Creating America: My campaign manager was Roosevelt

Chapter 156 The Calmness of Power

Chapter 156 The Tranquility of Power (Bonus Chapter 2/12 for Monthly Tickets)

In Pittsburgh in May, the weather has already warmed up.

The mayor's office on the third floor of the city hall was unusually quiet.

There was no ongoing crisis, no angry crowds blocking the door, and no frantically ringing phone.

There was only one sound in the room.

"Shh, shh."

That was the sound of a pen tip scraping across paper.

Leo Wallace sat behind his desk, wearing a well-tailored dark shirt with one button undone at the collar and the cuffs neatly rolled up to his elbows.

To his left was a mountain of documents.

Those were requests, reports, budget approval forms, personnel transfer orders, and all sorts of administrative contracts from more than twenty different departments of the city hall.

Six months ago, looking at this pile of papers that could bury someone alive, Leo would probably have felt suffocated.

He would anxiously scratch his head, helplessly calling out Roosevelt's name in his mind, questioning the deeper meaning behind each decree, fearing that signing a single wrong word would ruin the city.

But now, his movements are incredibly fast.

Leo picked up a document.

This is an emergency budget application submitted by the Municipal Public Works Bureau for the purchase of twenty new snowplows.

The application was written with great emotion, emphasizing the aging of existing equipment and the threat of future blizzards, with a budget of three million US dollars.

Leo only glanced at the summary before his gaze jumped directly to the equipment price list in the attachment.

His eyes turned cold.

In the comments section at the end of the document, a line was drawn heavily with a pen.

"turn down."

The pen tip danced across the paper, writing a line of words.

"The current equipment repair rate is less than 60%, so priority will be given to repairing the inventory vehicles, and the procurement plan will be postponed to the next fiscal year."

He placed the file in the "processed" pile on the right.

Then came the second one.

The city police department's application for increased overtime pay for night patrol officers.

Leo paused for two seconds.

He recalled the recent security data for the southern district and the safety concerns of those night shift workers returning home.

Then I signed it.

"approve."

But he added a note at the end.

"Monthly submission of GPS records of patrol routes is required as the basis for disbursement."

The third one.

The fourth one.

The fifth one.

Leo's brain is like a sophisticated processor, quickly extracting core information from those lengthy bureaucratic pronouncements, weighing the pros and cons, calculating costs and benefits, and then making a decision.

No hesitation.

There was no hesitation.

There was no trace of that cautious attempt to please everyone.

He only cared about one thing: whether it was in Pittsburgh's interest and whether it aligned with his will.

An awe-inspiring quality is settling in this young man.

This is an absolute confidence that arises naturally from having grasped the pulse of this vast city.

He sits there, controlling the flow of tens of millions of dollars with a single pen, deciding the jobs of thousands of civil servants, and influencing the lives of 300,000 citizens tomorrow.

This control was more real and more weighty than when he spoke to thousands of people in a square.

In Leo's consciousness space, Franklin Roosevelt sat in his wheelchair.

The mentor, who usually liked to give Leo pointers and even make sarcastic remarks from time to time, was unusually quiet today.

He simply watched Leo quietly.

Looked for a long time.

Roosevelt finally spoke only after Leo finished dealing with a batch of urgent documents, put down his pen, and reached for his coffee cup.

"Leo".

Roosevelt's voice was very soft.

You've changed.

Leo's fingers touched the warm glass.

He didn't look up, nor did he even lift his gaze from the document in front of him concerning the "Winter Heating Gas Subsidy".

"Have you gone bad, Mr. President?"

Leo took a sip of coffee, his tone indifferent.

"No."

Roosevelt shook his head.

"I've gotten heavier."

Leo put down his cup, but he still didn't look up; instead, he picked up his pen again.

"Heavy?"

"Yes, it's heavy."

"Six months ago, when you first took this position, you were like a fire."

"You are angry, you are passionate, and you want to rush up and burn every injustice in this city to ashes."

"You were so hot back then."

"You can ignite the emotions of the masses, you can ignite the fighting spirit of Frank and his men."

"But fire is unstable."

"When the wind blows, the fire will flicker; when the rain falls, the fire will go out. Although the fire is dazzling, it cannot bear any weight."

Roosevelt looked at Leo's expressionless profile.

"But now, you're like a piece of iron."

"Composed, cold, hard."

"You no longer lose your temper easily, nor do you get easily agitated. When faced with bureaucrats who try to obstruct you, you no longer slam your fist on the table and roar like before; you have learned to deal with them in a more effective way."

"You've learned to ignore the personal attacks directed at you."

Roosevelt pointed to a newspaper on the corner of the table, which was printed with baseless attacks from the opposition on Leo's private life.

In the past, Leo might have been so angry that he would have torn it to shreds, but today, he didn't even glance at it.

"That's good."

Roosevelt said.

"Because only iron can support the weight of a building."

"And I discovered something even more interesting."

Roosevelt's deep eyes were fixed on Leo.

"You've started to enjoy power."

The pen in Leo's hand stopped in mid-air.

"Enjoying it?" Leo finally looked up. "Do you think I'm enjoying it right now? Dealing with all this damn junk files every day, and dealing with these greedy vampires?"

Don't rush to deny it.

Roosevelt smiled.

"The enjoyment I'm talking about isn't the vanity of being surrounded by crowds, nor is it the prestige of sitting in a luxury car with a police escort."

"That's a low-class enjoyment, the thrill of the nouveau riche."

"I'm talking about a different kind of enjoyment, a more sophisticated and discreet one."

Roosevelt gestured with his eyes toward the document in front of Leo.

"What were you looking at just now?"

"An executive order regarding additional winter heating subsidies for impoverished communities on the North Shore," Leo replied.

Five hundred families.

Roosevelt said.

"If you sign this document, the money will be transferred from the Finance Bureau's account to the gas company."

"When the temperature on the North Shore drops below zero, the radiators in those 500 homes will heat up, so they won't be woken up by the cold in their sleep."

"It only takes you a few seconds to sign your name with your finger."

Roosevelt's gaze sharpened.

"This is the power of authority, Leo."

"It is a capability that can directly alter the physical world with the highest efficiency."

"You weren't excited about it just now; you didn't even show the slightest emotion."

"You just take it for granted."

"You believe that once you sign, the matter is settled. This absolute control over cause and effect, this certainty that can directly transform will into reality."

"This is the ultimate temptation of power."

"And you're already addicted."

Silence fell over the office.

Leo looked at Roosevelt.

He wanted to argue.

He wanted to say that he was just doing his duty, but he found that he couldn't refute it.

Because Roosevelt was right.

There was a time when he had to go to great lengths, use public opinion, and fight against bureaucracy to help Margaret and her colleagues keep the community center.

Now, he only needs to circle a document, and millions of dollars will flow, changing the fate of thousands of people.

This feeling is truly captivating.

It makes people feel their own presence more than any cheer.

Leo lowered his head.

He looked at the document regarding the heating subsidy.

White paper, black ink.

Below is Blake Fincher's approval stamp, only his final touch is needed.

Leo removed the pen cap.

He signed "Leo Wallace" on the line at the bottom of the document.

The strokes are strong and the characters are clear.

"rustle."

This is the warmth of five hundred families.

Leo closed the folder and placed it on top of the pile of already processed files.

He raised his head again, his eyes deep and thoughtful.

"You're right, Mr. President."

Leo spoke.

"I have indeed changed."

"Because I finally understand a principle."

Leo stood up, walked to the window, and looked down at the city.

"Anger won't solve the heating problem."

"Sympathy won't solve anything."

"Even if I shout myself hoarse in front of the city hall, even if I cry myself unconscious because of those freezing children, the heating pipes there won't heat up by themselves."

Leo turned around.

"Only coal can solve this problem."

"Only a pipeline can solve this."

"Only money can solve this."

Leo pointed to his desk.

"Before, I always stared at those people's faces. I looked at their expressions, listened to their cries, and cared whether they liked me or whether they cursed at me."

"But now—"

"I'm more concerned about whether the pipes are working properly."

"I'm concerned about whether this machine is working or not."

"As long as the pipes are connected, the gas can be delivered, and the house will be heated."

"As for who is calling me a dictator, who is saying I'm cold-blooded, or who is pulling dirty tricks behind my back during this process."

Leo shook his head, a hint of indifference on his face.

"None of that matters."

"It's just noise."

Roosevelt looked at Leo in front of him.

He witnessed the birth of a professional bureaucrat.

This transformation is brutal, but it is necessary.

Only those who are like this can tame this monster called the nation in the future.

"very good."

Roosevelt nodded.

"You've finally gotten something decent, Leo."

Leo did not respond to the praise.

He sat back down in his chair and picked up the next document.

It was a report on land acquisition for the second phase of the inland port project, which involved the relocation of several holdout households.

In the past, he might have hesitated, gone to the site in person to check, and tried to find a solution that would satisfy everyone.

But now, he only glanced at the compensation standard and confirmed that it complied with the law and was 10% higher than the market price.

Then, he checked the "force" option.

"rustle."

The pen tip glides across the paper.

For the sake of the bigger picture, for efficiency, and for the return on investment of $500 million.

The inconvenience to a few people is an acceptable cost.

This is the composure of power, and also its ruthlessness.

Leo worked on these documents until late at night.

"Ethan."

Leo pressed the intercom.

"Come in and get the documents."

The door opened.

Ethan walked in and picked up the pile of processed documents.

He glanced at Leo, who was sitting behind the table.

For some reason, he felt that Leo looked exceptionally tall and distant today.

It's like a statue that's gradually taking shape.

Hard, silent, and unshakeable.

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