sbdcsierra Chapter 115 Harrisburg
Chapter 115 Harrisburg
Chapter 115 Harrisburg (Bonus chapter for 12000 monthly votes)
When people talk about Pennsylvania, the first two names that come to mind are definitely Philadelphia and Pittsburgh.
But from the lofty dome of power in Washington, Harrisburg, a city on the banks of the Susquehanna River, is by no means an insignificant city sandwiched between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh.
On the contrary, it is a projection of Washington's will onto Pennsylvania, and the first transit point for the decentralization of federal power.
Harrisburg is Washington, Pennsylvania.
Here, it doesn't need the commercial hustle and bustle of Philadelphia to prove its prosperity, nor the steel roar of Pittsburgh to demonstrate its power.
The center of power has never needed much public attention.
It only needs to quietly carry out its will.
State Capitol Building, Lieutenant Governor's Office.
This is a room that exudes an air of elite sophistication.
The walls are adorned with Ivy League diplomas, and the bookshelves display photos of him with former presidents and senators.
Aston Monroe sat behind his desk.
He is reviewing a report on the state's infrastructure budget for the next quarter.
He held a Montblanc pen in his hand and quickly made annotations on the document.
Monroe is 45 years old this year and is the kind of elite who was born for politics.
He was born into a prominent legal family in Philadelphia; his father was a federal judge and his mother was a director of a large corporation.
He received his undergraduate degree from Princeton University and his graduate degree from Yale Law School.
After graduation, he first honed his skills at a top law firm on Wall Street, then returned to Philadelphia to work in the mayor's office, where he enjoyed a smooth career until he became the lieutenant governor.
His hair was always meticulously combed, with just the right amount of hairspray.
The suits are always bespoke from Savile Row, with cufflinks gleaming silver.
In the eyes of the bigwigs of the Democratic National Committee, he was perfect.
Gentle, rational, and possesses strong fundraising abilities.
He was the next generation of leaders carefully groomed by the establishment, a political golden boy destined to go from Harrisburg to Washington.
There was a knock on the office door.
"Come in."
Monroe said without looking up.
His campaign manager, Paul Turner, walked in.
Turner was a bald man in his fifties, with a thick folder tucked between his fingers.
"Boss, this is the latest report on the party primary election situation."
Turner placed the folder on the table and opened the first page.
Monroe put down his pen, leaned back in his chair, and rubbed his temples.
"Let's get straight to the point, Paul, I don't want to see those boring pie charts."
"The conclusion is simple," Turner said with a relaxed smile. "The current situation is one superpower and many strong powers, and you, without a doubt, are that 'superpower.'"
Turner pointed to the data summary on the first page.
"Your approval rating in Philadelphia and the surrounding suburbs remains consistently above 60 percent. We are also far ahead in fundraising, with more cash flow in our campaign account than all other challengers combined."
"Regarding the unions, although there are some dissenting voices, the major teachers' unions and service industry unions have clearly expressed their support for you."
"As for the endorsement from the party's top brass, that goes without saying. From the governor to the party whip in Washington, everyone is on your side."
Monroe nodded.
All of this was within his expectations.
He had been preparing for this senator seat for six whole years.
He wove a vast web, covering every corner of money, power, and connections.
In this web, he is the only predator.
"So, what about the challengers?" Monroe asked casually. "There have to be a few runners-up, otherwise this show would be too boring."
"There are a few, indeed." Turner turned a page, "but most are not a threat. Some are fringe radicals who only shout slogans, and some are minor mayors who want to use this opportunity to increase their name recognition."
Turner's finger stopped in the middle of the list.
"However, one person has been behaving somewhat strangely lately."
"Who?"
"John Murphy," Turner said, "the U.S. Representative from Pittsburgh."
Upon hearing the name, Monroe gave a dismissive laugh.
"Murphy? That nice guy who's been hiding on Capitol Hill for eight years? What threat could he possibly pose? He even has to watch his step when speaking in the House of Representatives."
"That was true before." Turner's expression turned serious. "But lately, the old man seems to have changed."
Turner pulled up a video and projected it onto the office television screen.
"Take a look at this."
On the screen, a video recording of Murphy being interviewed by a news reporter appeared.
In the video, Murphy is no longer the moderate good guy who always tries to find a balance between the two parties. His expression is serious and his tone is impassioned, as if he has become a different person.
"He's been making quite a stir in Pittsburgh lately, talking at length about his 'Rust Belt' policy."
"In the interview, he explicitly proposed a municipal bond issuance plan of up to $500 million, claiming that the money would be used to expand the Pittsburgh Inland Port, revitalize the manufacturing industry, and even establish some kind of workers' cooperative."
"His slogans are very radical, even a bit like Sanders'."
Turner pointed to a line of data on the screen.
"Moreover, our intelligence indicates that he is attempting to use this bond as leverage to tap into the resources of the progressive faction in Washington. Senator Sanders is reportedly very interested in him."
Monroe frowned.
He doesn't like surprises.
In his script, Murphy should be a docile supporting character who, after the primaries, obediently relinquishes his western stronghold in exchange for some political appeasement.
Now, this supporting actor seems to be trying to steal the spotlight.
"Five hundred million dollars?" Monroe scoffed. "A poor place like Pittsburgh, can it afford to issue five hundred million dollars in debt? Where does he get the audacity?"
"That's the crux of the problem."
Turner switched to a different photo on the screen.
The photo is a close-up of a young man.
The man, dressed in an inexpensive suit, stood on the steps of the city hall, holding a megaphone, his eyes sharp.
"When we were analyzing Murphy's strategy shift, we discovered a name that appeared with extremely high frequency."
Turner pointed at the young man.
"Leo Wallace".
"The new mayor of Pittsburgh."
Monroe squinted, scrutinizing the person in the photograph.
"I've heard that name before," Monroe recalled. "Is he the internet celebrity who posted videos online and led a bunch of ordinary people to oust the current mayor?"
“Yes, that’s him.” Turner nodded. “But he’s more than just a social media influencer. Our intelligence shows that all of Murphy’s current radical proposals, including that so-called green energy, workers’ cooperatives, and even that $500 million bond plan, are actually Wallace’s municipal agenda.”
"Murphy is just repeating what this young man said."
"Moreover, this Wallace demonstrated an astonishing ability to mobilize his troops in the recently concluded Pittsburgh mayoral election. He won the election with an almost sweeping victory, leaving former mayor Cartwright utterly helpless."
"It is said that Senator Sanders values this young man highly and even sent his core staff to Pittsburgh."
Turner looked at Monroe and gave his judgment.
"Boss, I think we can't let our guard down. Murphy himself isn't scary, but the young man standing behind him is a variable."
"They are trying to turn Pittsburgh into an anti-establishment stronghold and then use that force to impact the election across the state."
The office fell silent.
Monroe stared at Leo Wallace's face on the screen.
Young, angry, and full of the savage vitality unique to the lower classes.
This temperament evoked an instinctive, physiological aversion in Monroe, who was of noble birth.
In his view, politics is a refined art that needs to be accomplished through rational negotiation and compromise in an atmosphere of red wine and cigars.
People like Leo Wallace turned politics into street brawls and vulgar shouting.
This is a disruption of order and a desecration of elite rule.
"He's just an opportunist who came to power by inciting populism."
Monroe snorted a cold laugh, stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to Turner.
"Pittsburgh, with its hollowed-out industry and declining population, is like an old man on his deathbed. Did that Wallace think he could bring the dead back to life by shouting slogans and building a few roads?"
"That $500 million bond is a joke to me. It hasn't even been approved in Harrisburg yet. What can he issue with? His mouth?"
Monroe turned around, a confident and arrogant smile on his face.
"Murphy is trying to pick up scraps by following this clown; that's lowering his own standards. He's probably gone mad from being in the House of Representatives and thinks this kind of grassroots stuff can be considered respectable across the state."
"Pennsylvania is more than just a bunch of abandoned factories."
"The middle class in Philadelphia, the moderate voters in the suburbs, don't like this kind of radical madman. What they want is stability, prosperity, and professionals like me who can talk to Wall Street and work with Silicon Valley."
Turner hesitated for a moment: "But Wallace does have a lot of influence among the blue-collar workers—"
'
"So what?"
Monroe interrupted him.
"What is the voter turnout among blue-collar workers? They can only complain online. On election day, it still depends on the mobilization of organized machines like ours."
"Besides, that old man Sanders is all bark and no bite. He has too many enemies within the party, and when it really comes down to it, the National Committee will still be on our side."
Monroe walked back to his desk and closed the report.
He made a decision.
"Have someone investigate this Wallace, see if he has any tax problems or private scandals, but don't waste too much energy on him."
"Our resources are limited, and time is precious."
"Our real opponents are not these clowns jumping around in the party."
Monroe tapped his finger heavily on the table.
"It's Warren, that old Republican fox."
"We need to focus all our energy on studying Warren's campaign strategy and finding ways to attack him. We need to prepare for the general election, not the primaries."
"As for those two in Pittsburgh—"
Monroe waved his hand, as if shooing away two annoying flies.
"Let them play in the quagmire. After the primaries, I'll personally go to Pittsburgh and teach that young mayor a lesson in real political rules."
Turner looked at his confident boss, opened his mouth, but ultimately swallowed back his words of advice.
In Philadelphia's elite circles, Monroe has always been the winner.
He was used to winning, and he was used to looking down on his challengers.
This arrogance is ingrained in their very bones.
"Understood, boss." Turner put away the folder. "I will focus on researching strategies against Warren."
Turner left the office.
Monroe picked up the Montblanc pen again.
He looked out the window at the calmly flowing Saskatchewan River, his mood unaffected by the earlier incident.
In his view, the clamor of Pittsburgh was nothing more than a faint rumble of thunder in the distance.
The rain won't fall on Harrisburg, much less on Philadelphia.
He made a mistake that belongs to all establishment elites.
He underestimated the power of anger and ignored the contagious nature of variables.
He didn't know that the young man he regarded as a clown was holding a torch that could ignite the entire grassland.
Moreover, the fire had already spread with the wind.