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Chapter 175 Leader
Chapter 175 Leader
Late at night, in the communications room of the city hall.
The huge screen was divided into seven small squares, and seven faces with different expressions appeared on them.
This was an emergency closed-door meeting of the Pennsylvania Industrial Revitalization Alliance.
"I've read the script that Leo gave me."
In the top left corner of the screen, Scranton Mayor Joe Byers broke the silence.
"The script is very well written, really. It's logically sound and emotionally rich; it would win an Oscar in Hollywood."
Biles gave a wry smile.
"But who dares to be the first to perform?"
"My constituents all own guns. If I were standing in front of City Hall tomorrow morning and announced that I, the Republican mayor, was switching parties to become Democrats..."
Byers pointed to his chest.
"The day after tomorrow I will have to wear a bulletproof vest to work. My office will be smashed to pieces by those angry citizens, and my car will be splashed with paint."
"This is not just political suicide, it's suicide in a physical sense."
The other faces on the screen also showed the same fear.
The mayor of Johnstown said, "That's right. Warren may be a bastard, but he's deeply entrenched in our area."
The church, the Rifle Association, the veterans' club—those were all his territory.
"If we rashly turn against them, those conservative organizations will devour us alive."
The mayor of Newcastle also sighed: "Moreover, public opinion is not friendly towards Murphy right now, and if we stand up for him now, voters will think we're crazy."
Everyone is hesitant.
It's a big gamble.
If they win, they will be the heroes who led the city out of the mire, and the pioneers of a new era.
If they lose, they will be traitors who betrayed their party and their voters, and they will be nailed to the pillar of shame, and they may even lose their pensions.
Everyone is waiting for the other person to speak first.
"cough."
A cough broke the silence.
In the center of the screen, Mayor Ron Smith of Erie, who had been silent until now, stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.
"I'll do it."
Smith's voice was resolute.
The eyes of the other six people immediately focused on him.
"Ron, are you crazy?" Byers asked in surprise. "Your district is the reddest."
"Precisely because I am the most popular, I must fire the first shot."
Smith lit another cigarette, took a deep drag, and the taste of nicotine slightly cleared his tired mind.
His gaze swept across the other six faces through the screen, finally settling on the face of Scranton Mayor Joe Byers.
"Actually, everyone here knows in their hearts that the only ones who are qualified and have the weight to fire at that old man Warren are Joe and me."
Upon hearing this, Byers instinctively wanted to retort, but Smith stopped him by raising his hand.
"Joe, don't rush to say anything. I know you want to say you'd do it too, but I can't let you go to your death."
Smith flicked his cigarette ash, his tone becoming calm.
"Scranton's situation is too complicated. Half of your city council members are Warren's people, your police chief is relying on funding from the Republican State Committee, and your power is too heavily checked."
"If you step forward tomorrow to announce your defection, Warren only needs to make two phone calls, and your city council will initiate impeachment proceedings, and your police chief will declare the city out of control at this critical juncture. Before you even get to the podium, you'll be tripped up by your own people at the office door."
11
Biles remained silent on the other end of the screen.
He knew Smith was telling the truth.
"But I'm different."
Smith's voice deepened, revealing a confidence that had been built up over the years.
"I've been running Yili for twenty years. I promoted the police chief, the fire chief is my high school classmate, and even the garbage collector's union boss owes me three favors. My will flows through every crack in every brick here."
"I have the resources to withstand the first wave of impact, and the ability to maintain the situation from collapse amidst the chaos."
These words subtly changed the atmosphere in the video conference room.
The initial hesitation was replaced by a sense of awe for the former mayor.
Taking the initiative to assume risks is a rare quality in politics.
But Smith hadn't finished speaking.
"Furthermore, gentlemen, we need to make things clear."
Smith leaned forward, getting closer to the camera.
"Why should we join this so-called revival alliance? For survival, for money, that's true."
"But don't forget what that young Leo Wallace held in his hands. He held five hundred million dollars in bonds, the power to allocate orders, and access to Washington."
"If we're just a bunch of scattered soldiers, rushing to him one by one to surrender, begging for his charity, then what are we? We're just his underlings, pawns on his chessboard. Who gets more or less depends entirely on his mood."
"Are you willing to entrust the fate of your city entirely to a Pittsburgh young man in his thirties?"
The expressions on the faces of the other mayors changed.
"I don't want to," Smith answered himself.
"Therefore, we must band together. We need to build our own core circle within this revival alliance. We need a voice, a voice that is loud and influential enough to stand on equal footing with Leo Wallace."
"I'll be the one to stick my neck out and take the first hit of Warren's wrath."
"In exchange."
Smith's tone became unquestionable.
"I want to be the representative of our seven cities, and at the future negotiating table, when it comes to dividing that $500 million pie, I will represent everyone in talking to Leo Wallace."
"In this way, we become a political force that cannot be ignored. Talio Wallace must respect us and treat us as equal allies, not subordinates."
"This is a deal, folks. I'm betting my political life on a voice in the future coalition."
Do you agree?
The screen was completely silent.
This was an exceptionally brilliant political speech. Smith not only resolved the question of "who should take the lead," but also conveniently established his leadership position among the mayors of these small cities.
At that moment, everyone was scrutinizing the man in the center of the screen with an unusually determined gaze.
Leadership is never something that can be granted by an appointment letter or a title.
It's not the "mayor" or "chairman" written on a business card; those are just the cloak of power.
True leadership is the radiance emanating from the one who dares to stand at the bow of the ship and shout "Follow me" into the face of the giant waves when countless storms have struck and everyone else is seeking refuge.
It is a kind of trust that is built up little by little in people's hearts after they have withstood the pressure with their own flesh and blood in one crisis after another and proved with their actions that they can be relied on. It is almost superstitious.
When disaster strikes, when everyone is at a loss and instinctively wants to call out a name.
The name that was called was that of the leader.
At this moment, Ron Smith is completing his transformation into a leader.
He took the sword of Damocles hanging over his head and, with this almost self-destructive courage, told everyone present: If the sky falls, I'll hold it up first.
This power is invisible, idealistic, and built upon the spirit, yet it is so real that it is irresistible.
Because it touches on the deepest desires of human nature: the desire for security and a sense of direction.
Everyone here is smart, and they quickly figured out the key point.
Let him take the brunt of the attack, let him contend with that powerful Pittsburgh mayor—it's all in our best interest.
Since he wants to be that leader, let him be.
"I agree." Byers was the first to break the silence. His eyes showed less anxiety and more relief. "Ron, as long as you dare to stand up, Scranton will follow your lead."
I agree.
Count me in.
"Ron, you're the eldest brother, you're the one who calls the shots."
A chorus of agreement followed.
At this moment, the seven faces reached a true consensus.
Smith leaned back in his chair.
"very good."
He exhaled a smoke ring, his eyes piercing through the swirling smoke, as if he could already see the storm that was about to break tomorrow.
"Since everyone agrees, then it's settled."
"But before that, I have to tell you a story."
A cunning glint flashed in his eyes.
"I want everyone to feel that I didn't betray the Republican Party."
"The Republican Party betrayed us."
"Warren betrayed us."
"I want to portray myself as a tragic hero who was forced to make difficult choices for the sake of the city's survival."
Smith looked at the other people on the screen.
"I'll light the fire first."
"I will create a big enough news story, a crisis that everyone has to pay attention to."
"Wait until the fire starts, wait until Warren is in a panic."
"You must follow up immediately."
Smith extended his finger and tapped across the screen.
"Don't leave me alone in this hellhole."
"We need to create a wolf pack effect."
"If only I betray them, I am a traitor, but if all seven of us betray them together, that is an uprising."
"When mayors across western Pennsylvania come out to criticize Warren, voters will start to wonder if there's really something wrong with Warren."
The other six mayors on the screen exchanged glances.
"Fine." Byers gritted his teeth. "If you make the first move, I'll follow."
"I'll go too," Mayor Johnston nodded.
"Count me in," the mayor of Newcastle also chimed in.
"Then it will be 10 a.m. the day after tomorrow."
Smith stubbed out his second cigarette.
"I will give Warren a big gift."
Mornings in Erie are typically gray.
Even in August and September, the wind blowing from Lake Erie still carries a hint of coolness.
But today, the air in the City Hall Square is scorching hot.
That fervor stemmed from anger.
Thousands of citizens surrounded the city hall, making it impossible to pass through.
They waved empty envelopes in their hands; envelopes that should have contained pension checks now only contained a cold "Notice of Deferred Payment".
"fraud!"
"Give us back our hard-earned money!"
"Ron Smith, get out here!"
The roar crashed against the city hall doors like a tsunami.
Besides retired elderly people, the crowd also included a large number of young and strong workers.
They were wearing work clothes and carrying wrenches and safety helmets.
Just yesterday, Smith signed an emergency executive order, citing a "financial crisis," declaring an immediate halt to all municipal works and an indefinite postponement of wages for affected workers.
Riot police formed two human walls, struggling to maintain the crumbling defense line.
"Clang!"
A brick the size of a fist flew over the policeman's head and smashed a floor-to-ceiling window on the first floor of the city hall.
The glass shattered, shards flying everywhere.
The screams and shouts instantly rose an octave, the crowd began to surge forward, and the defensive line was on the verge of collapse.
This is the predicament that Ron Smith deliberately created.
In the mayor's office on the second floor of the city hall.
Ron Smith stood behind a gap in the curtains, watching the raging crowd below.
He had a cigarette between his fingers, and a long ash had accumulated on it.
His secretary, trembling, hid behind the door: "Mayor, the back door is ready, the car is in the alley, the police chief advises you to evacuate immediately—"
"Evacuate?"
Smith turned around, threw the cigarette butt on the ground, and crushed it out with his toe.
"Where to retreat to? Back home? They'll tear my house down too."
"And why should I run?"
Smith straightened his suit.
"Give me a megaphone."
Smith said to his secretary.
"I want to go out."
The secretary's eyes widened in horror: "Mayor, this is too dangerous! They're furious right now—"
"You have to make them angry."
Smith grabbed a few documents from the table; they were the ammunition he had prepared overnight.
"They'll only listen to the wildest explanations when they're angry."
Smith pushed open the door and strode out.
He walked directly to the main entrance of the city hall.
As the gates slowly opened, the noise in the square momentarily ceased.
Then came an even more violent outburst.
"He's out!"
"Catch that bastard!"
Some people tried to break through the police cordon, and the police had to use batons to force them back.
Smith stood on shards of glass.
The wind tousled his hair, but he stood straight.
He raised the megaphone in his hand and pressed the switch.
The whistling sound of the electric current pierced everyone's eardrums.
"Smash it!"
Smith's first words were a roar.
His voice was louder and more furious than the roars of the thousands of people in the audience.
"Keep smashing! Tear this building down! Smash it down too!"
"If this could conjure up money, if this could fill your pension gaps, I, Ron Smith, would rip my head off and let you kick it around like a football!"
The crowd was stunned by this unusually forceful approach.
They had anticipated that the mayor would apologize, run away, or even kneel down and beg for forgiveness.
But I never imagined he would be even more like a mob than the mob itself.
A retired worker in the front row, still clutching half a brick in his hand, stared blankly at the mayor on the stage, whose face was red and neck thick.
"Ron, don't try to bully us!" the old worker shouted. "We've worked our whole lives, this is the money we deserve! You just say it's gone? Where did the money go? Did you embezzle it?"
"greedy?"
Smith gave a bitter laugh.
"If I could have embezzled that much money, I'd be lying on a Hawaiian beach sunbathing by now, instead of standing here getting hit by your bricks!"
Smith abruptly waved the documents in his hand.
"You want to know where the money went? You want to know why pensions and wages aren't being paid out?"
"Okay, I'll tell you."
"Open your eyes and look at this!"
He held up the printed screenshots of the emails and showed them to everyone.
Although the distance was too great for anyone to see the words clearly, the bright red seal and the logo at the top were exceptionally eye-catching.
That's the official seal of the Pittsburgh city government.
"This is the purchase agreement I signed last week with Pittsburgh Mayor Leo Wallace!"
Smith shouted.
"Thirty million US dollars! A full thirty million!"
"Wallace wants to build a port in Pittsburgh. He needs steel, he needs equipment, and he needs every single screw produced in our Erie plant!"
"As long as this contract is implemented, our factory can start operating, our tax revenue will increase, our workers will receive wages, and money will flow into our pension accounts!"
A buzz of discussion arose from the crowd.
They had all heard about the major construction projects in Pittsburgh.
"That young mayor, Leo Wallace."
Smith's tone became complicated.
"I don't like him. He's a Democrat and a radical."
"However, I must admit that he is a Democrat who wants to do business."
"He had checks in his hand, he had the money ready! It was sitting in his Pittsburgh bank account! He even sent me an urgent email, urging us to deliver the goods!"
"That's real money! That's money that could save the city of Erie!"
"Then why didn't you give it to us?!" someone shouted from the audience. "If you have the money, why don't you give it to us?"
Smith put down the documents in his hand.
His expression turned extremely pained.
He raised his hand and pointed south.
That's the direction of Harrisburg, and also the direction of Washington.
"Good question."
Why?
"Because someone stopped it!"
Smith's voice echoed across the square.
"It's not Leo Wallace, nor is it that I don't want the money."
"It was our own people who stopped this life-saving money!"
"That important figure in Washington whom we've always trusted and voted for!"
The crowd below the stage fell silent.
An ominous premonition spread through the air.
Smith took a deep breath and said the name.
Senator Russell Warren.
The moment those words were uttered, the square erupted in uproar.
"Impossible! Senator Warren is one of us!"
"He's a Republican! How could he possibly harm us?"
Questions and criticisms arose one after another.
Smith gave a cold laugh.
"Yes, he's a Republican, and we're Republicans too, that's why I feel disheartened!"
"Everyone is aware of our financial situation."
"Just last month, news came from Washington. Senator Warren personally cut two life-saving budgets allocated to Erie in Congress."
He pulled two crumpled photocopies of documents from his pocket.
"The first notice, from the U.S. Department of Transportation, is a notification regarding the suspension of the $12 million funding for the Erie Port Channel dredging project."
"The second document, from the Environmental Protection Agency, is a letter of suspension of the $8 million Soil Remediation Fund for the Erie Heavy Industrial Area."
Smith crumpled the two pieces of paper into a ball and slammed them to the ground.
"Twenty million US dollars! A full twenty million!"
"This money was originally intended to dredge our port so that we could receive larger ships; it was originally intended to restore the polluted land so that we could attract investment to build new factories."
"We've included this money in this year's budget, and we're counting on it to balance our accounts."
"But now, the money is gone."
"This 20 million shortfall is like the first domino in a chain reaction."
"Because of this shortfall, we couldn't pay the port construction team's advance payment, so the project stopped; because of this shortfall, we couldn't complete the soil remediation, the new factory couldn't come in, and we lost tax revenue."
"Even more devastating is that, in order to fill this enormous hole and keep the city running, I had to use every available fund, including your pension accounts!"
"That's why you didn't get your money today!"
"It's not that I want to renege on my debt, it's just that Senator Warren took away our jobs with just a few words in Washington!"
Smith pointed to the document in his hand.
"In order to keep this city alive and to prevent people from going hungry, I had to swallow my pride and beg the young mayor of Pittsburgh."
"I begged him to give us more orders, to buy our steel, and to allow our Yili factory to reopen."
.
"He agreed."
"We signed the contract, prepared the goods, and even organized the fleet."
"Once this shipment arrives in Pittsburgh, and once they inspect and sign off on it, the $30 million will be deposited into our account, and your pensions and your salaries will be secured."
"But!"
Smith suddenly raised his voice, which became shrill.
"Just when we were preparing to ship the goods, the road was blocked!"
"State police set up checkpoints on the highway."
"They've blocked the road to Pittsburgh!"
"They won't let our goods pass through!"
"If Pittsburgh can't get the goods, how will they pay us? How will we pay your wages?"
"Who did this?"
"Besides Senator Warren, who has connections and influence in Washington, who else can command those bureaucrats in Harrisburg? Who else can get those big corporations to cooperate obediently?"
Why?
"Because the mayor of Pittsburgh is a Democrat."
"Senator Warren was fighting his political battles in Washington, trying to prevent the Democrats from scoring points in Pittsburgh, and trying to prevent that young mayor from getting any political achievements."
"He decided to blockade Pittsburgh."
Smith's eyes were like those of a wild beast.
"But what's the price?"
"The price is us!"
"The cost is that Yili's factories won't receive any orders! The cost is that our trucks will just sit in the garage and rust! The cost is that your pension accounts will go to zero!"
"In Senator Warren's grand political game, we, the citizens of Erie, the loyal voters who have cast our ballots for him for decades, are nothing more than cannon fodder to be sacrificed at any time!"
"He'd rather watch the old people of Erie starve than see the Democrats in Pittsburgh build a harbor!"
"This is the truth!"
The square was deathly silent.
In their minds, Warren has always been their protector, their shield against the liberal elites in Washington.
But now, the mayor is telling them that the shield has fallen on their own heads.
Moreover, the reason given was for so-called "political struggle".
For these retired workers who are about to run out of food this month, nothing is more infuriating than being betrayed by their own people.
"Is this...is this real?"
The old worker in the front row asked in a trembling voice.
You don't have to believe me.
Smith pointed to his face.
"You can kill me with a brick right now."
"But even if I die, the money still won't come."
"You can go ask those truck drivers why they're not delivering to Pittsburgh. Ask them if they got pulled over by the state troopers on the way."
"I don't understand it either!"
Smith pounded his chest hard, making a dull thud.
"I made over a dozen calls to Senator Warren's office! I begged him! I said, Senator, this is business, this is Erie's lifeline, please be lenient."
"And the result?"
"No one is answering my phone!"
"In their eyes, the lives of us in these poor, remote towns are of no concern. As long as they can win the election and strike at their opponents, what does sacrificing us matter?"
Emotions began to build up among the crowd.
The initial, singular anger directed at the mayor began to transform, becoming more complex and destructive.
The fear of abandonment and the anger of betrayal mixed together, forming a dangerous chemical reaction.
"How could he do this—"
"Our whole family voted for him —"
"That's our pension!"
Whispers converged into a wave of sound.
Smith, looking at the expressions on these people's faces, knew that the fire had been lit.
He needs to add another bit of firewood.
"Brothers."
Smith's voice became tired and heavy.
"I'm just a small mayor; I can't compete with the big shots in Washington."
"I can only watch helplessly as that $30 million contract becomes worthless and your checks become empty promises."
""
"I'd like to give you money, but I don't have any."
Smith took a step back, looking helpless and dejected.
"If you think this is my fault, then go ahead and smash it. After you're done, remember to lock your door when you get home, because next month, we might not even be able to pay the police officers' salaries."
He turned around, making a gesture as if he was about to leave.
"etc!"
The foreman called out to him.
"Mayor, what should we do?"
"Are we just going to wait to die like this?"
Smith stopped and turned around.
A barely perceptible glint flashed in his eyes.
"I have no idea."
He shook his head.
"I didn't know what to do. All I knew was that I made countless calls to Warren's office and submitted more than a dozen applications to the state government."
"All I know is that if I don't sign that contract, our city will really die."
"but----"
He paused.
"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I shouldn't have done this. Perhaps we should choose to starve to death with dignity for the sake of partisan purity and to uphold the dignity of the Republican Party."
"After all, that's a principle."
Smith's voice was full of sarcasm.
The anger that had just made him want to tear the mayor apart was now replaced by a deeper, more desperate emotion.
People looked at each other in bewilderment.
The bricks in their hands slowly drooped down.