novelnext Chapter 158 The Long Election Night
Chapter 158 The Long Election Night
Chapter 158 The Long Election Night
The day before the primary election, at 3 p.m.
In the mayor's office on the third floor of Pittsburgh City Hall, Leo Wallace sat behind his desk, a pen in his hand.
His gaze fell on a thick document, eighty pages long, titled "Administrative Approval Form for the Replacement Project of Old Sewer Pipes in the South District".
This is an extremely dry technical document.
It is filled with technical terms about pipe diameter, material standards, construction noise decibel limits, and sewage treatment flow direction.
Leo turned to the last page and signed his name on the line for "Approver".
Ethan pushed open the door and walked in, carrying a stack of new folders.
"Leo, this is the proposal submitted by the city health department regarding the addition of flu vaccination sites. You need to sign off on the budget." Ethan placed the documents on the table and pulled out a thinner one. "Also, the Pittsburgh Zoo wants to apply for additional funding to renovate its dilapidated panda enclosure."
Leo took the documents.
"Fix the panda." Leo quickly signed the document. "It's the only place in the city where I can make the citizens happy without having to worry about it."
Ethan put away the signed documents, turned around, and walked out.
The office returned to its sleepy tranquility.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the carpet, and dust particles danced slowly in the beams of light.
"This is the true face of power, Leo."
Roosevelt's voice lazily echoed in Leo's mind.
"People always think that being president means standing on Capitol Hill every day delivering the Gettysburg Address, or sitting in the map room commanding thousands of troops."
Actually, no.
"Most of the time, we're dealing with these damn sewers, flu vaccines, and pig farmers who don't want to pay taxes."
"These days are so boring, aren't they?"
Roosevelt let out a soft chuckle.
"But you'll miss it."
"Because this boredom signifies order."
"It means that the city is operating smoothly and safely on its established track, without you having to put out fires or risk your life."
Leo put down his pen.
He leaned back in his chair, looking out at the peaceful street.
Everything was in good order.
This is a luxurious kind of ordinariness.
"Bang!"
The office door was suddenly pushed open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang.
This tranquility was shattered in an instant.
Karen Miller walked in.
She strode to the desk, placed her hands on the surface, and stared at Leo.
"You actually managed to sit here and look at the budget for the panda enclosure?"
Karen's voice betrayed an uncontrollable anxiety.
"Murphy is about to throw up in the campaign office next door."
"Seriously, he physically threw up. He just rushed into the bathroom and threw up the sandwich he had for lunch."
Leo's eyes sharpened, and he leaned forward.
"How's the data?" Leo asked.
Karen slammed the report in her hand on the table.
"This is the final follow-up poll."
Karen pointed to the red curve above.
"In Philadelphia, Monroe spent three million dollars in the last 24 hours to buy out primetime slots on all the television stations in Philadelphia."
"His approval rating is rising."
"Our lead in the rust belt has been reduced to 1.5%."
"1
Karen took a deep breath.
"Tomorrow morning at 7 a.m., all 9,000 polling stations across Pennsylvania will open simultaneously."
"That's the will of millions of people, a completely uncontrollable chaos."
"Nobody knows whether we'll be popping champagne or writing our wills tomorrow night."
Leo took the report and glanced at the tangled data cables on it.
The red and blue colors intertwine, resembling a tangled mess.
He picked up the pen on the table and slowly capped it.
"Click".
The crisp metallic clanging sound was particularly clear in the office.
Leo stood up, walked to the window, and took one last look at the peaceful street below.
Pittsburgh today is a peaceful and idyllic place.
But tomorrow, this facade will be completely torn away.
That was a change of power, a judgment of fate.
Leo turned around, straightened his collar, and buttoned up his suit jacket.
"Let's go, Karen."
He walked out of the mayor's office and into the red-brick office building next to the city hall.
As soon as I pushed open the door, a wave of sound rushed towards me.
"Ring ring ring"
The simultaneous ringing of dozens of phones sounded like a torrential downpour.
"We need another twenty vehicles in Allegheny County! Now!"
"Damn it! Tell that printing company the flyers have to be delivered before five o'clock!"
"Are the observers in Philadelphia ready? I need our people at every ballot box!"
The shouts of volunteers, the roar of printers, the clatter of keyboards—all these sounds blended together to create a noise that sent adrenaline soaring.
Leo took a deep breath, like a diver jumping into the deep sea.
He knew that from this moment on, until the final result was confirmed, he would no longer have a moment to relax.
The next day, the first rays of sunlight pierced through the clouds over the Atlantic Ocean, traveled upstream along the Delaware River, lit up the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia, crossed the folds of the Appalachian Mountains, and finally shone into the dusty valley of Pittsburgh.
The doors of thousands of polling stations burst open at the same time, like a sluice gate being opened, and a long-accumulated torrent rushed in.
This is a power struggle over who gets control of the country.
The entire state had become a giant gambling table, with everyone betting their future on it.
In the East, Philadelphia’s war machine displayed a breathtaking scale.
That's the heart of the Democratic establishment, the stronghold of Aston Monroe.
Tens of thousands of volunteers in neat uniforms poured into the streets like worker ants, knocking on every middle-class door and efficiently sending voters to the polling stations like products on an assembly line.
This is a victory for order, the pinnacle of elite politics.
In the west, in the rust-covered Allegheny County, in the bleak winds along the shores of Lake Erie, another, more primal, more wild force is erupting.
Steelworkers, coal miners, and truck drivers—people who are usually hidden in the smoke and noise—now converged into a black tide.
Wearing oil-stained work clothes and driving roaring pickup trucks, they flocked in droves to the polling stations set up in the basements of fire stations and churches.
Their eyes were rough, their movements slow yet resolute, and the ballots they held tightly in their hands were like stones thrown against a high wall.
This is a violent collision between two completely different civilizations on the same state's territory.
On one side are sophisticated Swiss watches, and on the other side are roaring steam locomotives.
Millions of ballots fell like snowflakes, carrying desires, anger, fear, and hope, filling those seemingly empty plastic boxes.
During this long day, all of Pennsylvania trembled, as the tectonic plates of power squeezed violently, producing a teeth-grinding grinding sound.
The hustle and bustle was abruptly cut off only when the sun dipped below the horizon of the Ohio River and night fell upon the land.
The polling station doors closed, seals were affixed, and the world fell into a solemn atmosphere, as if before a trial.
That enormous political monster swallowed all sound, leaving only the muffled sounds of digestion within its belly, awaiting the final verdict.
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
It was 11:45 p.m.
An atmosphere of anxiety permeated John Murphy's campaign headquarters.
A huge TV wall occupies the entire east wall.
On the screen, the news channel's star anchor is standing in front of a huge electronic map, rapidly reporting on the battle situation.
It was a fragmented map of Pennsylvania, with colors constantly shifting.
"Now let's look at the situation in Philadelphia and its surrounding suburbs."
The streamer tapped the eastern side of the map heavily with his finger, and a blinding dark blue light instantly lit up there.
"Lieutenant Governor Aston Monroe has demonstrated remarkable dominance in his home turf. In Montgomery County, Bucks County, and downtown Philadelphia, he received more than 65 percent of the vote."
"This is an overwhelming advantage; Philadelphia's large population base is providing him with a steady stream of votes."
On the other side of the screen, the host's finger moved towards the west.
"Then look at Pittsburgh and the Rust Belt to the west."
The western side of the map also lit up in blue, a color even darker than Philadelphia.
"Congressman John Murphy also achieved a huge victory here. The ballot boxes in industrial cities like Allegheny County, Erie, and Scranton were almost filled with Murphy's name."
"The power of unions has been fully mobilized, resulting in the highest blue-collar voter turnout we've seen in Democratic primaries in decades."
However, numbers don't lie.
"Philadelphia's population density is just too high. Although Murphy performed well in the West, one district in Philadelphia often has the same number of votes as three counties in the West combined."
At the bottom of the screen, the red scrolling bar looked like a death knell.
Statewide vote counting progress: 94%
Aston Monroe: 47.6%
John Murphy: 46.4%
Other: 6%
The difference is 1.2%.
With millions of votes already counted, this gap may seem insignificant, but in the final moments of an election, it becomes an insurmountable barrier.
The campaign headquarters was deathly silent.
The phone rang intermittently, but no one answered it.
The volunteers stopped what they were doing and stared blankly at the big screen.
The lively atmosphere just moments before instantly froze.
John Murphy slumped onto the sofa.
He ripped off his tie, and one of the buttons on his collar popped open, revealing his sweaty shirt underneath.
He was holding a half-empty bottle of whiskey, his hand trembling slightly.
"It's over."
Murphy's voice was hoarse.
He tilted his head back and gulped down a large mouthful of whiskey. The pungent liquid burned down his esophagus, choking him and causing him to cough violently, his face turning bright red.
"John, the vote count isn't over yet," Leo reminded him.
"You don't understand, Leo. I've been in this business for decades, I know all too well what these numbers mean."
Murphy pointed to the scrolling red data bar at the bottom of the screen, his finger trembling slightly.
"That's a full 1.2 percent. If it were when invoices were first being issued, it wouldn't mean much, but now the invoice issuance rate has reached 94 percent."
""
"In Pennsylvania's election history, no one has ever been able to fill such a huge hole at this pace of vote counting, never."
"Those TV stations haven't announced Monroe's victory yet, just to sell a few more minutes and maintain their ratings for a little longer. But in the eyes of those data analysts, the game is already over."
Murphy clutched his hair in despair.
"This isn't a probability problem; it's a math problem. To turn things around, I need to get more than 60 percent of the remaining 6 percent of votes."
"Sixty percent!"
"In this swing state, the outcome of even the presidential election is decided by a hair's breadth, let alone an election like the party primaries. Expecting such an overwhelming vote share at the last minute is simply wishful thinking."
"That's the power of the establishment."
Murphy gave a bitter laugh, his eyes unfocused.
"This percentage doesn't even meet the threshold for triggering a recount."
"Philadelphia's population size is a given, and Monroe's core support base sealed the victory. Even if we did our best in rural areas, even if we brought every single miner to the polls, we still couldn't fill that huge hole in Philadelphia."
He turned his head and looked at Leo.
"Leo, we've lost."
"I was too naive to think that I could turn the world upside down with $500 million in bonds."
"We're just entertaining ourselves."
Murphy put down the bottle and covered his face with his hands.
"Karen."
He shouted.
Karen Miller stood in front of a table piled high with data reports, her face pale, but she maintained the composure of a professional manager.
"I'm here, boss."
"Get ready."
Murphy's voice carried a sense of resigned weariness.
"Preparing a concession speech."
"It has to be decent. We need to congratulate Lieutenant Governor Monroe, call for party unity, and thank our supporters for their efforts—you know how to write those damn clichés."
"I don't want to wait until the last vote is counted before going up and making a fool of myself."
"Let's concede while the current gap is still manageable."
Karen pursed her lips.
She glanced at the big screen, then at Murphy.
As a rational data analyst, she knew that the probability of turning the tide was statistically close to zero.
A 94 percent vote count, a difference of 1.2 percent.
Once this trend takes hold, it's like a boulder rolling downhill—very difficult to reverse.
"Okay, boss."
Karen sighed, sat back down at her computer, and opened a new document.
The sound of keyboard typing filled the quiet room.
"Da, da, da."
Leo Wallace stood in the shadows of the data screen, a glass of ice water in his hand.
The ice cubes collided against the glass, making a soft sound.
"Mr. President."
Leo silently recited in his mind.
"Is this the end?"
"The machines of Philadelphia crushed the steel of Pittsburgh; did the elite triumph over the workers?"
Although Leo said that, the fire in his eyes did not go out.
He was not reconciled.
Leo gritted his teeth: "We still have a chance, right?"
Roosevelt's voice echoed in his mind.
"Of course there's still a chance, child."
"Look at Murphy's dejected appearance. That's why I chose you. Because you have a heart that refuses to admit defeat."
"
"The vote count is only 94 percent," Roosevelt said. "That means there are still 6 percent of the votes that haven't been counted."
Leo frowned. "But according to what Murphy just said, the remaining votes should follow the current trend. Philadelphia's votes will keep Monroe in the lead, and our votes won't be enough to close the gap. Statistics don't lie."
"Statistics is dead."
Roosevelt gave a cold laugh.
"On election night, only one thing is alive."
"That's an outlier."
"Think about it, why were those six percent of the votes left unvoted?"
"Why weren't they scanned and counted immediately like other ballots?"
Roosevelt lowered his voice.
"Because they have problems."
"These are provisional ballots, mail-in ballots, and ballots for overseas troop deployments."
"These ballots, due to illegible signatures, unclear postmark dates, or minor discrepancies in voter registration information, were ejected by the machine and piled up in a corner of the election commission, awaiting manual verification."
"And in Pennsylvania, where are these types of votes most concentrated?"
Leo's brain was working at lightning speed.
He recalled how, over the past few months, they had mobilized large numbers of low-income workers who never voted, impoverished residents who didn't even have driver's licenses, and truck drivers who spent their days on the road.
Many of these people are registering to vote for the first time.
Many of them were unable to go to the polling station on election day due to work reasons and had to choose to mail their ballots in.
These people are easily classified as "problematic ballots" because they did not fill out the forms correctly.
"They are our people."
Leo suddenly realized what was happening.
"A large portion of that six percent consists of our people."
"That's right."
Roosevelt praised it.
"Those well-educated middle-class people in Philadelphia will fill out every form properly, and their votes will have already been counted."
"Those who are left behind and sidelined are often the people at the bottom, those who are ignored by the system."
"This six percent is not garbage."
"This is a gold mine."
"These uncounted votes are the key to life and death."
"As long as we can dig up these ballots, as long as we can prove that these ballots are legal."
"A difference of 15,000 votes?"
Roosevelt let out a disdainful snort.
"That's just a thin layer of paper."
Leo gripped the cup in his hand tightly.
"Karen!"
A sharp shout shattered the silence in the room.
Karen, who was typing on the keyboard, was startled and her fingers froze in mid-air.
She turned her head and looked at Leo.
Murphy also looked up, his eyes blurry with drunkenness, at the young man who had suddenly spoken.
"What's wrong?" Karen asked. "I'm writing the ending—"
"Stop writing."
Leo strode over, grabbed Karen's laptop, and slammed it shut.
"Don't write that damn concession statement."
Leo's voice was cold and hard, full of command.
"The election is not over yet."
Murphy gave a wry smile and shook his head.
"Leo, I know you're not happy about this. But the statistics speak for themselves, we lost, and we need to learn to leave with dignity."
"To hell with dignity!"
Leo whirled around and pointed at the screen.
"John, open your eyes and look carefully!"
"Ninety-four percent!"
"This means that a full six percent of the votes are still sitting in the box, uncounted!"
"Do you know how many that is? Given the high voter turnout in Pennsylvania this time, that's at least 100,000 votes! 100,000!"
Leo strode up to Murphy, bent down, placed his hands on the sofa armrests, and looked directly into Murphy's eyes, which had become cloudy due to alcohol and fear.
"How far behind are you now? Only 1.2%."
"As long as we can get 60% of the remaining 100,000 cards."
"We can turn the tide."
"We can win."
Murphy was stunned.
He looked into Leo's eyes, which were burning with flames, and his previously muddled mind was forcibly awakened by this intense energy, instantly dissipating half of his drunkenness.
But years of political inertia still made him subconsciously look for excuses.
"But—Leo, you don't know," Murphy's voice trembled, "those that are left are all problematic votes."
"To salvage these votes would require an extremely complicated administrative review, and might even necessitate litigation. That would take time, money, and also—"
Leo looked at the old politician in front of him who was still rambling on and on about making excuses, and he almost laughed out of anger.
He was truly impressed by this old man.
Weak, timid, and their first reaction to difficulties is to back down.
But then I thought, if Murphy wasn't like that, if he were as assertive as Monroe, how could he have been so thoroughly controlled by me?
It was precisely because of his weakness that Leo had room to manipulate things.
It was precisely because his ambition exceeded his ability that he had to rely on Leo.
Leo took a deep breath, suppressed his anger, and put on an even more determined expression.
"Then let's fight!"
Leo abruptly interrupted Murphy's complaints.
"If they want to invalidate a worker's vote just because their signature is illegible, then we'll sue them for violating our civil rights!"
"If they want to erase a truck driver's voice just because the postmark is blurry, then we'll go to court and apply for enforcement!"
"This isn't a math problem, John."
"This is a citizen's right."
Leo straightened up and looked around the entire campaign headquarters.
Looking at the dejected volunteers and the staff preparing to pack up and go home, he took a deep breath and then suddenly raised his voice.
"Listen up, everyone!"
Leo's roar was like thunder, exploding throughout the room.
"If you don't want to work here, you can get out now! I won't stop you!"
"But if you want to win, stick your ass to your chair!"
"The game isn't over yet!"
"As long as the referee hasn't blown the final whistle, and as long as there's still one box left to open, we haven't lost!"
"How much hardship have you endured these past few months? How many miles have you traveled? How many people have insulted you?"
"Are you really going to just give up here? Are you really going to just watch Monroe and his gang open champagne in Philadelphia?"
Leo walked up to Karen, his eyes burning with passion.
"Karen, you're a professional, you know what's hidden in those ballots."
"Murphy's appearance just now made you want to give up too, didn't it? You felt there was no hope, right?"
"But think about it, if we just leave like this, what will all your hard work over the past few months mean? What will all the efforts we made before mean?"
Karen looked at Leo.
Yes, she should have thought of that too.
Problem ballots and provisional ballots are variables that arise in every election.
Just now, Murphy's despair infected her like a virus, causing even this seasoned professional manager to waver.
But now, Leo has pulled her out of that emotional quagmire.
Even if we still lose in the end.
At the very least, we must fight to the last moment.
At the very least, we should be worthy of all the nights we've stayed up and all the coffee we've drunk over the past few months.
Her previously lifeless eyes lit up again.
That's the excitement a professional campaign manager feels when they smell blood.
She suddenly pushed the chair away and stood up, the movement so forceful that it even knocked over the water glass next to her.
"clear."
Karen's voice regained its usual crispness.
"I will contact my legal team and volunteers immediately. Also, we need to apply for an emergency injunction from the court to suspend any clearing of provisional ballots until our observers arrive."
"I want every vote counting station to know that we're watching them!"
Leo then turned to Ethan.
"Ethan, find out which counties the remaining six percent are mainly concentrated in."
"If it's our territory, like Allegheny County, or those counties in the west."
"Call the chairpersons of the election commissions in those counties."
"Use all our connections and resources locally."
"Apply pressure."
"Let them know we're watching them."
Ethan nodded emphatically.
"I'll go check the data now."
Finally, Leo looked at Murphy.
The senator candidate, who had just been preparing to write his will, was now staring blankly at his ally.
"John."
Leo took the bottle of whiskey and threw it in the trash can.
Go wash your face.
"Then put on your suit and tie your tie."
"Walk to the camera outside."
"Tell all the media, tell all your supporters."
Tell Aston Monroe.
"We did not lose."
"Every vote must be counted."
"Until the last vote is counted, until the voice of every voter in this state is heard."
"No one can declare victory."
Murphy looked at Leo.
He felt a long-lost surge of warmth rush into his veins.
That is hope.
It's also ambition.
He stood up, swayed slightly, and then steadied himself.
He straightened his shirt, his eyes hardening.
"it is good."
Murphy said.
"Let's go tell them."
"This battle isn't over yet."
Leo looked at the bustling campaign headquarters.
The atmosphere of despondency and despair from before vanished instantly.
"Mr. President," Leo asked inwardly, "can we really win?"
"Are there really enough votes in that six percent?"
"Who knows?"
Roosevelt's voice also carried a gambling spirit.
"Maybe yes, maybe no."
"But at least we're still sitting at the poker table."
"As long as you're at the poker table, anything is possible."
>