Three o’clock, Friday afternoon. The Pittsburgh City Council chambers.

The numbers on the electronic tally board were frozen, displaying an unbelievable sight: 9 to 0.

A unanimous vote.

When Speaker Thomas Moretti brought down his heavy wooden gavel, announcing that the *Pittsburgh Annual Operating and Capital Budget* was officially passed, the entire City Hall seemed to tremble for a moment.

The council members who had once sworn to oppose Leo at every turn now lowered their heads, one by one, and pressed the ’AYE’ button.

Because within that budget, hundreds of pages thick, every single district had been given a cut of meat dripping with fat.

Such is the power of money.

Five hundred million dollars in projected bond revenue acted as a potent lubricant, instantly clearing the city’s long-congested political arteries.

Then, Leo made good on his promise.

The ground floor lobby of City Hall was temporarily converted into a "Rapid Claims Center for Public Infrastructure Injuries."

Dozens of clerks from the law and finance departments stood in a long row, with piles of pre-printed checks and settlement agreements laid out before them.

Word spread quickly.

Personal injury lawyers from all over the city flocked to the hall, their clients in tow.

The rules were brutally simple: sign an agreement to drop the lawsuit, acknowledge the payment as a one-time final settlement, and walk away with 30% of the claimed amount on the spot.

Cash, right here, right now.

For the lawyers and victims who were accustomed to lengthy legal proceedings, some even prepared for a three-year court battle, this was a godsend.

Even though it was only a fraction of what they had asked for, the money was guaranteed—no need for a lengthy process of discovery and trials.

The whirring of check printers filled the lobby.

Some people left, overjoyed, check in hand, loudly singing the new mayor’s praises to the media waiting at the doors.

Of course, the backlash was inevitable.

The *Pittsburgh Chronicle*’s editorial section published a scathing article, accusing City Hall of turning into an "ATM."

It claimed Leo was buying a moment of peace with the taxpayers’ future debt, calling it an unprincipled policy of appeasement that undermined the rule of law.

Some conservative citizens also called into radio shows, furiously railing that the city was rewarding "scammers who don’t even watch where they’re going."

However, these voices were like pebbles tossed into the ocean, instantly drowned out by a much larger wave of public opinion.

Because with the budget’s passage, Phase Two of the "Pittsburgh Revival Plan" was now in full swing.

The change began at the Gaiters’ small dining table, covered with a faded vinyl tablecloth.

With a trembling hand, Mr. Gaiter smoothed a check bearing the City Hall’s official seal onto the table.

It was the settlement for his wife’s broken leg. Even though it was only 30% of their claim, that single piece of paper proclaimed that a long-trampled principle had been restored.

An ordinary person’s suffering had value.

This change rippled out from their window.

At the community center, Margaret sat in her wheelchair. Pushing the wheels, she glided effortlessly over what had once been an impassable barrier.

Outside, the early morning quiet of the South District was shattered by the roar of dozens of heavy machines.

Excavators roared, their buckets digging deep into the cracked asphalt and churning up the earth below.

Steamrollers advanced slowly, laying steaming hot asphalt along the banks of the Allegheny River.

Frank stood on a vantage point above, a walkie-talkie clutched in his hand.

He watched the same guys who used to drown their sorrows in the corners of bars, now dressed in clean, dark-blue work uniforms, scrambling nimbly across the scaffolding.

In the Hill District, old schools riddled with bullet holes and graffiti were being stripped of their decaying facades, revealing gray concrete skeletons.

On the commercial streets of the Brooklyn District, crumbling neon signs were being taken down as workers installed neat, uniform rows of energy-efficient streetlights.

The air was a mix of asphalt, sawdust, and the alkaline scent of curing concrete.

To the elites, this smell was pollution. But in the lungs of the people of Pittsburgh, it was the very oxygen of hope.

It was proof that the city was taking a deep breath, finally waking from suffocation.

The city was healing itself.

Neighbors called out to one another across the street, pointing at the transforming roads, their eyes holding a glimmer that had been lost for a generation.

That glimmer transcended race and voting districts, weaving a new skin for the city in its most forgotten corners.

This city-wide reconstruction was an unstoppable force, pulling Pittsburgh inch by inch from its tomb of rust.

...

「Two weeks later. The Mayor’s Office.」

Leo leaned back in his chair, holding a celebratory glass of champagne.

Sarah stood nearby, sorting through the latest polling data, a smile fixed on her face.

"Your approval rating just broke 75%, Leo," Sarah said excitedly. "Even in the most staunchly conservative neighborhoods, your approval has jumped ten points. If we keep this momentum, you could be mayor for as long as you want."

Frank sat on the sofa, his face flushed as he fiddled with an empty champagne bottle.

"Those councilmen practically cross the street to avoid me now," Frank boomed with laughter. "Leo, we won. We absolutely crushed them."

The office was filled with the relaxed, self-satisfied air of victory.

Just then, the office door was pushed open.

Ethan Hawke walked in.

His pace was hurried, and he was tightly clutching a blue folder.

His face was devoid of any smile; in fact, he was unnervingly pale.

The look on his face instantly froze the jubilant atmosphere in the room.