novelnext Chapter 161 Big Earthquake
Chapter 161 Big Earthquake
Chapter 161 The Great Earthquake (Bonus Chapter for Monthly Tickets, 6/12)
Washington, D.C., Democratic Senate Campaign Committee.
The building that controls the election resources for Democratic senators across the United States is now in complete chaos.
Phones rang incessantly, data analysts ran wildly down the hallways, and policy advisors argued in the conference room.
"How could they possibly lose? Monroe's data model is so perfect!"
"The data from Pittsburgh is wrong! There's definitely something fishy about those mail-in ballots!"
"We want a recount! We want to sue!"
Amid the chaos, Harrison Boyd, chairman of the Democratic Senate campaign committee, remained unusually calm.
He sat in his spacious office, holding a freshly printed report analyzing the Pennsylvania election.
"Quiet."
Boyd's voice was broadcast throughout every corner via the internal broadcasting system.
"The election is over, gentlemen. There are no problems with the data, no problems with the procedures, and no problems with the results."
"This is just the primary election."
Boyd put down the report.
"Our goal is singular: to retain our majority in the Senate. Since Monroe lost, it means he's incapable of winning the popular vote."
"And that Murphy, since he was able to fight his way through that red rust belt, it means he has his value."
We need him.
Boyd stood up, walked to the map, and pointed to Pittsburgh.
"Let's be realistic, gentlemen. Ten minutes ago, Murphy was our trouble, but now he's our hope."
"Call Murphy. Tell him he is the pride of the Party, and we should give him the best resources, the most funding, and the most professional team."
"We should hug him right away."
Boyd's eyes deepened.
"At the same time, we must sever his ties with those radicals, especially that little mayor of Pittsburgh."
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"We need to package Murphy as a mainstream, stable candidate who can represent the interests of the entire state."
"We need to pull him out of that quagmire, clean him up, dress him in the most expensive suit, and send him onto the red carpet in Washington."
The Senate Office Building, Sanders' office.
"Hahahahaha!"
A burst of hearty laughter came from the office, startling the assistant outside the door so much that he almost dropped his documents.
Sanders was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.
As he wiped his glasses, he said to Marcus beside him, "See? I knew it! I knew that Pittsburgh kid could do it!"
"Although we had to feign a break, and although I gave him a piece of my mind, he slapped the establishment in the face for us!"
"That slap was so loud! So satisfying!"
Sanders put his glasses back on, and the smile in his eyes gradually faded.
"But, Marcus."
"Now, the real test has just begun."
"Washington's swamp is about to swallow Murphy."
"The Democratic Senate campaign committee will swarm him like flies, offering him promises and resources, trying to assimilate him."
"Hopefully he remembers who put him up there."
"Hopefully he remembers that his roots are in Pittsburgh."
Washington, D.C.
Russell Warren turned off the TV.
The irritating celebratory scene on the screen disappeared, leaving only the crackling of firewood popping in the fireplace in the study.
A sinister glint flashed in Warren's eyes.
"I helped Murphy out, Carl."
Rolfes, standing to the side, nodded: "Boss, this move was risky. Murphy is riding high right now; he just pulled off an impossible comeback."
"I know."
Warren picked up the election analysis report from the table; it was an in-depth data analysis of the Democratic primary.
His gaze swept past Philadelphia and landed squarely on the red areas of western Pennsylvania—the area surrounding Erie, Scranton, and Allegheny counties.
That place should have been his backyard, a stronghold of Republican voters.
However, in this primary election, the data from these regions showed some unusual fluctuations that made him uneasy.
"Look at this, Carl."
Warren pointed to the data from Erie County.
"In the past month, more than 3,000 voters who were originally registered as Republicans suddenly changed their party affiliation to Democrats and then voted for Murphy."
"Three thousand people may seem like a small number across the entire state, but in that specific constituency, it's a dangerous sign."
"This means that blue-collar workers who usually only listen to Fox News and only believe in God and guns are starting to waver."
Warren put down the report, his expression turning serious.
"I used to think that the mayor of Pittsburgh was a bit clever."
"But now it seems I underestimated them."
"That so-called Pennsylvania Industrial Revitalization Alliance is not an empty shell; it is actually functioning."
"It's channeling Pittsburgh's money and influence down the highways and railroads to my territory."
Warren stood up and walked to the map of Pennsylvania hanging on the wall.
His gaze was fixed on the locations of all the relevant cities within the alliance.
"Ron Smith, Joe Byers—these mayors usually bow and scrape before me, begging for even the smallest amount of federal funding."
"Now, with the orders from Pittsburgh, they're much more assertive."
"Although they dared not openly oppose me, they tacitly approved the union's support for Murphy and even privately encouraged voters to defect."
"That's why there are those defecting votes."
"This is the power of money; tangible benefits are more effective than any ideological preaching."
Warren turned around and looked at Roves.
"Murphy is dangerous."
"They are trying to establish a new order, one that bypasses Washington, bypasses Harrisburg, and is directly composed of a community of interests from the grassroots industrial cities."
"If they succeed, if they really make this 'rust belt new policy' model work."
"Then this is not just a matter of losing a senator seat."
"This will shake the foundations of the Republican Party throughout the Midwest."
"We will lose the right to define the blue-collar class."
The atmosphere in the room became tense and somber.
He had to take action.
We must not only win this battle, but also nip this dangerous trend in the bud.
"Tell our team to upgrade our strategy."
Warren gave the order.
"First, I need to teach a lesson to those disobedient fence-sitters."
"Call those Republican mayors in Erie, Scranton, and Johnstown, or have their big donors call them."
"Tell them that the money in Pittsburgh might be enough to feed them a meal, but the wrath of Washington could starve them for the rest of their lives."
"Check their city's federal funding projects, whether it's bridge construction or school building. Find a few reasons to stall, suspend, or resubmit them."
"I want them to understand that the price of betraying me is far greater than the paltry sums they earned from Leo Wallace."
"Second, prepare for our attack on Murphy."
Warren walked back to his desk, picked up a pen, and heavily circled Murphy's name.
"Does Murphy want to talk about the economy? Jobs? New policies?"
"Okay, then let's talk to him."
"But he's a Democrat, and that's his original sin."
"We need to tie Murphy, Sanders, and that crazy mayor of Pittsburgh together."
""
"We want to tell Pennsylvanians that Murphy's so-called New Deal is just raising taxes, it's just big government, it's just using your money to support lazy people."
"I want to bring this election back to the ideological battle of what kind of America we want."
Warren slammed the pen on the table with a sharp "thud".
"Monroe is down, now it's our turn."
With Murphy's victory, the public discourse has reached a fever pitch.
The New York Times headline was in bold: "The Rusty Belt's Revenge."
The article provides a detailed analysis of how working-class voters used this election to voice their anger at the elite-controlled Democratic Party leadership.
The Wall Street Journal's opinion section was filled with concern: "Is the Democratic Party Turning Left? Pennsylvania Primary Sends Dangerous Signals."
They worry that Murphy's victory means that radical economic policies will become mainstream in the Democratic Party, which will unsettle the markets.
Meanwhile, more media outlets began frantically digging into the mastermind behind Murphy.
That young mayor of Pittsburgh.
For the first time, Leo Wallace's name truly appeared in the spotlight of the American political stage.
Pittsburgh, campaign headquarters.
The phone finally stopped ringing.
Just minutes earlier, John Murphy had hung up a long phone call from Washington.
The call was made personally by Harrison Boyd.
Murphy put down his phone, turned around, and looked at everyone in the room.
His expression was complex; the rough-and-tumble spirit of fighting side-by-side in the mud and anxiously vying for a few hundred votes was rapidly fading from him.
Instead, there was a sense of restraint and excitement at the prospect of entering the highest echelons of power, along with a subtle feeling of alienation.
-
"Leo".
Murphy spoke up.
"The chairman of the Democratic Senate campaign committee just spoke with me for a long time."
"They told me to go to Washington immediately, and they've already bought my plane ticket."
"They want to talk to me about popular vote strategy and provide me with the top professional campaign team in the country."
"They said that the upcoming general election is a war for the whole party, and we can no longer play the guerrilla game like we did in the primaries."
""
The room fell silent.
Everyone understands what this means.
This means Murphy is getting an upgrade.
He wanted to leave this campaign headquarters, leave these mud-covered comrades, and go to that cloud that only the elite could enter.
Frank opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he said nothing and simply took off his hat silently.
Leo walked over.
He looked at Murphy, at his ally who was about to become a Democratic Senate candidate.
Laughed.
That was a genuine smile.
Leo reached out and straightened Murphy's slightly crooked tie.
"Go, John."
"Leo said softly."
"You deserve it."
"Don't let them think we Pittsburghites are unsophisticated."
"When we arrived in Washington, we stood tall."
"Tell them you're not going there to beg, you're going there to conquer."
Murphy looked at Leo, his eyes reddening.
He suddenly opened his arms and hugged Leo tightly.
"Thank you, brother."
Murphy's voice choked with emotion.
"Without you, I'd still be counting chairs in the House of Representatives, or maybe I'd already retired and be at home taking care of my grandchildren."
"I will come back."
"I will never forget Pittsburgh, and I will never forget every promise made here."
"But I must first go—to become one of them."
Leo patted Murphy on the back.
"I know."
"Go."
Ten minutes later.
Murphy, along with Karen Miller and his core entourage, hurriedly left the campaign headquarters.
Several black cars sped away, heading straight for the airport.
The office suddenly became empty.
All that remained were scraps of paper, empty bottles, and celebratory banners that hadn't yet been taken down.
Leo stood at the door, watching the direction the convoy had disappeared in.
A deep sense of loneliness welled up inside me.
He won.
He put Murphy in that position.
But he felt he had lost a comrade-in-arms.
From this moment on, Murphy was no longer just his ally.
He is a Democratic Senate candidate; he belongs to the entire party machine and to the bigger picture in Washington.
He will have new advisors, new strategies, and new interests to consider.
Leo, however, remained in Pittsburgh, in this city filled with smoke and debt.
"Don't be sad, Leo."
Roosevelt's voice echoed in his mind.
"This is the destiny of kingmakers."
"You put the king on the throne, so you can't expect him to sit on the bench next to you and drink cheap beer with you like before."
"He had to adapt to that new world and deal with new people."
"But that doesn't mean you've lost him."
Roosevelt's voice became firm.
"As long as he still needs your vote."
"As long as Pittsburgh remains his base in Pennsylvania."
"As long as he still wants to beat that damn Warren."
"Then he will always be your friend."
Even if he sits on the clouds in Washington, his line is still in your hand.
Leo nodded.
He turned around, looked at the empty office, picked up a broom, and began sweeping up the scraps of paper on the floor.
"Clean this place up."
"There's more work to do tomorrow."
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