Creating America: My campaign manager was Roosevelt

Chapter 83 Mr. Mayor

Chapter 83 Mr. Mayor (Bonus chapter for Alliance Leader "The Still Clock on the Wall")

In the days following the primary elections, Pittsburgh entered a peculiar political vacuum.

Martin Cartwright remains the mayor of the city in name only.

His term was to last until the end of the year, his name was still printed at the top of every document in the city hall, and his portrait was still hanging in the corridors of various government departments.

But in reality, Cartwright never stepped foot inside the mayor's office again after leaving through the back door that rainy night.

The city hall staff go to work every day as usual, clock in, drink coffee, and deal with endless trivial documents.

But everyone knew perfectly well that the largest office on the third floor was already empty.

Although Cartwright was still symbolically handling official business elsewhere, the central nervous system of power had stopped beating. This massive bureaucratic machine was like a giant ship that had lost power, drifting on the water by inertia alone.

The subsequent general election in November turned out to be a predictable and uneventful event.

In this deep blue industrial city, the Republican Party symbolically nominated a candidate named Thomas.

He was a respectable businessman who owned two car dealerships. His most dramatic move during the campaign was posting several photos of himself and his family eating steak on X, with the caption "Get Pittsburgh back to reason."

Mr. Thomas was very clear about his position.

He didn't come to fight; he came to fill a quota.

He is the supporting actor in the grand drama of democracy, responsible for standing in the corner and proving that "competition still exists."

Leo didn't even hold a single large rally for this general election.

He does not need it.

The landslide victory in the primary election had exhausted all the political passion in the city and established an unshakeable new order.

On election day, Leo simply posted a photo of himself drinking coffee at the construction site on his social media account.

The result came out.

72 percent.

This is a dominant figure in Pittsburgh's election history.

Leo Wallace, with overwhelming force, crushed his virtually nonexistent Republican opponent and officially became the mayor-elect of Pittsburgh.

Everyone knows this is just the final legal step.

The real show will begin two months later.

January 3rd.

Pittsburgh experienced its coldest day of the year.

The cold wind blew across the frozen Mononga Hilla River, cutting into people's faces like knives.

The sky was a leaden gray, and fine snowflakes, carried by the wind, rustled against people's coats.

Grant Street in front of City Hall was blocked off.

Tens of thousands of citizens flooded the streets.

They were wearing thick down jackets and scarves with the word "Wallace" printed on them.

There were steelworkers, university professors, African American barbers, Latino janitors, young students, and veterans with canes.

They endured the bitter cold, huddled together.

Because they are going to witness a moment.

A red carpet was laid on the marble steps of the city hall.

Leo Wallace was wearing a black wool coat over a well-tailored dark suit.

His left hand rested on a thick book with a worn cover.

That's not the Bible.

At this solemn moment, he chose a book that was of greater significance to him—a biography of Franklin Roosevelt that he had read countless times in college and whose margins were filled with notes.

The judge stood opposite him, solemnly reciting the oath.

"I, Leo Wallace, solemnly swear—"

Leo's voice, transmitted clearly through the microphone, reached every corner of the square.

"I will faithfully perform my duties as Mayor of Pittsburgh and, to the best of my ability, uphold, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States and the Constitution of Pennsylvania —"

Behind this solemn voice, in the first row of the viewing platform.

Frank Kowalski, wearing the suit he had always refused to wear, cried like a child.

This tough guy, who hadn't flinched when facing riot police batons at the strike site, now let tears stream down his wrinkled face and drip onto his inappropriate floral tie.

Sarah stood next to Frank, clutching two cell phones tightly in her hands, her earpieces constantly ringing with instructions from on-site security and media coordination.

Her eyes were bloodshot, the result of not sleeping for three consecutive days.

She was checking every step of the process, confirming every camera position, making sure this moment was perfect.

Ethan Hawke stood further back, holding a thick folder in his hand.

That contains the first batch of draft executive orders that Rio needs to sign in the coming week.

He did not book a return ticket.

Last night, Senator Sanders called his cell phone.

The command was brief: Stay.

Washington doesn't need another staff member to write documents, but Pittsburgh needs an executive who can truly implement progressive ideas.

Sanders wanted him to keep an eye on Leo, and even more so on this "showroom," to make sure that every brick was laid according to their blueprint.

"—May God bless Pittsburgh."

Leo finished reciting the last line of his oath.

He removed his hand from the book and looked down at the audience.

At that moment, cheers erupted like a volcanic eruption.

Thousands of arms waved in the cold wind, and thousands of faces flushed with excitement.

Leo looked at those eyes.

Flames were burning inside.

That was hope, trust, and fervor.

But Leo also saw something else in those lights.

heavy.

That was a burden that two and a half million dollars in federal funds could not fill, a burden that dozens of brilliant speeches could not bear.

Those eyes seem to be saying: We've given you everything, now it's your turn to give us a way to survive.

This kind of anticipation is more suffocating than the winter wind.

The ceremony has ended.

The crowd began to disperse, but their enthusiasm still lingered in the air above the city.

Escorted by security personnel, Leo turned and walked toward the heavy door of the city hall.

He walked through the corridor.

Those city hall employees who had previously looked down on him and even sabotaged him behind his back were now standing on both sides of the corridor, bowing to him with humble and ingratiating smiles on their faces.

"Hello, Mayor."

Good morning, Mayor.

Leo didn't stop, he just nodded politely and kept walking quickly.

He went up to the third floor and walked to the end of the corridor.

There was a double oak door with a simple sign that read: Mayor.

The secretary opened the door for him.

Leo went inside.

This is a spacious office that feels empty.

Huge floor-to-ceiling windows occupy an entire wall.

The room was spotless, almost excessively so.

Martin Cartwright took all his personal belongings with him.

The photos of him with celebrities from all walks of life that used to hang on the wall have been removed, leaving only a few light-colored square marks.

The books on the bookshelf were emptied, and the wine in the wine cabinet was gone.

Even the pen holder on the desk was taken away.

All that remained in the room was a bare desk and a leather swivel chair that looked quite old.

Leo walked up to the desk.

He reached out and touched the smooth, cold tabletop.

Is this the end?

Is this the place he, Frank, and Sarah spent half a year wallowing in the mud, using every means possible, even risking everything, to finally reach?

He walked around the table and sat down in the leather chair.

The leather of the chair made a slight squeaking sound.

An unprecedented pressure, like a mountain, pressed down on his shoulders without warning.

"We did it, Mr. President."

Leo spoke softly to the empty room.

"We won."

His voice echoed in the room, sounding somewhat thin.

The silence lasted for a few seconds.

Then, that familiar voice rang out from the depths of his mind.

Roosevelt's voice became extremely serious, even carrying a hint of oppression.

"win?"

No, child.

You're wrong.

"Just like Cartwright told you on the phone, all of this is just a warm-up."

There was no hint of celebration in Roosevelt's tone.

"Stand up."

"Go to the window."

Leo stood up as instructed, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down at the square where the ceremony had just been held.

Although the crowd had dispersed, the red carpet on the ground remained, as did the trampled snow.

"Look at this city, Leo."

"Look at those who were just cheering for you."

Why are they cheering? Because you're handsome? Because your speech is engaging? Because your videos are interesting?

"No."

They cheered because they were hungry.

"They need to work, eat, pay rent, and buy medicine to treat their children's illnesses."

"They want to fix the road in front of their house that has been in disrepair for ten years, so they won't have to worry about being robbed when they go home from get off work at night."

"They put you in this position not to watch you sit in this chair and do nothing, but to have you put bread on their table."

Roosevelt's voice grew louder and louder.

"And what do you have now?"

"Besides the empty title of mayor, you have nothing."

"Your coffers are empty," Roosevelt said coldly. "Cartwright left you with a mess full of holes, a frighteningly high deficit, and debts coming due soon."

"Your bureaucracy is lazy."

"The hundreds of civil servants in this building were trained by Cartwright over eight years."

"They've become accustomed to shirking responsibility, to drinking coffee and reading newspapers, and to turning a blind eye to the suffering of ordinary citizens. They now only show you superficial respect, while secretly waiting to see you make a fool of yourself."

"Your police are corrupt."

"Even though Dave Miller is gone, the rotten core of that police department remains. Those sheriffs who collude with gangs, those patrol officers who are used to excessive force, they won't listen to your orders."

"And don't forget the elephant in that room."

"Douglas Morganfield".

"Although he remained neutral in the primary, he is not dead. He still controls the city's economic lifeline, the media, and countless jobs."

"He's lurking in the shadows now, like a crocodile, watching your every move."

"If you make a single mistake, if you reveal even the slightest weakness, he will pounce on you without hesitation, tear you to shreds, and then replace you with a new agent."

Leo clenched his fists tightly.

"Electing an election is about selling your dreams to the people."

Roosevelt gave his final summary.

"It's an art; it requires passion, eloquence, and performance."

"And governing is turning dreams into bread."

"It's an engineering project that requires calculation, compromise, an iron fist, and tedious, arduous labor day after day."

"The latter is ten thousand times more difficult than the former."

"You think you've already reached the summit?"

"No, you've only just reached the foot of the mountain."

Leo looked out the window.

A year ago, he was waving his fists and shouting at the crowd outside the city hall.

At that time, he felt that the whole world was at his feet, and he believed that as long as he had courage, he could change everything.

But now, as he stands at the highest point of the city, trying to see through its glittering facade to its scars.

He didn't feel the thrill of conquest.

It is a kind of heaviness.

A weight that almost crushed his bones.

It's no longer the number on the ballot, no longer the percentage in the polls.

Those were 300,000 living, breathing people.

It was the elderly people queuing to vote in the cold wind, the single mothers who were counting on him to fix the school, and the unemployed workers who placed their last hopes on him.

Their eating, drinking, defecating, their birth, aging, illness, and death; their heating; their garbage; their safety.

From that moment on, the entire burden fell on his shoulders.

If he makes the wrong decision, it won't be as simple as losing a few votes as it was during the election campaign.

If he messes up the budget, some people will really starve to death because they won't receive welfare.

If he messes up the security situation, people could actually be robbed or even murdered on the streets late at night.

The weight of power becomes very concrete at this moment.

Leo pressed his palm against the cold glass.

His fingertips were somewhat white.

"Can you feel it?"

Roosevelt's voice echoed deep within his mind.

"This is the breath of Leviathan."

"When you're campaigning, you see it as your enemy, and you want to conquer it, you want to ride on its back."

"Now, you're sitting on its back."

"You'll find that it's not a docile horse."

"It is a monster composed of countless interest groups, countless legal provisions, and countless individual greed and fears."

"It is ruthless, slow-witted, greedy, and extremely difficult to control."

"It has its own will."

"If you want it to go east, it might go west; if you want it to run, it might lie down and sleep."

"You need to whip it, feed it your own flesh, and sometimes you even need to cut off your own flesh to feed it before it will move even slightly."

Leo looked out at the city.

"I'm a little scared."

Leo said honestly to himself.

"Looking at those people below, I felt like I might really mess up."

"I've never managed anything this big before."

"Fear is justified," Roosevelt said. "If you feel excited or arrogant, then I will be more worried."

"Only a fool would feel excited when sitting in the electric chair."

"This fear is your last line of defense in keeping you alert."

"It will remind you that every word you sign with this pen is as heavy as a thousand pounds."

Roosevelt paused for a moment.

"Take a look at this office, Leo."

"In my twelve years as president, I saw the Great Depression, Pearl Harbor, and Normandy from the Oval Office in the White House."

"I even sent myself away."

"This chair is uncomfortable to sit in."

"It's covered in thorns."

"Every thorn is a problem you can't solve, a compromise you have to make, and a nightmare that keeps you tossing and turning in the middle of the night."

"The real hell has only just begun."

Leo turned around and looked at the empty desk.

That was an altar.

He had to sacrifice his youth, his energy, and even his soul to this city in order to create even the slightest possibility of change.

"Please sit down, Mr. Mayor."

Roosevelt's voice carried a hint of anticipation.

"Our work has only just begun."

"Now, let's take this city apart, even if it means tearing down its foundations or smashing its skeleton."

"We also want to transform it into the way we want it to be."

Footsteps came from outside the door.

It was rushed and chaotic.

That was his team, Sarah, Ethan, Frank, Karen —

Leo took a deep breath.

He straightened his tie, went behind his desk, and pulled out the leather swivel chair.

The chair made a dull thud.

He sat down.

"Alright, Mr. President."

"Let's see what this hell really looks like."

"Thump, thump, thump."

A knock came at the door.

"Come in."

Leo, you said.

The door opened.

A cacophony of noise surged in.

A new era for Pittsburgh has officially begun at this moment.