts straight. The problem isn't in Erie, it's in Pittsburgh."
"The mayor asked me to pass on a message to you: When it's time to make a decision, make it decisively."
"Beep beep—beep one"
The call was abruptly disconnected.
Jim was a little stunned. He glanced at the production schedule on the table.
To meet the Pittsburgh order, he not only turned down several smaller orders from Cleveland, but also purchased a large quantity of raw materials and even had his workers work overtime in three shifts.
Now, this batch of goods has become scrap metal, and this investment has become a bad debt.
Jim picked up the phone and dialed the internal number.
"Get Jack to my office right now."
Two minutes later, workshop foreman Jack pushed open the door and came in.
He was wearing a safety helmet, his face covered in soot, and holding a material requisition form he had just signed, looking excited.
"Boss, this batch of steel is top-notch! Pittsburgh will definitely be satisfied. When is the next batch scheduled? The guys are all waiting."
Jim looked into Jack's expectant eyes and said coldly, "Jack, shut down."
Jack froze, and the material requisition form slipped from his hand and fell to the ground.
"What did you say?"
"I said, shut down the machines on Line 3." Jim turned his head, not wanting to look at Jack's face. "Also, notify the finance department that this week's weekly wages—are not going to be paid."
"Boss!"
Jack took a sudden step forward, his smile instantly turning into terror.
"You can't do this! You know it's Friday! The workers are counting on this money to pay their rent and buy baby formula! And the goods are all ready, piled up in the warehouse, how could we not have money?"
"What can I do?!"
Jim suddenly exploded, sweeping all the documents off the table with a wave of his hand.
"Do you think I wanted this? The funding chain in Pittsburgh has dried up! Not a single penny can be transferred!"
"Don't ask me! Go ask that damn Pittsburgh mayor! Go ask that Leo Wallace!"
Jim, panting heavily, pointed outside the door.
"Now, get out of here. Tell everyone, I have no choice, I have to go home and face my bills too."
Jack looked at the documents on the ground, then at his furious boss, opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything.
He bent down, picked up the material requisition form, folded it carefully, and put it in his pocket.
Then, he turned and walked out of the office.
The workshop was still roaring.
The workers were busy, their vests soaked with sweat.
But they didn't know that at that moment, their fate had been put on pause.
Jack walked up to the whiteboard that read "Today's Production Target".
A proud number was written in red pen above: 120%.
He picked up the blackboard eraser and wiped away the number.
Then, he picked up a red marker and drew a glaring X on the board.
It was 5:30 PM.
Erie, the working-class neighborhood.
The sky was overcast, and one after another, dilapidated cars and pickup trucks drove into the community streets.
Those were workers heading home after get off work.
As is customary, at this time on payday, the bars and pizzerias along the streets should already be packed with people.
The men would order a beer to celebrate the end of a week's work; the women would take their children to the supermarket to buy groceries for the week.
But today, the streets are quiet.
-
The air in the apartment building's hallway was stuffy.
Hart, a young assembler, sat on the edge of the bed, clutching his phone tightly in his hand.
The screen was lit up, displaying a text message that had just been received.
"Dear customer, your car loan payment has failed. Please make up the balance within 24 hours, otherwise we will initiate the vehicle repossession process."
Hart's hands were trembling.
That secondhand Ford pickup truck was his only means of transportation to and from get off work, and also the most valuable asset of his family.
If he loses his car, he won't even have the opportunity to find work in other cities.
"What's wrong, Hart?"
The wife peeked out from the kitchen, holding their two-year-old daughter, while cheap macaroni was cooking in a pot.
"Has your salary been paid? The landlord just came to urge you, saying that if you don't pay tonight, he'll change the locks next Monday."
Hart looked up at his wife's face.
He wanted to lie, to say that the bank system had malfunctioned, and that it would be fine tomorrow.
But he couldn't do it.
"I'm out of money."
Hart's voice sounded like it was being squeezed out from between his teeth.
"The factory said that Pittsburgh hasn't paid them, and their account is frozen."
"What?" The wife dropped the spoon into the pot. "But—but they promised! That mayor, that Leo guy, he promised on TV!"
"What good are promises!"
Hart slammed his phone onto the bed.
"That's a liar! A complete and utter liar!"
"He's making a fool of us! He talks about revival, about being fellow workers, but he's even withholding our most basic wages!"
"I'm selling the car tomorrow!"
Hart clutched his head, his fingers gripping his hair, and let out a painful whimper.
"But if we sell the car, how many days can we survive? What about next week? What about the week after that?"
From the next room, came the sound of a heavy object hitting the wall.
It was an old worker venting his frustrations.
"Pittsburgh is inhuman!"
The old man's roar pierced through the thin wall panel.
"I've worked my whole life and never seen anything so despicable! They tricked us onto the ship and then scuttled it!"
"I'm going to sue them! I'm going to smash up their city hall!"
Despair spread rapidly through the community like a plague.
For these American families, saving is an unattainable word.
They are spendthrifts, even spend all their money each week.
Their lives are built on a fragile cash flow.
Once this flow breaks down, even if it's only for a week.
Life would plummet from barely making ends meet to an irreversible abyss.
There is no buffer, no way out.
There is only a stark existential crisis.
The emergency room lobby of Pittsburgh General Hospital was filled with a nauseating smell.
This is the city's sewer outlet.
All the violence, poverty, accidents, and despair eventually converge here, fermenting in this enormous container with white tiles and fluorescent tubes.
Leo walked through the automatic sensor door and entered this bustling world.
He was wearing a dark casual jacket with the collar turned up, obscuring half of his face.
Ethan followed behind him, carrying a fruit basket.
Just yesterday, two workers sustained minor injuries while demolishing an old warehouse at the port construction site.
Although the union had already arranged compensation, Leo felt he had to show up in person.
As mayor, Rio needs to demonstrate a responsible attitude.
He needed this kind of "people-friendly" material to fill the pages of tomorrow's morning paper, and at the same time, he wanted to temporarily escape the suffocating bad news in the city hall office.
The issue of frozen funds, complaints from allies, and the increasingly tight web in Harrisburg.
The emergency room was packed with people.
There are no appointments here, only waiting.
People sat on hard plastic chairs or lay directly on stretchers, lining both sides of the hallway.
Some people were covering their bleeding foreheads, some were pressing their aching abdomens, and a few homeless people were huddled in a corner, sleeping in the warmth of the heater.
Leo pulled his hat down low and tried to walk quickly across the area towards the inpatient ward.
Just as he passed the triage desk, a suppressed plea made him stop in his tracks.
Leo turned his head.
In the corner of the triage desk, a middle-aged woman was gripping the edge of the marble countertop tightly.
Her hair was messy, her eyes were puffy, and she looked like a piece of paper crumpled up by life.
A wheelchair was parked next to her, and a boy of about twelve or thirteen years old was sitting in it.
The boy's left leg was wrapped in a simple bandage, from which dark red blood seeped.
His face was deathly pale, his forehead was covered in cold sweat, his body was twitching slightly from the pain, and he was groaning intermittently.
Please.
The middle-aged woman's voice was choked with sobs.
"Give him some painkillers, even just one. Or let him see a doctor; his bones might be dislocated, and he's in unbearable pain."
The nurse sitting behind the triage desk didn't even look up.
She stared at the computer screen, her fingers tapping on the keyboard, her face bearing the indifference and numbness honed from years of working in the emergency room.
"Madam, I've already said that," the nurse repeated mechanically. "The system shows that your husband, who is also the child's policyholder, has had his medical insurance expire."
"It can't possibly be invalid!" the woman argued urgently. "He's worked at the factory for twenty years, and his insurance premiums have been deducted every month without fail!"
"That's how the system displays it."
The nurse turned the screen around and pointed to a line of red text.
"Because the insured entity—Yili United Steel Company—has failed to pay its premiums for two consecutive months, the account has been frozen by the insurance company, and—"
The nurse paused for a moment, as if what she was about to say was somewhat cruel even to herself.
"There's a note in the system. Because of that previous incident, specifically the work injury dispute involving your husband, the insurance company is currently refusing to reimburse any medical expenses under that family member's name."
"This is a risk control lock."
"We are a hospital, not a charity clinic, ma'am." The nurse's voice was flat. "If you want him to see an orthopedic doctor or get prescription painkillers, you'll need to deposit five hundred dollars at the payment counter first."
Five hundred dollars —
The woman released her grip on the table and took a step back.
She searched through all her pockets and only managed to pull out a few crumpled coins.
"I don't have five hundred dollars—"
Tears streamed down her face.
"The factory has stopped operating, and Pittsburgh hasn't paid us—we haven't received our wages for two months—we can't even afford the rent—"
She suddenly realized that she was now in Pittsburgh, the legendary city that was reviving and spending money like water.
Her voice lowered, turning into a desperate sob.
"Why—why did this happen—"
Leo stood a few meters away, feeling as if his heart had been squeezed tightly.
Yili United Steel Company.
According to the original contract schedule, the first advance payment from Pittsburgh should have arrived in the company's account last week.
If all goes well, all the overdue premiums owed to the insurance company will be paid this week, and the workers will receive their long-awaited full wages.
This child could have walked confidently into the clinic and received the best treatment.
But now, everything has vanished.
The factory couldn't receive payments because Harrisburg had frozen its funds and because of the political struggle between Leo and Monroe.
This is the true nature of political struggle beyond the statistics.
It was a child trembling in pain in a wheelchair, and a mother who couldn't come up with five hundred dollars.
Leo felt as if his feet were filled with lead.
He wanted to turn around and leave, to escape this suffocating scene.
But he couldn't move.
"Ethan," Leo said, "go pay the money."
Ethan paused for a moment, then understood what Leo meant.
Without asking any further questions, he quickly walked to the payment window and took out his credit card.
Leo took a deep breath, composed himself, and walked towards the mother and child.
He walked to the wheelchair and squatted down.
The boy was in so much pain that he was almost delirious. When he saw someone coming, he instinctively shrank back.
Leo reached out and gently patted the boy's uninjured knee.
"Don't be afraid, child," Leo said softly. "The doctor will be here soon."
The middle-aged woman looked up, her eyes brimming with tears, at the stranger who had suddenly appeared.
"You are—"
"I'm just a passerby." Leo avoided her gaze. "Someone has already paid the fees for you, so don't worry about the money."
The woman was stunned, seemingly unable to believe that such a thing could happen in this indifferent world.
She opened her mouth, wanting to say thank you, but instead let out a sob.
"Thank you—thank you, sir, God bless you."
Leo felt a sharp pain.
God?
If God truly exists, He should kill Monroe right now.
"I just heard that your husband works at Yili's factory?" Leo asked tentatively. "Why would the insurance company refuse to pay? Even if the factory is in arrears, there is usually a grace period."
The woman's eyes dimmed instantly when her husband was mentioned.
"Because of—because of that matter."
The woman lowered her head and looked at her rough hands.
"The factory has stopped operating. The boss said there were problems in Pittsburgh, the funds were frozen, and they couldn't pay wages."
"Our family has no savings. This child injured his leg while playing soccer at school. The school doctor said it might be a fracture and he needs to go to a big hospital for X-rays and have a cast put on."
"But we don't have any money."
The woman's voice trembled.
"My husband—Grant—was frantic, watching the baby suffer from pain and unable to sleep all night."
"He heard—he heard that if you get injured at work in a factory, the insurance company will pay in full, and there will also be a compensation for lost wages."
Leo's pupils contracted sharply.
He guessed what was going to happen next.
"So, during the shutdown, he secretly slipped into the factory."
The woman covered her mouth, and tears streamed down her face.
"He wanted to stage an accident, to pretend to fall from the scaffolding, get injured, and then use the compensation money to treat the child's leg."
"But—it rained that night, and the scaffolding was very slippery."
"He messed up."
"He really fell, from a height of three stories."
The woman was trembling with sobs.
"He didn't die, but he broke his spine."
"Investigators from the insurance company arrived. They reviewed the surveillance footage and discovered that he climbed up there himself, and that he hesitated before the accident."
"They determined that this was intentional insurance fraud."
"The insurance company not only refused to pay his medical expenses, but also blacklisted his insurance reputation across the entire industry, which also caused our whole family's insurance to become invalid."
"He is now lying in a hospice in Erie."
"We don't have the money to perform surgery on him, or even to buy him painkillers."
"I came to Pittsburgh with my child to stay with relatives, hoping to borrow some money for my child's leg treatment, but my relatives have also lost their jobs —"
Leo crouched there, feeling as if the air around him had been sucked away.
This is a tragedy, but it is more than just a tragedy.
Because of Leo's revitalization plan, Erie's factories received orders, and Grant had hope.
Because of the power struggle between Leo and Monroe, funds were frozen and factories were shut down, which caused Grant to lose his income.
In an attempt to pay for his child's medical treatment, Grant took a risk and tried to commit insurance fraud, which resulted in him breaking his spine.
Now, this family is completely ruined.
"Sir? Sir?"
The woman looked at the dazed Leo and called out with some concern.
Leo snapped out of his daze.
He looked at the mother.
Ethan had already returned with the payment slip, and the nurse's attitude immediately changed; she began arranging for a doctor to see him.
"Go quickly, the doctor is waiting for you." Leo stood up, feeling his knees go weak.
The woman pushed the wheelchair, expressing her deepest gratitude as she prepared to leave.
Just as the wheelchair turned around, the woman suddenly stopped moving.
She turned her head and looked closely at Leo's face.
She hadn't seen clearly because she was anxious and crying.
Now, in the bright light of the hall, she recognized the face.
This face has recently appeared frequently on television, in the Yili factory's advertising boards, and in her husband's hopeful conversations during his final days.
"Are you Mayor Wallace?"
There was a hint of uncertainty in the woman's voice.
Leo froze.
He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't move.
"Yes, I am Leo Wallace."
The woman looked at him, and her expression changed.
Leo was prepared to face her anger, to hear her hysterical curses, and to let her vent all her misfortune on herself.
After all, it was he who ruined this family.
but.
She just stared at him quietly, her eyes vacant, like a stagnant pool.
That's something more terrifying than anger.
"Mr. Mayor."
Her voice was soft and slow.
"The news says you're fighting for us."
"My husband believed it too. He said you are a good person, that you can save the factory, and that as long as we work with you, things will get better."
"He was saying the day before he left home that he would buy his kids a new pair of sneakers once he got the money from Pittsburgh."
The woman looked at the child in the wheelchair, curled up in pain.
"But----"
She looked up at Leo.
"Why were we the ones who died in the end?"
Leo opened his mouth.
He wanted to say that it was Harrisburg's fault, Monroe's fault, and the system's fault.
He wanted to say that he was trying his best to resolve the issue and that the money would arrive in his account soon.
Faced with that mother's lifeless gaze, everything else seemed so pale, so hypocritical, so nauseating.
He couldn't answer that question.
Because the answer is too cruel.
Immortals fight, mortals suffer.
The woman did not wait for his answer, perhaps because she had not expected to receive one in the first place.
She turned around, pushed her wheelchair, and walked towards the examination room.
The wheels of the wheelchair rolled on the tiled floor, making a slight scraping sound, and gradually moved further and further away until they disappeared at the end of the corridor.
Leo stood there, motionless for a long time.
The hall remained noisy; people were still groaning, complaining, and waiting.
Leo felt as if he were enveloped in a tremendous cold.
"Let's go, Leo."
Ethan walked over to him and said in a low voice.
"There are too many people here; it wouldn't be good if reporters took pictures of us."
Leo turned his head and glanced at Ethan.
"Ethan."
"Um?
'
"Is this what we want?"
Leo pointed to the empty corner.
"Is this what we call a revival?"
Ethan remained silent.
He couldn't answer.
Leo turned around and walked towards the exit.
He walked very fast, as if he wanted to escape this place, escape the smell of disinfectant, escape the mother's last gaze.
"Mr. President."
Leo silently recited in his mind.
"I know that for the greater good, someone has to make a sacrifice."
"But why is it always them who are sacrificed?"
"Why is it always those who trust us the most and need us the most who pay the heaviest price?"
Roosevelt's voice rang out.
"Because this is war, Leo."
There is never a clean victory in this world.
"Beneath every monument lie the bones of the dead."
"Every great change has been achieved by stepping over the blood of the innocent."
"This is reality."
Roosevelt paused for a moment.
"Look at that Grant."
"Is he a hero? No, he tried to defraud an insurance company, he broke the law, he was a thief."
"But was he a bad person? No, he was just a father who wanted his son to get back on his feet."
"This is the American working class, Leo, this is the huge group that forms the cornerstone of this country."
"They are not the glamorous, eternally correct statues found in textbooks."
"They are living, breathing human beings. They are rude, short-sighted, sometimes greedy, sometimes foolish. To survive, they will not hesitate to wallow in the mud and even break the rules."
"They are both victims and accomplices."
"They are like the silt at the bottom of this riverbed."
"Dirty, heavy, and smelling of decay. But it is this silt that supports the rivers above, the giant ships sailing on them, and the prosperity of the whole of America."
"You can't wash the silt clean, because if you do, the river will dry up."
Roosevelt's voice had a cold tone.
You can't save everyone.
"You can't save Grant, who lost his job because he trusted you and ended up having to jump off the scaffold."
"His spine is broken; this is your sin."
"But you can't stop to repent."
"The only thing you can do is bear this sin."
"You must put Grant's broken spine into your own bones."
"You must carry their hopes on your shoulders and keep moving forward."
"To ensure the factory can really resume operations, and to ensure that other Grants don't have to jump off the scaffold anymore."
"This is the price you pay for sitting in this position."
"Don't look back, don't cry."
"That's a luxury reserved for the weak."
Leo closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Ethan, go and watch over those injured workers for me. I need to go out for some fresh air."
77
The automatic doors of Pittsburgh General Hospital closed behind Leo, and a cold wind carrying dust from the street rushed into his face.
Leo stood by the roadside, the image of his mother pushing the wheelchair flashing through his mind.
"Get in the car, Leo."
Before anyone knew it, Ethan was already sitting in the passenger seat, and he rolled down the window.
Leo opened the back door and got in.
"I've checked." Ethan spoke rapidly without turning his head. "Regarding the State Auditor General's preventative freeze, we can appeal using the abuse of power clause in the Administrative Procedure Act."
"Although it is difficult, if we can prove that their audit lacks substantial basis or has obvious political motives, the court may issue a temporary restraining order to unfreeze some of the funds."
"I've already drafted a first draft. Once you sign it, it can be submitted to the state court first thing tomorrow morning. At the same time, we can contact Erie's union to have them as co-plaintiffs, increasing the weight of the lawsuit—"
"Stop looking."
Leo said slowly.
Ethan froze, turning to look at Leo in the back seat: "What?"
"I said, stop looking."
Leo's voice was calm, yet it carried a chilling undertone.
"Collect those waste papers."
"At this point, the law is just a piece of paper."
Leo leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the street scenes rushing past the window.
"You want to sue Monroe? You want to play the law with the state government? That's their home turf. The judges in Harrisburg are appointed by them, and the rules of the Government Accountability Office are set by them."
"What do we do then?" Ethan cried out anxiously. "Eli's factory has already shut down, and that child can't even afford painkillers! If we don't unfreeze the funds, this tragedy will happen again!"
"Of course we want to unfreeze the funds, but we won't use the law."
"Then what will we use? Our fists?" Ethan replied.
"Ethan, I've realized I made a mistake."
Leo ignored Ethan's not-so-funny joke.
"Since I became mayor and sat in my office, I have gotten used to solving problems with documents, procedures, and laws."
"I acted like a real bureaucrat, trying to find a way out within those rules and regulations."
"But I've forgotten how I got to this point."
"I forgot that I was holding the sharpest sword in my hand."
"A sword that can bypass all administrative barriers and pierce the enemy's heart directly."
"What is it?"
"The Heart of Pittsburgh"
Leo leaned forward, staring into Ethan's eyes.
"We need to tell everyone."
"Aston Monroe, this high-ranking lieutenant governor, is hindering Made in America."
Ethan's pupils contracted sharply.
He instantly understood Leo's intention.
In Pennsylvania, at the heart of this rust belt, "Made in America" is more than just an economic term.
It is a religion, a totem.
It is the only remaining pride and dignity on this land.
Here, if you embezzle, voters might forgive you; if you have an extramarital affair, voters might treat you leniently.
However, if you stand on the opposite side of "Made in America," if you are labeled as "hindering industrial revival," then you will be at a disadvantage.
That is political execution.
Even if you are an angel sent by God, you will be torn apart by the angry elect.
"We need to redefine this conflict."
Leo's voice reached Ethan's ears.
"We want to buy steel that we produce ourselves, but the bureaucrats in Harrisburg are trying to force us to buy foreign goods."
"We need to pay our own workers' wages, while Philadelphia's elite want to give money to Wall Street importers."
"We're going to put a hat on Monroe that he can't take off."
"Make him public enemy number one in all of Pennsylvania."
That evening, Pittsburgh City Hall.
Leo and Sarah locked themselves in the editing room.
On the screen, the footage has already filled the timeline.
This contains real footage taken on-site by Frank, who used his statewide union network to have his brothers in Erie, Scranton, and Johnston film it.
The screen lights up.
The first video is from Yili.
The footage was shaking violently, the photographer's hand seemed to be trembling, and the only sound in the background was the howling of the wind through the empty factory.
This is the interior of the United Steel Plant, where the blast furnaces were still spewing flames yesterday.
The huge flywheel remained stationary, and the conveyor belt still held iron ore slag from the previous batch that hadn't had time to be transported away.
The camera zooms in and focuses on the finished goods warehouse.
There were piles of H-beams of steel piled up there, like hills.
They are brand new and sturdy, with the proud black lettering painted on their sides: Made by Yili.
But this batch of steel, which was supposed to be shipped to Pittsburgh to become bridges and skyscraper frames, was covered with glaring white seals.
"Sealed by the Pennsylvania State Auditor General".
Screen switch.
The parking lot of the cement plant in Scranton.
Dozens of heavy concrete mixer trucks lined up in a long queue, but there were no drivers in the cabs.
The camera pans across the roadside.
A group of men in overalls squatted on the curb, with cigarette butts scattered all over the ground at their feet.
They stared blankly at the closed factory gate, clutching expired delivery slips in their hands.
Switch again.
The camera then moves into a workers' community.
The photographer entered a family's kitchen.
There was only a red piece of paper on the table, pressed under an empty milk bottle.
That was a power outage notice from the power company.
Next to it was a crumpled pay slip with a zero on it.
In the background, a man wearing an old jacket sits on a sofa, his hands holding his head, motionless.
This is Pennsylvania as it is today.
This is the world after the "compliance audit" in Harrisburg put a pause button on it.
Leo sat in front of the microphone, looking at the silent images on the screen.
He didn't need to write anything; the anger was already in his chest, and all he had to do was open his mouth and it would gush out on its own.
"Recording begins."
Leo spoke into the microphone in a low, suppressed voice.
"This is Pennsylvania today."
"At Yili, our factory has stopped production, and thousands of tons of freshly produced high-quality steel are locked in warehouses and rusting."
"In Pittsburgh, our construction site came to a standstill, with hundreds of workers holding their tools but waiting for materials."
Why?
"Is it because we're doing something wrong? Is it because we bought a defective product?"
"No."
"Because we committed a crime."
"We're trying to use Pittsburgh's money to buy steel produced by Erie."
"We are trying to use Pennsylvanians' own money to feed Pennsylvania's own workers."
"This is against the rules in the eyes of the lieutenant governor of Harrisburg."
"In the eyes of the state auditors, this is something that needs to be severely investigated."
On the screen, the image is frozen on the steel bar sealed with tape.
Leo's voice became shrill.
"Lieutenant Governor Aston Monroe sat in his temperature-controlled office."
"He casually issued a cold, impersonal freeze order with a flick of his finger."
"He told us it was for compliance reasons."
"I'd like to ask Mr. Monroe."
"While you're sipping your red wine, are you aware that because of your compliance efforts, Yili's warehouses are overflowing with unsold inventory?"
"Do you know that because of your audit, Scranton drivers are unable to pay their truck loan payments?"
"Do you know that thousands of families will go hungry this weekend?"
"What are you auditing?"
"Are you auditing why we won't buy those cheap foreign steel materials?"
Are you auditing why we want to keep jobs in Pennsylvania?
"Are you serving the people of Pennsylvania, or those Wall Street importers who'd love to move all their factories overseas?"
This is a morally reprehensible accusation.
Leo directly equated Monroe with "foreign interest groups" and "Wall Street".
In the rust belt, these two words are the biggest swear words.
At the end of the video, the screen goes black.
A line of white subtitles appeared as if carved by a knife.
"We need to work."
"We want it made in America."
"Monroe, take your hand away."
Video editing is complete.
Sarah stared at the screen, her palms sweaty.
"Leo, once this video is released, we'll have completely broken ties with the state government."
Sarah was somewhat worried.
"This accusation is too serious; we have no evidence to prove that he colluded with the importer."
No evidence is needed.
Leo stood up and picked up the mouse.
"As long as the logic makes sense, that's evidence."
"People don't need to see the court's verdict; they just need to see the seals and the shut-down factories."
"That's enough."
Leo pressed the "Publish" button.
The video, titled "Who is Against Made in America?", was instantly pushed to the phones of hundreds of thousands of subscribers through the "Heart of Pittsburgh" account.
It was like a sparkling lump of coal thrown into a dry powder keg.
A few minutes later, the number of reposts exploded.
All the anger found a common outlet.
"Monroe, get out of Pennsylvania!"
"That's the true face of Phillyites; they can't stand to see us living a good life!"
"He's murdering our industry!"
"Anyone who dares to block American manufacturing is our enemy!"
This anger spread eastward along the network lines.
Crossing the Allegheny Mountains, heading towards Harrisburg.
Leo stood in his office, looking out at the night sky.
He exploited populism to label Aston Monroe.
A hat with "anti-industrial", "anti-worker" and "anti-American" written on it.
In the rust belt, such accusations often lead to convictions without a trial.
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