Finch’s voice rose slightly, laced with a warning.

"But you need to understand our current situation, just how low Pittsburgh’s credit rating is right now."

"Wall Street investors aren’t philanthropists. When they see a city like Pittsburgh issuing general obligation bonds of such a massive amount, purely for charity, what do you think they’ll think?"

"What will they think?" Leo asked, tilting his head.

"They’ll think we’re committing suicide."

"They’ll demand an extremely high-risk premium, and our interest costs will skyrocket. When that happens, forget about renovating communities—we won’t even be able to pay our police officers."

"So, as the Director of the Office of Management and Budget, my duty is to prevent this kind of fiscal suicide from happening."

"Issuing a bond like this is a violation of regulations. I refuse."

"Oh..."

Leo drew out the word, his expression calm.

"Blake, after all that, you’re essentially just telling me that ’general obligation bonds’ are a no-go."

Leo looked up, staring straight at Finch.

"But you’re the expert. You tell me, in this vast financial market, are there really no other options besides general obligation bonds backed by tax revenue?"

"If this type of bond won’t work, we’ll just issue a different one."

Finch froze for a moment, then let out a sneer.

He sat back down in his chair, picked up the draft proposal, and casually flipped through a couple of pages.

"Of course there are. There’s another kind, called revenue bonds."

"If the plan you brought me today was to build a ten-story parking garage downtown, I’d sign it without a second thought. Because a parking garage generates parking fees—that’s a continuous cash flow."

"Investors are buying into the garage’s future earnings, not a municipal tax guarantee. That’s called risk isolation."

"If you wanted to build a brand-new sewage treatment plant, or a toll bridge, I could sign off on that too. Because water fees and bridge tolls are solid revenue streams. As long as people use water and cross the bridge, the debt can be repaid."

"This type of bond doesn’t require touching the fiscal budget. As long as the project itself can turn a profit, Wall Street will foot the bill."

Finch held the document up and shook it in the air, the papers rustling loudly.

"But, my dear Mayor, please open your eyes and look at what’s actually written in this grand blueprint of yours."

Finch flipped through the pages one by one, his finger jabbing hard at the project titles as he went.

"First item: a skills training center for unemployed workers."

Finch pointed at the line.

"What is this? Classes for laid-off workers? Tell me, are you planning to charge tuition to workers who can’t even afford to eat?"

"This is a pure expenditure project. The money goes out—hire teachers, buy equipment, rent space—and then what? Where’s the cash flow? Where’s the return?"

"Second item: free community canteens for the elderly."

Finch’s voice was filled with incredulity.

"This doesn’t even qualify as a project—it’s just charity! Are you planning to pay back Wall Street’s interest by selling soup to old people on welfare? On a financial statement, this is a bottomless pit. It’s pure liability."

"Third item: expansion of public daycare centers."

"Fourth item: supplementary unemployment benefits."

Finch threw the document back on the table and crossed his arms.

"Mayor, these projects all share a common name: consumables. They’re welfare, public services, a government responsibility. But they are absolutely not commercial assets."

"They don’t generate any direct cash flow. They don’t make money. They just suck up fiscal funds endlessly, like vampires."

"Social welfare projects like these, which are incapable of generating cash flow to cover principal and interest, are strictly prohibited from being funded by revenue bonds."

Finch rubbed the bridge of his nose, his tone becoming resolute.

"So, forget it. What you’re holding is a charity wish list, not a business plan."

"Unless you can turn these poor people into geese that lay golden eggs, this pen of mine will not be signing anything."

Leo, of course, knew there were many problems with issuing the bonds. He still tried to guilt-trip Finch.

"Finch, this is about saving people!" Leo raised his voice, slamming both hands on the desk. "It’s the livelihood of thousands of families! And you’re talking to me about regulations?"

Finch was completely unmoved.

For an old accountant like him, who had spent decades steeped in numbers and clauses, a guilt trip was completely ineffective.

"I only talk about regulations, because regulations are my job." Finch didn’t even look up, continuing to punch numbers on his calculator.

Leo clenched his fists, wanting to punch him a couple of times.

On the matter of signatory authority, Finch was protected by law. As long as he declared it a violation, not even the Mayor could do anything about it.

’This seems like a dead end.’

’Language is power, Leo.’

Roosevelt’s voice rang out in his mind at just the right moment.

’Don’t get angry with him.’

’Within this administrative system, there exists a rigid linguistic framework.’

’This language, so to speak, isn’t just a tool for describing the world; it’s a mechanism for exclusion and authorization. The system dictates what words are legitimate and what words are crazy talk.’

’When you stand here talking about saving people, livelihoods, and conscience, to Finch’s ears, you’re speaking nonsense. Because those words don’t belong in the legitimate vocabulary of fiscal budgeting, you’ve automatically excluded yourself from this system of power.’

’You need to learn how to enter this system.’

Roosevelt’s voice carried Leo back to 1940.

’At that time, Nazi Germany was bombing London, and the British were on the verge of collapse. I wanted to help them, to send them destroyers and planes. But the United States had the Neutrality Acts, and the isolationists in Congress were watching my every move.’