The door to the Mayor’s Office was thrown open.

The door slammed against the wall stopper with a dull THUD.

Representative John Murphy stormed in.

His cashmere coat hung open, his scarf was askew, and his hair was disheveled by the wind. His face was a mask of anxiety and rage.

He stormed up to Leo’s enormous desk and slammed both hands down on its surface.

"Leo Wallace!"

Murphy’s roar echoed through the office.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Leo was sitting behind the desk, holding a document.

He looked up at his ally, who was on the verge of losing control, his own expression completely blank.

"Good afternoon, John," Leo said calmly. "Care for some coffee?"

"To hell with coffee!"

Murphy gestured wildly.

"Do you have any idea what I just went through in Washington?"

"Montoya, the House Whip, called me into his office. He pointed at the live news feed, pointed at the mayor helping his own citizens file lawsuits against their government, and he asked me—"

Murphy mimicked Montoya’s grim tone.

"John, you promised us this kid was a genius. Well, it looks like he is. Only a genius of a Republican mole could pull something like this right before the midterms! Is he trying to single-handedly bury the Democratic Party?"

Murphy felt like he was suffocating.

He loosened his tie, trying to breathe a little more easily.

"And Senator Sanders!"

"The old man is furious. He thinks you’ve turned his showcase project into a laughingstock. He told me to tell you that if you don’t stop this, he’s coming to Pittsburgh to clean house himself!"

Murphy rounded the desk, moving in on Leo.

"Leo, you know what year this is. The midterms are in three months! Three months!"

"My district is right here in Pittsburgh! I was counting on you, my star mayor, to campaign for me, get me votes, and be a credit to my record."

"But what did I get instead?"

"You’re acting like an anarchist! You’re leading people to protest at City Hall, you’re encouraging citizens to sue the government, you’ve turned this city into the laughingstock of the entire United States!"

"When I’m up on that debate stage, how is my opponent going to attack me? They’ll say, ’Look! This is what the Democratic Party’s governance looks like. They even sue each other over fixing a road!’"

"You’re going to ruin me!"

After roaring that last line, his chest heaved violently.

The rage that had fueled his charge into the office was, in that moment, completely spent.

He stumbled back a few steps and collapsed onto the leather guest sofa.

Murphy lowered his head, digging his hands into his hair, and remained silent for a long time.

After a long moment, he slowly lifted his head. His eyes were filled with nothing but ashen exhaustion.

"Leo."

Murphy’s voice was slow and hoarse.

"Tell me, where do you draw the line?"

"What’s your ultimate goal? Are you really trying to bankrupt Pittsburgh? To make those thousands of compensation orders a reality? And then have all of us—you, me, and Sanders—go down with the ship for your damned revitalization plan?"

A brief silence fell over the office.

The only sound was Murphy’s ragged breathing.

Ethan Hawke stood in the corner, his head down, not daring to speak.

Leo put down the document in his hands.

He stood up.

He walked over to the water cooler, filled a cup with warm water, and walked back to the sofa. He placed the cup on the coffee table in front of Murphy.

"Representative."

Leo spoke.

"You ask what I’m doing?"

Leo looked down at Murphy, who was slumped on the sofa.

"I’d like to ask you the same thing. What have you been doing for the last two months?"

Murphy froze, a flicker of disbelief in his eyes.

"Me? I’ve been in Washington, taking the heat for you! I’ve been cleaning up your messes!"

"No, you haven’t."

Leo interrupted him, his tone becoming sharp.

"Before today, before you flew back to Pittsburgh, you were living comfortably in Washington."

"You thought Pittsburgh was in the bag. You thought you could just sit in your office on Capitol Hill, drink your coffee, and wait for me to handle everything. Then you could just swoop back in for the ribbon-cutting and reap the rewards, right?"

Leo turned and pointed out the window.

"Pittsburgh is your base, Representative."

"When Moretti blocked my budget, he was effectively hurting your constituents. The people injured by collapsing roads, the people freezing without heat—they’re your voters, too."

"When Moretti threw my budget proposal in the trash, where were you?"

"When Morganfield used fake news to incite worker strikes, trying to create riots, where were you?"

"When my workers weren’t getting paid and had to wait out in the cold, where were you?"

Leo fixed his gaze on Murphy.

"You disappeared."

"You completely forgot about Pittsburgh."

"Did you think I was your subordinate? Some professional manager you hired? Did you think that if you just gave me a few resources, I was supposed to work like a plow horse, till the land, and then hand you the harvest on a silver platter?"

"You were wrong."

Leo’s voice grew low.

"We are allies. And being allies means sharing the burden. It means we should be back-to-back in the trenches."

"While I was down in the mud, wrestling with those thugs, you were standing on the sidelines. And now you’re complaining that I splattered some of that mud on your suit?"

"That’s not fair, John."

Murphy opened his mouth.

He wanted to retort.

He wanted to say that he was busy in Washington, too—that he had also been fighting for Pittsburgh’s interests.