sbdcsierra Chapter 113 A Few Faint Barks
Chapter 113 A Few Faint Barks
Chapter 113 A Few Faint Barks (Bonus Chapter for 10000 Monthly Tickets)
a few days later.
Leo sat behind his desk with a freshly brewed cup of black coffee beside him and the latest issue of the Pittsburgh Chronicle spread out in front of him.
He doesn't need to read through the entire newspaper, or even look at the front page.
He knew very well that the bill, which had just been passed a few days earlier and determined the city's logistics lifeline for the next fifty years, would definitely not appear in a prominent position.
He found that tiny news item on the sixth page, nestled between a "Community Pet Adoption Notice" and a "Supermarket Discount" notice.
The title is dull, even somewhat soporific: "City Council passes logistics optimization bill aimed at improving port efficiency."
The article, only two hundred words long, is filled with terms like "intensive management" and "improved administrative efficiency."
'
Such empty official rhetoric as "upgrading environmental standards".
The article makes no mention of the term "franchise," the term "fifty years," or the name "Douglas Morganfield."
The only specific information mentioned is that a company called "Allegheny United Logistics" participated in the initial planning as the winning bidder.
Anyone with a modicum of common sense would have discovered that this is a shell company that was only registered in Delaware last week, and the legal representative is a name no one has ever heard of.
This is the professional ethics of mainstream media.
When capital wants to hide, it is the best camouflage.
They used boredom and triviality to hide an elephant in a corner of the room.
Leo put down his newspaper and took a sip of coffee.
A bitter taste spread through my mouth.
Morganfield's PR team did a very professional job, and Gavin Stone's handling of things in Parliament was also perfect.
Ninety-nine percent of the people in this city didn't even realize that just a few days earlier, on that afternoon, a piece of the land beneath their feet had been sold.
But there are always some dogs with a keen sense of smell who can detect the stench hidden beneath the smell of ink.
Sarah stood behind Leo with a worried look on her face, holding a tablet computer, seemingly hesitant about whether to show it to him.
Just minutes earlier, her PR team had picked up on some unusual public opinion signals.
Several radical left-wing blogs and articles by independent investigative journalists are circulating in a limited circle.
The team's analysts were unsure whether this noise would affect the upcoming bond issuance, as it seemed more like an ideological attack on the port bill itself and had no direct connection to the financial credit of the municipal bonds.
Sarah intended to filter these as insignificant online noise, since the priority now was to ensure the legal process of the bond issuance was correct, and there was no need to interfere with the mayor's judgment with these radical insults.
But she remembered Leo's strict orders: "Keep a close eye on anything involving this money, even if it's just a seemingly meaningless piece of paper, and report it immediately."
This forced her to take the item, but at the last moment before handing it over, she still hesitated, unsure if this was an "overreaction."
"Give it to me."
Leo simply extended his hand.
Sarah sighed, then handed over the tablet without further hesitation.
On the screen is a radical left-wing independent blog called "Rust Belt Observer".
This is a niche media outlet that doesn't usually receive much attention, but is known for its in-depth investigations into political scandals.
Today's headline article used a shocking blood-red font for its title:
Wallace's Betrayal: The Sordid Deal Behind the Port Privatization.
The author of the article clearly did his homework.
Although he did not obtain direct evidence, he astutely pointed to the Strategic Logistics Unified Management Act.
The clause in the law specifically targets "500 acres of railroad land".
"————Only one company in all of Pittsburgh meets this criterion, and that is Morganfield Industries."
This was a tailor-made bidding process for radish cultivation, a blatant transfer of benefits.
"Leo Wallace, who once protested with us on the lawn and vowed to fight against the oligarchs, handed over the keys to the city to his former enemy in just three months as mayor."
"He's not some savior; he's just another conman who's learned to wear a suit."
Riola went to the comments section, where it had already exploded.
Although their numbers were small, their words were so vehement they seemed to burn through the screen.
"Leo is a lackey of capital!"
"I misjudged him! I helped him hand out flyers in the cold wind, and he turned around and betrayed us!"
"All this talk about working for the workers is just an excuse! He's no different from Cartwright!"
"We're going to protest at the city hall! We want him to explain himself!"
Looking at Leo's expressionless face, Sarah couldn't help but say, "Leo, these people have a lot of influence on X and Facebook. If we don't deal with them, the rumors will spread."
"I can contact the platform to limit traffic on the grounds of 'posting false information,' or have our online army flood these posts with their messages."
"unnecessary."
Leo's voice was calm, almost cold.
"But----"
"Sarah, it's just some baseless rumors," Leo waved his hand, interrupting her. "I believe the citizens of Pittsburgh are wise enough to judge the truth. They can see who's building the roads for them and who's paying their wages. This noise won't change anything."
"You can go out now, let me have some peace and quiet."
Sarah looked at Leo's expressionless face, opened her mouth, but said nothing.
She sighed, picked up her tablet, turned and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her.
The door closed.
Leo was left alone in the room.
The nonchalant look on his face vanished instantly.
He reopened the webpage, his gaze fixed intently on the comments.
"Liar", "traitor", "lackey".
These words were like needles pricking his eyes.
Just a few months ago, if he had seen such comments, he would have been angry, aggrieved, and would have wanted to rush out and defend himself, to tell everyone his predicament and his grand plans.
But now, looking at these words, he felt completely unmoved.
This feeling is very strange.
It's as if a part of his nerves has died, or rather, been encased in something harder.
"Let them curse."
"A few faint barks from dogs could not stop the train from moving forward."
"The mainstream media has been silenced. Most citizens only care about whether the road has been repaired or whether their wages have been paid. The voices of these few individuals cannot be heard within this small circle."
Leo muttered to himself, as if explaining something to himself.
He opened the drawer and took out the black notebook.
That was a diary he started writing on his first day in office.
He turned to a new page and picked up his pen.
The pen tip hovered over the paper for a few seconds.
Then, he wrote a line of text with force.
"For five hundred million dollars."
"For the second phase of the revitalization plan."
"For Margaret."
After writing these three lines, he looked at the period with the ink still wet.
He added a sentence below, his pen so sharp it tore through the paper.
"I'll take this infamy."
The laptop was closed with a soft "click".
I stood up and faced the floor-to-ceiling window.
His reflection was shown in the glass.
He was impeccably dressed in a suit, with a stern expression.
"Mr. President," Leo murmured to himself, "is this the price of growing up?"
Roosevelt's voice echoed in his mind.
"Yes, child."
"When you decide to get your hands dirty for the benefit of the majority, you must accept the contempt of a minority."
"That passionate young man who ate pizza and got angry with everyone on the lawn is dead."
"But it's okay."
"Because only when he dies can the ruler who can truly change this city rise from his corpse."
Leo looked at his reflection in the glass, a slight upturn of his lips revealing a smile devoid of any real emotion.
He turned off the computer screen.
The black screen completely swallowed up the insults and accusations, while also reflecting Leo's face at that moment.
It was the face of a ruler with cold, hard lines and a calculating air.
"How do you feel?" Roosevelt asked in his mind.
"It's very quiet," Leo replied.
Yes, with the noise of the internet turned off, the world of power is actually terrifyingly quiet.
Leo walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the wasteland along the Mononga Hilla River, where construction was about to begin.
It will soon be filled with Morganfield cranes and containers, flowing with money and opportunity, and of course, the price he paid for betraying his principles.
"Let them curse."
Leo looked out the window at the city and said softly.
"Once the pile drivers start roaring, no one can hear them anymore."
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