As the Union president, he understood the inescapable logic in Leo’s words: without the Renaissance Plan, there was no social safety net; without a social safety net, the moment the port was automated, they would be obsolete.

Morganfield wanted to avoid paying that toll.

Reynolds’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He slowly lowered his arm and glanced back at the men behind him.

The man in the lead stopped moving, stopped shouting.

That hesitation instantly spread to everyone behind him.

The crowd, which had been pushing and shoving, trying to storm the steps, came to a halt. The waving placards drooped.

The fanatical hatred directed at Leo lost its focus in the face of their leader’s silence, transforming into a bewildered, dead quiet.

Leo keenly seized the tactical opportunity.

He walked to the very edge of the steps.

Pointing at Reynolds, pointing at the workers holding the signs.

"I told him no."

"I said, social safety net first, then industrial upgrades! That is my logic!"

"My ’Pittsburgh Renaissance Plan, Phase Two,’ is meant to weave this very safety net for you!"

"First, I must repair your homes, build your schools, open your hospitals, and get that cooperative running—the one that will guarantee you have food on the table even if you’re unemployed!"

"Once that net is woven, once you have a fallback, once you have security, then we can talk about the damn port and its damn automation!"

"At that point, even if the robots come, you can sit at home and watch those hunks of metal do the work for you!"

"I want to protect you!"

Leo’s throat was getting hoarse, but he was still shouting.

"And now, someone wants me to put down my needle and thread, to stop weaving this net, and force me to buy the very machines that will one day replace you!"

"And you!"

Leo’s finger was trembling.

"You damn fools, are you actually helping that capitalist curse me out?"

"That sign you’re holding, does it say I’m his lapdog?"

"You’re using your own hands to pass him the butcher’s knife, then sticking your necks out and waiting for him to swing!"

"Is this what you want?"

Leo pulled the megaphone away from his mouth and, in his natural voice, hurled one last question at the crowd.

"Tell me! Is this what you want?!"

Silence.

A vast silence fell over City Hall Plaza.

The young worker holding the Molotov cocktail slowly lowered his hand.

Reynolds’s mouth fell open. He wanted to retort, to say something, but he found his throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

’He’s right.’

’If all the money is spent, who’s going to care if we live or die?’

’The Mayor is trying to build us a shelter, while Morganfield wants to tear down the shelter’s bricks to fix this damn port.’

’What were we just doing?’

’Were we forcing the only person trying to save us to commit suicide?’

A stir began to ripple through the crowd.

"He’s right..." someone muttered.

"If the port really opens, we’re finished."

"We need that Renaissance Plan."

The voices grew louder, gradually merging into a new wave.

"Brilliant!"

Roosevelt’s voice, filled with undisguised admiration, rang in Leo’s mind.

’"That was textbook sophistry. No, political artistry."’

’"You took the attack point of ’obstructing the port’s development’ and reframed it as the moral high ground of ’building a protective umbrella for the workers.’"’

’"You elevated a simple matter of economic development priorities into a life-or-death issue of class survival."’

’"You not only defused the immediate crisis, you also paved the way for the future."’

’"You just admitted that full automation is real. You didn’t lie; you just changed the preconditions for its arrival."’

’"When these workers, under your guidance, accept the logic that ’automation isn’t a Demon as long as there’s a safety net,’ they have, in fact, already subconsciously accepted that the port will eventually be upgraded and the machines will eventually arrive."’

’"Once your Renaissance Plan is actually implemented, once that net is truly woven, when you propose starting the Inland Port expansion again, they won’t resist so fiercely."’

’"Because in their minds, it will be the logical next step after you’ve fulfilled your promise."’

’"Two birds with one stone, Leo."’

’"You’ve not only turned this pack of beasts that came to tear you apart into the sharpest sword in your hand."’

’"You’ve also preemptively tamed their fear of the future."’

’"Now, it’s time to close the net."’

Leo looked down at the workers, their faces a mixture of complex emotions.

He knew their fear had faded, and reason had reclaimed the high ground.

He raised the megaphone again, his voice now calm and firm.

"Brothers, go home."

"Throw the Molotov cocktails in the trash. Don’t let them burn down our own city."

"Give me time."

"Let me finish weaving that net."

"I promise you, as long as I’m still sitting in that office, as long as the Renaissance Plan is still underway."

"Not a single robot will be able to take your jobs, unless you decide you don’t want them anymore."

"Trust me."

Reynolds took a deep breath, the last vestiges of struggle still lingering in his eyes.

He looked at the young Mayor before him, at that face which, though weary, was still full of spirit.

Then, his gaze traveled past Leo’s shoulder to Frank, who was standing behind him.

Frank Kovalsky, an old, hard-as-nails veteran who, like him, had calloused hands from toiling in the steel mills for half his life.