novelnext Chapter 160 The Miracle of 0.4%
Chapter 160 The Miracle of 0.4%
Chapter 160 The Miracle of 0.4% (Bonus Chapter 5/12 for Monthly Tickets)
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, media conference hall.
At this point, a full twenty days had passed since the primary election.
For ordinary people, these twenty days may just be a few pages turned on a calendar, but for those caught in the vortex of this election, every second is stretched into a long torture.
On the giant LCD screen in the lobby, the red and blue progress bars remained stuck in that suffocating stalemate.
The vote counting in all 67 counties of Pennsylvania has been completed, with only this final number remaining to be confirmed.
Leo Wallace stood in front of the television screen at his Pittsburgh campaign headquarters, his eyes fixed on the cursor.
The only sounds in the room were the low-frequency hum of countless computer cooling fans and the suppressed breathing of dozens of people.
This is a kind of quiet that is more torturous than noise.
Murphy sat on the leather sofa that he had worn down, his tie already torn off and thrown aside, his shirt collar open, revealing his sweaty neck.
He was clutching an empty plastic water bottle tightly in his hand, the plastic deformed from his grip, making a cracking sound.
"They're here."
The image on the screen suddenly froze.
The Secretary of State walked up to the podium, holding the final certified document stamped with an official seal.
He read out the number that determined the fate of countless people.
"In accordance with Pennsylvania election law, and after final verification by the county election commissions, the final vote count for the Democratic Senate primary is as follows."
The numbers on the screen flickered briefly before locking completely.
Aston Monroe: 49.8%.
John Murphy: 50.2%.
Between the two numbers lies an extremely small, yet insurmountable, chasm.
Total vote difference: 3421 votes.
In a swing state with millions of registered voters, a margin of more than three thousand votes is less than the audience for a college football game.
This is like a marathon race where the champion is only half a body length ahead of the runner-up.
But in the logic of politics, this is the distance between life and death.
It's the difference between the winner and the corpse.
"We won!"
Murphy stared at the number, his lips trembling, but he didn't jump up and cheer as expected, nor did he shed tears of excitement.
He slumped onto the sofa as if his spine had been removed, his chest heaving violently.
A tremendous sense of fear overwhelmed the joy the moment victory arrived.
He turned his head and looked at Leo, who was standing in the shadows.
Murphy's eyes were filled with awe.
As a veteran of politics for twenty years, he knew better than anyone how those three thousand four hundred and twenty-one votes came about.
That was Leo leading his wolf-like group of lawyers and volunteers, going from one vote counting center to another, snatching back those ballots one by one from piles of discarded tickets that were about to be thrown into shredders.
"We survived." Murphy murmured to himself, his voice as soft as a breeze.
Leo did not respond.
He remained standing in front of the screen, hands in his pockets, watching the final score with a blank expression.
He didn't smile, and his brows didn't even furrow.
He simply raised his hand slowly, loosened the neatly tied tie, and gave his tense throat a moment to breathe.
"Mr. President," Leo whispered in his mind, "we have won."
Roosevelt's voice rang out.
"Yes, Leo, this is victory."
"This is the crack in democracy."
"Monroe lost not because his policies were bad, nor because he didn't have enough supporters. He thought elections were based on the law of large numbers, trends, and the so-called flood of public opinion."
"But he forgot that floods are also made up of drops of water."
"You squeezed into that crevice, you caught those drops of water he had ignored. With those bare ballots, with those flawed signatures, with that garbage produced by bureaucracy, you built a bridge to victory."
"What held Monroe back was not the three thousand-plus votes, but his disregard for the rules."
Roosevelt let out a soft chuckle.
"Now, it's all over."
"History books will only record that John Murphy defeated Aston Monroe in the primaries to become the Democratic Senate nominee."
"No one will remember the arguments about the envelopes, no one will remember the lawyers' shouting in the vote counting station, and no one will delve into how much luck was involved in that 0.4% difference."
"Winner takes all."
"That's the only truth in this game."
Inside the campaign headquarters, suppressed cheers finally erupted.
Although Murphy was still sprawled on the sofa, Sarah, Ethan, Frank, and the other volunteers with bloodshot eyes had already started hugging and screaming.
The champagne cork popped open, and white foam sprayed into the air.
Looking at the revelers, Leo felt as if he were in another world.
While the people in the room were cheering for their slim 0.4% advantage, the atmosphere in another campaign headquarters in Philadelphia was extremely tense.
Aston Monroe stood in front of the huge data wall, staring intently at the 49.8% that represented failure.
"No, that's impossible."
Monroe's face was ashen, and his voice trembled slightly.
"The margin is less than 0.5%, which is enough for a recount! They're cheating! They stole my election!"
He whirled around and roared at his campaign manager, Paul Turner, "Paul! Contact our legal team immediately! I want a recount! I want to know every single mail-in ballot!"
Turner stood there, motionless.
"Boss, calm down."
Turner advised in a low voice.
"Calm down? How can you expect me to calm down?" Monroe pointed at the screen. "Just over three thousand votes short! If I can just turn things around in a few small constituencies, I can—"
"Telephone."
Turner interrupted him and handed him a cell phone that was constantly vibrating.
"It's a call from Washington."
Monroe paused for a moment, then glanced at the caller ID on the screen.
He is Harrison Boyd, chairman of the Democratic Senate campaign committee.
He answered the phone with trembling hands.
"Mr. Chairman, I was just about to report to you that there are serious allegations of fraud involved, and I request—"
"Aston, stop."
The voice on the other end of the phone was devoid of any warmth, and left no room for negotiation.
"The election is over."
"But Mr. Chairman, the difference is only 0.4%! According to the law, I have the right—"
"I said, it's over."
Boyd's voice became stern.
"Do you need me to be more explicit? Every second now, Republican Warren is watching us."
""
"The Party needs unity."
Boyd's tone softened somewhat, but it still sounded more like an ultimatum.
"Aston, you're still young. You're still the Lieutenant Governor of Pennsylvania, and you have a long way to go in the party."
Don't ruin your future because of a moment of impulsiveness.
"Concede defeat."
"Congratulations, Murphy."
"Then, assemble your people and give him your full support to win the general election."
"That's an order."
The phone hangs up.
Monroe held his phone, still in the position of answering a call, and remained motionless for a long time.
He heard the sound of his dreams shattering.
He had always thought he was the chosen one, the darling of the establishment.
But when faced with the real big picture, he was nothing more than a pawn that could be sacrificed at any time.
As long as the Democrats win and retain their Senate seats, it doesn't matter to the bigwigs in Washington who sits in those seats.
Turner stepped forward and gently patted him on the shoulder.
"Boss, issue a statement," Turner sighed. "As long as you're still the lieutenant governor, you'll have other opportunities in the future."
Monroe slowly put down his phone and glanced at the glaring number on the screen.
He lost.
"it is good."
Munro's voice carried a deep weariness.
"Prepare for a press conference."
"I will concede defeat."
"I will congratulate him."
Pittsburgh campaign headquarters.
The cheers subsided slightly, and everyone waited anxiously for Philadelphia's reaction.
If Monroe does initiate a recount, it will be a protracted legal battle, and the fruits of victory could be lost at any time.
Suddenly, the TV screen on the wall changed.
Aston Monroe appeared on the screen.
He looked somewhat haggard, but still maintained the dignified demeanor characteristic of the elite.
"ladies and gentlemen."
Monroe gave the camera a standard professional smile.
"I just called Congressman John Murphy."
"Although the difference is small, the people have made their choice."
"I congratulate Representative Murphy on his nomination, and I call on all my supporters to unite behind Representative Murphy in the upcoming general election and fight for the victory of the Democratic Party and for the future of Pennsylvania."
Another cheer erupted in the room.
This time, it was a complete relaxation.
The sword that had been hanging over their heads was finally moved away.
Murphy let out a long sigh and leaned back on the sofa.
He won.
We really won.
Leo stood by the window, watching Monroe on television.
He knew that Monroe conceded defeat because Washington had intervened.
At a higher level of power, this primary election farce must come to an end.
"Mr. President," Leo thought to himself, "we've passed the test."
"Yes, you passed," Roosevelt replied, "but don't be too happy yet."
"Take your eyes off this room, Leo."
"Look to Washington."
"There's a pair of eyes watching us from there."
Leo thought of that name.
Russell Warren.
That Republican giant who had held sway in the Senate for thirty years, that real abyss.
While the Democrats were fighting tooth and nail for the primaries, Warren remained a detached observer.
He watched Murphy and Monroe tear each other apart, and watched Leo use every means at his disposal.
He might even be secretly fueling the flames, enjoying the thrill of his opponents' internal strife.
Now, the civil war is over.
The Democrats elected a battered candidate, a controversial figure who won by a narrow margin.
For Warren, the prey was exhausted, and he, the beast who had been conserving his energy, was ready to reap the rewards.
"He will be a hundred times more difficult to deal with than Monroe."
Leo made his own judgment.
"He holds the real state apparatus in his hands, and resources that we cannot even imagine."
Roosevelt's voice turned serious.
"Then get ready."
"Warren won't talk to you about legal procedures, nor will he be tripped up by your clever tricks."
He will crush you with his strength.
"But, Leo."
"This is our only chance."
"Only by defeating Warren, only by taking that Senate seat, can we truly say we've put our hands in the heart of Washington."
"Your Pittsburgh revival, your industrial alliance, all your grand ambitions need that seat to protect them."
Leo nodded.
He straightened his suit and stepped out of the shadows.
He walked towards Murphy, towards the cheering crowd, a confident smile on his face.
He raised his hand, signaling for everyone to be quiet.
"Everyone."
Leo's voice echoed in the room.
"Tonight, we made history."
"We have proven that even a faint 0.4% of sound, when combined, can shatter those high walls."
There was thunderous applause.
Leo looked at these people, but his eyes were quite calm.
"But leave half the champagne."
"Because when the sun rises tomorrow."
"We are facing an enemy ten times stronger than we are tonight."
Leo raised his glass.
"For Pittsburgh."
"For Pennsylvania."
"Cheers."
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