A red-brick, low-income apartment building in the Pittsburgh Brooklyn District, just off Fourth Avenue.

The hallways here were perpetually filled with a musty smell.

The paint on the hallway walls was peeling, revealing the dark gray concrete underneath. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Smith Gaiter stood in his living room, tightly clutching an old smartphone with a cracked screen.

The call had already ended.

All that was left was the dial tone.

But he remained in the same position, holding the phone to his ear, as rigid as a wax statue.

His mind was blank and his ears were ringing, the young, powerful, and unquestionable voice from the phone call still echoing.

"I’m Leo Wallace."

"We’re going to sue Pittsburgh City Hall."

Smith slowly pulled the phone away from his ear, his movements sluggish and mechanical.

He stared at the darkened screen as if a monster was hiding inside, ready to leap out at any moment.

"Whose call was that?"

A tired and slightly irritated female voice broke the silence in the living room.

Smith snapped back to his senses.

He turned his head and looked at the sagging old fabric sofa in the living room.

His wife, Mary, was half-reclining there.

Ever since the day Mary broke her leg, she had been out of her job as a supermarket cashier.

Her right leg was in a thick cast, propped up on a worn-out footstool.

The coffee table was piled high with white envelopes—collection notices from the hospital and overdue credit card bills.

The TV was on, playing a noisy afternoon talk show. The volume was turned up loud, as if to drown out the oppressive silence in the home.

"Smith, I’m talking to you." Mary grabbed the remote, lowered the volume, and eyed her husband warily. "Was that a debt collector? Did they change their number again? Tell them we won’t have any money until next week. This week’s relief check hasn’t arrived yet."

Smith swallowed hard.

His throat was painfully dry.

"No... Mary."

Smith walked over to the sofa and plopped down onto a rickety chair.

"It wasn’t a debt collector."

"Then who was it?"

"It was the Mayor’s Office." Smith’s voice sounded distant. "The new mayor himself, Leo Wallace."

Mary frowned, her eyes filled with suspicion.

"The Mayor? That young mayor who’s always arguing with people on TV? Why would he call you?"

Mary pushed herself up, her tone growing tense.

"Are you in some kind of trouble? Or did we fill out a form wrong when we applied for benefits? Are they going to arrest you?"

For people like them, living at the bottom, attention from the government rarely meant anything good.

When the government came looking for you, it was either for a fine, an arrest, or to inform you that your benefits had been canceled.

"No, I didn’t do anything."

Smith shook his head, rubbing his sweaty palms on his knees.

"He said... he said he looked up my complaint records."

"He said that pothole was there for months because we complained to City Hall multiple times and no one did anything."

"He said it was the city’s negligence, a serious dereliction of duty."

Smith looked up at his wife’s cast-covered leg.

"He said, justice must be served."

"He’s going to help us hire the best personal injury lawyer in all of Pittsburgh, help us sue the Pittsburgh City Government, and get a huge settlement."

Mary was stunned.

Her jaw dropped as she stared at her husband, as if looking at a madman.

Or as if her husband had just encountered one.

"Sue the City Government?" Mary’s voice turned shrill. "He *is* the Mayor! He’s the head of the government! He wants to help us sue himself?"

This was completely beyond her comprehension.

It was like a landlord suddenly showing up and saying, ’I’m going to help you sue me so you don’t have to pay rent, and I’ll even have to pay you damages.’

It’s a scam.

It’s definitely a scam.

"Smith, have you lost your mind?" Mary pointed at the phone. "This has to be some new kind of phone scam! They’ll say they’ll help you with a lawsuit, then ask you to pay a processing fee or a deposit upfront! Don’t fall for it! We don’t have any money left to give to scammers!"

"But..." Smith hesitated. "The voice... it really sounded like him on TV. And he said he doesn’t want any money, that all the fees will be covered by the Mayor’s Office."

"There’s no such thing as a free lunch!" Mary yelled. "Block that number! We just want to live our lives in peace, not get dragged into some game played by powerful people!"

Smith lowered his head, his gaze falling on the pile of bills on the coffee table.

The one on top was from the hospital. Eighty-four thousand US Dollars.

To them, that amount of money was a mountain.

"’What if it’s real, though?’ Smith muttered to himself. ’Mary, what if it’s real?’"

Just then.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

A clear, firm knock echoed from the door.

The air in the living room instantly froze.

Smith and Mary looked at each other, and both saw the fear in the other’s eyes.

’The scammers came to our door? Or the police?’

"Who is it?" Smith stood up, his voice trembling.

"Is Mr. Gaiter home?"

A young, steady male voice came from outside the door.

"I’m Ethan Hawke, Chief of Staff for the Mayor’s Office. I believe you just spoke with our mayor on the phone."

Smith froze on the spot.

’They really came.’

’So fast.’

Mary gripped the sofa cushion, her face pale.

Smith took a deep breath, walked over, and opened the door.

Two people were standing outside.

In front was a young white man wearing glasses, a trench coat that looked expensive, and carrying a briefcase.