novelnext Chapter 159 Who is counting the votes?
Chapter 159 Who is counting the votes?
Chapter 159 Who's Counting the Votes? (Bonus Chapter 4/12 for Monthly Tickets)
Pittsburgh campaign headquarters conference room, 4 a.m.
Around the long table sat twelve people, top election lawyers whom Karen Miller had urgently airlifted from Philadelphia, New York, and Washington using all her connections in Washington.
They wore expensive custom-made suits, and even at this time of year, their ties were still perfectly tied.
Leo Wallace stood at the top of the long table.
"Everyone."
Leo spoke.
"The campaign rallies are over, the TV show is over, and the handshakes and baby kisses are over."
"The real war has only just begun."
He turned around and wrote a number on the whiteboard behind him: 1308.
"Pennsylvania Elections Code, Section 1308, concerning the verification standards for provisional ballots and mail-in ballots."
Leo tapped the number with his knuckles.
"This is our battlefield."
"Six percent of the votes have not yet been counted. These votes are currently sitting in the warehouses of the county election commissions, sealed in envelopes."
"They are dead."
"Our mission is to bring our votes to life and to kill Monroe's votes."
"Those who vote can't decide anything; those who count the votes decide everything."
Leo took a deep breath and looked at the lawyers.
"Our strategy is simple and consists of two parts."
He picked up a marker and wrote "Allegheny County" on the left side of the whiteboard, which is the county where Pittsburgh is located.
"This is our home turf. Although the county election commissioners won't openly help us cheat, they will favor us within their discretionary power."
"Therefore, our strategy here is to maximize tolerance."
Leo stared into the lawyers' eyes.
"I want you to lead your teams and hold your ground at every vote counting station."
"If a ballot cast for Murphy has the date on the envelope written in the wrong format, that's a clerical error, and the ballot is valid."
"If the signature is a little messy, it means the voter is old and their hand is shaking, and the vote is valid."
"If there's a coffee stain on the corner of the envelope, that's a sign of life, and the vote is valid."
"As long as that circle is drawn next to Murphy's name, even if it's drawn with lipstick, you must fight for it, citing the clause in the code that prioritizes respect for voters' intentions, and save this vote for me!"
"I want every single invalid ticket here to become a valid ticket."
The lawyers nodded, their pens flying across the paper as they jotted down notes.
Leo wrote "Philadelphia County" on the right side of the whiteboard.
"This is Monroe's stronghold."
"The election commission there is a stronghold of the establishment, and they will do everything they can to invalidate our votes."
"Therefore, we should nitpick as much as possible there."
Leo's eyes turned fierce.
"I'm going to send our fiercest observer to Philadelphia."
"Keep an eye on their every move."
"If a ballot for Monroe is not properly sealed in its envelope, even if it's just missing a corner, it's considered poorly sealed and at risk of being tampered with, and should be voided!"
"If voters don't put their ballots in that damn confidential inner envelope, it's a naked ballot, a violation of privacy regulations, and it must be invalidated!"
"If there is even the slightest difference between the signature and the handwriting used in the registration five years ago, then it is impersonation, and the registration must be voided!"
"If the postmark date is unclear, it means the postmark is overdue and should be voided!"
"In Philadelphia, your mission is not to protect democracy."
"Your mission is to destroy Monroe's votes."
"Even if it's just a crease on a piece of paper that's not right, I want you to raise objections, demand that it be sealed, demand a review, and demand that a judge intervene."
"We need to slow down their vote counting so slowly that it suffocates them."
Leo braced his hands on the table, his bloodshot eyes burning with an almost fanatical fighting spirit.
"Everyone, listen to me."
"Those old men in Philadelphia think the election is over, they think that percentage on TV is the final verdict, they're in their hotels popping champagne and laughing at our overestimation of ourselves."
But they were wrong.
Leo raised a hand, pointing to the pitch-black night outside the window, to the vast Pennsylvania landscape.
"Now, I want you to go out."
"Scattered into this boundless night."
"Go to the high school gymnasiums in Philadelphia, go to the community basements in Pittsburgh, go to every polling station in Allegheny County."
"It was nailed there."
"Keep a close eye on everyone there, on every hand that turns the pages, on every action that tries to throw a ballot into the wastebasket."
Leo's voice grew louder and louder.
"Don't let them think they can easily steal our victory."
"Tell them that we are here. Tell them that behind every envelope they consider trash, there stands a living person, a steelworker who has stood in line for hours in the wind just to cast a vote."
"
"Those people have placed their hopes in our hands, and we must not let those hopes rot in the recycling bin."
"Go and snatch back our victory from that pile of waste paper, one sheet at a time."
Leo suddenly waved his hand, issuing the final command.
Let's go!
Its daybreak.
Pittsburgh, Allegheny County Election Counting Center.
This place was originally a huge stadium, but it has now been converted into a temporary ticket counting factory.
Hundreds of long tables were neatly arranged, piled high with yellow envelopes.
The vote counters sat behind their desks, mechanically opening envelopes, taking out ballots, scanning them, and filing them.
On the opposite side of each table stood two men in suits.
One was from Leo's side, and the other was from Monroe's side.
They stared intently at each piece of paper in the vote counter's hand, like two fighting roosters.
"stop!"
A sharp scream shattered the noise in the stadium.
That was the lawyer sent by Monroe, a middle-aged man wearing gold-rimmed glasses.
He pointed to a ballot in the vote counter's hand.
"This ticket is invalid!"
The man with the gold-rimmed glasses spoke loudly.
"Look here, the voter wrote last year's date when filling in the ballot. This is an invalid date ballot and must be discarded."
That was a vote for Murphy.
The vote counter hesitated, holding the ballots and unsure what to do.
"be opposed to!"
Leo's lawyer, a young but extremely aggressive redhead, immediately stepped in.
"This is clearly a typo!"
The red-haired lawyer pointed to other information on the ballot.
"The voter's signature is genuine, the postmark date is valid, and the intent is clear. Should an elderly person be stripped of their constitutional rights simply because they made a mistake about the year?"
"We must respect the will of the voters! This is a principle that the Pennsylvania Supreme Court has clearly stated in its case law!"
"Rules are rules!" the man with the gold-rimmed glasses retorted. "An incorrect date makes a ticket invalid. If that's how it works, what's the point of laws?"
"You're suppressing voters!" the red-haired lawyer shouted. "I'm going to file a complaint with the judge in the room!"
The two argued fiercely across the table, spittle flying everywhere.
The vote counter reluctantly raised his hand, signaling a halt.
The ballot was placed in a red box marked "Disputed" and is awaiting further ruling.
This is the norm on the battlefield.
The struggle for each vote is a mini-courtroom debate.
at the same time.
Three hundred miles away at the Philadelphia Convention Center, the same scene is playing out.
"Objection! This ticket doesn't have an inner envelope!"
Leo's lawyer pointed to a ballot that had just been removed from the box, on which Monroe's name was checked.
"This is a naked vote! According to the state Supreme Court's ruling, naked votes are all invalid!"
The Philadelphia vote counter, a Monroe supporter, tried to argue: "But this vote is clean, and the intention is also—"
"I don't care about intentions!"
Leo's lawyer coldly interrupted him.
"The law mandates a confidential envelope; if you don't have one, you don't have one. If you dare scan it in, I'll immediately sue you for dereliction of duty!"
"And this one too!"
The lawyer then pointed to another one.
"Look at this signature. The signature on the registration form is a circle, this one is an X. Can this be the same person? I demand a handwriting analysis!"
"That's a Parkinson's patient!" Monroe's observer exclaimed, his face flushed with anger. "His hands are shaking!"
"Do you have a doctor's certificate?" Leo's lawyer asked expressionlessly. "No certificate. This is a mismatched signature, invalid."
In Philadelphia, Leo's people wielded the sword of "procedural justice" to its fullest extent.
They were like a bunch of nitpicking robots, searching for the slightest flaw in piles of ballots.
The vote counting process in Philadelphia has been severely slowed down.
The tickets, which were originally expected to be counted in one day, have not even been counted for a third of the time.
A large number of ballots were labeled "controversial" and sealed away.
This is Leo's tactic.
That seemingly insurmountable 1.2% gap is being gradually erased in this fierce battle.
Noon.
Pittsburgh campaign headquarters.
Leo stood in front of the big screen, looking at the latest data summary.
Murphy sat on the sofa, holding his blood pressure medication.
"How is it?" Murphy's voice trembled slightly.
"I'm very anxious."
Karen walked over with the report in her hand.
"We recovered about three thousand invalid ballots in Allegheny County, eighty percent of which were for you. These were worker ballots that were going to be thrown away because they were not filled out correctly."
"In Philadelphia, our people successfully challenged five thousand of Monroe's votes, forcing them into a review process."
"The gap has narrowed to 0.8%."
"Not enough."
Leo stared at the screen.
"Philadelphia's electoral base is too large to be completely nitpicked."
Just then, the office door was pushed open.
Ethan rushed in.
"Leo, Monroe has responded."
Ethan turned on the TV.
The news channel is broadcasting live.
In the footage, Aston Monroe stands at the entrance of the Philadelphia vote counting center, surrounded by reporters.
The usually mild-mannered deputy governor now had a terrifyingly ferocious expression on his face.
He no longer maintained that elite demeanor.
"This is organized sabotage!"
Monroe roared at the camera.
"Murphy's legal team is maliciously obstructing voting in Philadelphia! They are questioning every single ballot, insulting our vote counters, and attempting to disenfranchise the people of Philadelphia!"
"This is an attack on democracy!"
"I have instructed my legal team to file an emergency lawsuit with the state Supreme Court to stop this malicious interference!"
As Roosevelt watched the furious Monroe on television, he chuckled in Leo's mind.
"He's getting anxious."
"When a respectable person starts cursing in the street, it means he has been cornered."
Leo turned off the TV.
"He wants to sue? Then let him sue."
"Leo said coldly."
"The longer the lawsuit goes on, the better it is for us."
"However, we can't rely solely on defense."
Leo turned around and looked at Frank.
Frank, are your brothers still around?
"They're all here." Frank stood up.
"very good."
Leo pointed to the remote, crimson counties on the map.
"The tickets for Philadelphia and Pittsburgh are basically finalized."
"What will decide the outcome is the mail-in ballots that haven't been delivered yet."
"These are the votes of the workers and farmers who live in the mountains and on the farms."
"Those tickets are still on the post office trucks or at the ticket counting points in the towns and villages."
"I want your men to keep an eye on those places."
"Bring a camera, bring a lawyer."
"I've heard that in some places, Republican election officials are trying to secretly throw away ballots cast for Democrats."
"Go tell them that if they are missing even one ticket, we'll tear down their office."
Frank grinned.
"clear."
"I will show them what working-class oversight is."
3 PM.
The war reached its climax.
Not just Pittsburgh and Philadelphia.
Violent clashes erupted in every county and at every vote counting site in Pennsylvania.
Lawyers were arguing, observers were shoving each other, and protesters were chanting slogans outside the door.
This is a fierce battle fought for every single piece of paper.
Leo sat in his office, watching the constantly fluctuating data.
0.7%.
0.6%.
0.5%.
The gap is narrowing little by little.
Like a snail struggling to climb up a wall covered in thorns.
It didn't know how far the finish line was, nor did it know if it would fall and be smashed to pieces in the next second.
It only knows one thing.
can't stop.
As long as there is movement, there is hope.
As long as you're still bleeding, it means you're still alive.
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