Creating America: My campaign manager was Roosevelt

Chapter 55 The Silent Crocodile

Just two hours after Rio walked out of the Allegheny Hilltop Club.

A black Lincoln sedan slowly pulled up in front of the club.

Pittsburgh Mayor Martin Cartwright got out of the car.

He straightened his tie, a confident smile on his face.

In his view, Leo Wallace, that arrogant young punk, although he had caused some trouble, was ultimately just a nuisance and not a threat.

He needs Morganfield to use the same overwhelming financial and media power he's had in the past two elections to swat this annoying fly, Leo, right down the wall.

The waiter led him into the familiar cigar room.

Morganfield remained seated in the same spot, his whiskey now in a fresh glass.

The air seemed to still carry the scent of the previous guest, but Cartwright didn't notice.

"Douglas, old friend." Cartwright sat down familiarly, poured himself a glass of wine, "Looks like we've got some work to do again. That kid Wallace announced he's running for office, what a joke."

Morganfield looked at him with that signature businessman's smile on his face.

"Martin, you've arrived." Morganfield raised his glass and lightly clinked it with his. "I've heard about it too; young people are very energetic."

Cartwright took a big gulp of his drink and leaned back on the sofa, relaxing.

"Drive? That's stupidity." He laughed dismissively. "He thinks he can turn the world upside down with a few videos and a bunch of sweaty workers? Douglas, I need your help."

He stated his demands directly.

"Get the Pittsburgh Chronicle moving, and mobilize all your radio stations. I want them to broadcast dirt on that kid 24/7, starting tomorrow, whether it's true or not, make it up."

"Also, get your political action committee moving."

"Don't let the money go into my campaign account. That's too much trouble. I'd have to fill out a bunch of damn forms for the Federal Election Commission."

"Prepare two million US dollars, go through the 'independent expenditure' channel, have your foundation settle directly with the TV station, and buy out all the prime-time GG slots."

"I want that kind of overwhelming bombardment. I want the people of Pittsburgh to see my face and that kid's ugly black-and-white photo the moment they open their eyes, whether they're watching the morning news or the evening game."

Cartwright made it perfectly reasonable.

In his view, this was just a routine matter.

He was Morganfield's agent at the city hall, and it was only natural that Morganfield would pay to keep him in his position.

However, this time he was met with an unsettling silence.

Morganfield did not agree immediately.

He put down his wine glass, picked up a cigar cutter, and slowly began trimming a cigar.

"Martin," Morganfield finally spoke, "I'm afraid I can't help you with this election as I used to."

Cartwright paused, thinking he had misheard.

"What did you say? Not like before? How much is that? A million? Douglas, this situation is a bit special. That kid's a bit strange. We need to use a lion to hunt a rabbit..."

“No, Martin,” Morganfield interrupted him, “you didn’t understand me.”

He raised his gaze and looked directly into Cartwright's eyes.

"What I mean is, I will remain neutral in this primary election."

"I won't send money, and I won't use my media resources to attack that young man. You need to fight this battle yourself."

Cartwright's smile froze instantly, then cracked little by little, finally turning into shock.

"neutral?!"

Cartwright's voice suddenly rose.

"Douglas, are you kidding me? Neutrality? Do you even know who that kid is? He's a progressive! He's one of Sanders's men! They're always yelling about taking down big corporations and taxing the rich!"

"If he becomes mayor, will your life be any easier? Who will sign off on your construction projects and land approvals?!"

He stood up, his emotions becoming agitated.

"How much have I done for you in the past eight years? You wanted that land, and I approved it. You wanted an environmental exemption for that project, and I signed it. Now that I'm in trouble, you're telling me you want to remain neutral?"

Morganfield remained unusually calm in the face of Cartwright's questioning.

He lit his cigar, took a deep drag, and exhaled pale blue smoke.

"Martin, sit down." His voice was quite calm. "Mind your manners. You're a mayor, not a street brawler."

Cartwright, panting heavily, reluctantly sat back down on the sofa.

"Why?" he stared at Morganfield. "What kind of spell did that kid cast on you? What do I lack compared to him? I have experience, I have a team, and I've been in that position for eight years!"

Morganfield smiled.

"Martin, this has nothing to do with personal feelings; it's purely business."

"That young man, he was here just now."

These words caused Cartwright's pupils to contract sharply.

Leo was here? Just before he came?

"He brought me a very interesting proposal," Morganfield continued, "about port expansion, a huge deal that could reduce logistics costs across Pittsburgh by twenty percent."

"Port expansion?" Cartwright exclaimed anxiously. "I mentioned that plan to you three years ago! You were the one who said it was too risky and didn't want to invest money!"

“Yes, you did mention it.” Morganfield nodded. “But in the proposal you gave me, you only told me how much money we would have to spend, but you never told me where that money would come from.”

"And that young man told me he could get the money from Washington. And he could handle those tough dockworkers unions."

Morganfield shrugged, making a helpless gesture.

"Look, Martin. I'm a businessman. I'm responsible to my shareholders and to the tens of thousands of employees in the group."

"Now, there is an opportunity on the table that could double the group's profits over the next ten years, and I have to make some compromises for this opportunity."

"The young man's condition was that I remain neutral in this primary election."

Cartwright felt like his lungs were about to explode with anger.

"So you believed him? A mere kid? He can handle Washington? He can handle the unions? He's just making empty promises! Douglas, are you getting senile?"

Morganfield's eyes instantly turned cold.

"Watch your words, Martin."

"I've been in business for forty years and I've never misjudged anyone. That young man is far more complex and dangerous than you imagine."

"And I'm not abandoning you."

Morganfield put on a serious expression again.

"Martin, you need to have confidence in yourself. You are the current mayor, you control all the resources of City Hall, and you have so many friends in the establishment."

"Even if I don't spend any money, do you think you can't beat a student with no connections?"

"If I have to feed you this like a nanny, then you really don't deserve to stay in that position."

This is an extremely hurtful statement.

Cartwright opened his mouth, but found himself unable to utter a single word in rebuttal.

He got it.

Morganfield set its sights on the port expansion plan brought by Rio, a plan that would indeed make the group's profit statement look much better.

But this is not the only reason, or even the main reason, he chose to remain neutral.

The fundamental reason is that for an oligarch like Douglas Morganfield, who is deeply entrenched in Pittsburgh, there is no need to gamble.

In this small corner of Pittsburgh, he is the climate, he is gravity.

Whoever ends up sitting in that chair in the city hall.

Whether it's Cartwright, who drank whiskey with him for eight years, or Leo, the young upstart now working on a construction site, if they want the city's machinery to keep running, and if they don't want their financial statements to collapse, they will ultimately have to rely on the Morganfield family's steel, logistics, and capital.

Since the house always wins, why rush to place a bet?

Moreover, in Morganfield's view, Cartwright has indeed been living too comfortably in recent years.

This comfort dulled the mayor's senses and even fostered a ridiculous arrogance, as if the seat he sat in was his rightful place, as if he could truly be on equal footing with Morganfield.

This is not good.

Since this young wolf, Leo Wallace, wants to rush in and bite, let him bite.

Putting some pressure on the current mayor, making him bleed a little, frighten him a bit, or even make him lose face, might not be a bad thing.

This could sober Cartwright up, remind him of the taste of fear, and make him remember how vulnerable he was in the brutal political struggle without Morganfield's support.

Therefore, he didn't mind doing Leo a favor and maintaining so-called "neutrality".

As for whether this will completely offend Cartwright?

Morganfield looked at the furious mayor in front of him and could only sneer inwardly.

This possibility simply does not exist.

Even if Cartwright does win re-election, the mayor will still have to obediently return to the cigar room the morning after the election, with a glass of wine, to ask Morganfield for forgiveness and thank him for his previous "non-interference".

Because Morganfield knew very well that his Morganfield Industries controlled 40 percent of the building materials supply in Pittsburgh and the surrounding area.

If the city hall wants to repair any street or reinforce any bridge across the river, the final orders will go to his cement plant and steel plant.

He not only controlled the bricks and cement, he also controlled the rice bowl.

His logistics parks, his processing plants, and his hospital system employ more than 10,000 people directly or indirectly.

Whoever sits in the mayor's chair, if they want to deliver on their campaign promises, reduce the unemployment rate, and keep the city's life flowing, they will have to be mindful of Morganfield's wishes.

Because in Pittsburgh, no one can live without Morganfield.

This is the confidence of capital.

This is the source of the confidence of regional oligarchs.

He doesn't need to be mayor, because he owns the city.

Cartwright stood up.

He grabbed the glass on the table, downed the whiskey in one gulp, and then slammed the glass down on the table.

"Fine," Cartwright said through gritted teeth. "In that case, Mr. Morganfield, we'll see."

"I'll prove to you that you've made the wrong bet this time."

"I'll tear that kid to pieces myself. You'll regret it then."

After saying that, he turned and strode out of the cigar room.

Behind him, Morganfield watched his angry back, simply shook his head slightly, and continued smoking his cigar.

……

A few days later, the Pittsburgh mayoral campaign officially kicked off.

Initially, all political observers and ordinary citizens believed that this would be a crushing defeat with a huge disparity in strength.

Although Mayor Cartwright's reputation has declined, he is, after all, the incumbent mayor and possesses vast resources.

Leo Wallace, while energetic, was still a newcomer.

The scene people envisioned was one of overwhelming television coverage and a barrage of newspaper headlines, completely drowning the name Leo Wallace in a sea of ​​negative news.

However, things took an unexpected turn.

The first week after the start of the election.

Cartwright's campaign did indeed appear on Pittsburgh television.

The visuals are exquisite and the production is superb. Cartwright, dressed in a suit, stands in front of City Hall and passionately recounts his achievements over the past eight years.

However, people soon discovered that something was wrong.

The number of these guys wasn't as many as I'd imagined.

They only appeared in some regular time slots and did not dominate the prime time before and after the evening news as usual.

What's even stranger is the media's attitude.

The Pittsburgh Chronicle, a newspaper historically regarded as Morganfield's mouthpiece and a henchman for Cartwright in past elections, has been unusually objective this time.

Their front page did not feature any articles attacking Leo.

Instead, it reports on the activities of both candidates in parallel.

On the left is Cartwright inspecting a school, and on the right is Leo eating boxed lunches with workers at a community construction site.

The length is reasonable, and the wording is neutral.

There was neither praise nor slander.

The other radio and television stations also maintained the same tacit understanding.

Those conservative commentators who should have jumped out at this moment to fiercely attack Leo seemed to have collectively fallen silent.

They talked about the weather, sports, and Washington gossip, but never about that "radical socialist" Leo Wallace.

This unusual silence was more unsettling than the intense gunfire.

In the city hall's break room, several senior civil servants were whispering among themselves.

"Hey, have you guys noticed? This election is a bit strange."

"Yeah, I think so too. In previous years, by this time, Morganfield would be plastered with GGs all over the city, even at bus stops. Why isn't there any sign of it this year?"

"I heard that the editor-in-chief of the Chronicle withdrew several articles that were originally prepared to attack Wallace."

"This is very unusual. Could it be..." a civil servant lowered his voice, "that the rumor is true? That the higher-ups don't want Cartwright to be re-elected?"

"You mean, Mr. Morganfield gave up on him?"

"Shh! Keep your voice down! But this whole thing is a bit sinister. That young man named Leo probably doesn't have a simple background. Think about it, if he didn't have the approval from above, could he have been hanging around like this for so long?"

Such speculation and rumors spread throughout Pittsburgh's political circles and among the general public.

The previously one-sided public opinion has begun to subtly shift.

People began to re-examine the young man busy at the construction site.

He was no longer a challenger destined to fail.

He seemed to possess some kind of mysterious power that even important figures had to be wary of.

In the mayor's office.

Cartwright stared at the pile of neutral newspapers on the table, along with the meager campaign finance report delivered by the finance director, and slammed his coffee cup against the wall in anger.

That old fox really made his move.

Or rather, he really didn't do anything.

This neutrality was the greatest betrayal for Cartwright, who controlled administrative resources but lacked sufficient funding and media control.

Now, he has to go all out, using his own resources to engage in a bloody hand-to-hand combat with that young man who is already armed to the teeth.

"Okay, very good." Cartwright looked out the window. "Since none of you will help me, I'll do it myself."

A ruthless glint flashed in his eyes.

This time, he's going to make the call to Washington.