「A few days later.」

Leo sat behind his desk. A freshly brewed black coffee was at his side, and the latest issue of the Pittsburgh Chronicle was spread open before him.

He didn’t need to search the entire paper, or even look at the front page.

He knew full well that the bill passed just a few days ago—the one that would determine the city’s logistical lifeblood for the next fifty years—would never appear in a prominent spot.

He found the small, block-of-text article on page six, tucked in a corner between a "Community Pet Adoption Notice" and a supermarket sales ad.

The headline was bland, almost hypnotic: "City Council Passes Logistics Optimization Bill to Improve Port Efficiency."

The article was brief, barely a hundred words, and filled with meaningless officialese like "integrated management," "improved administrative efficiency," and "upgraded environmental standards."

The article made no mention of the term "exclusive franchise rights," the "fifty-year" term limit, and certainly not the name "Douglas Morganfield."

The only concrete piece of information was the mention of a company called "Allegheny United Logistics," which was named as the winning bidder for the initial planning phase.

Anyone with half a brain who bothered to look it up would discover that it was a shell company registered just last week in Delaware, with a legal representative whose name no one had ever heard.

So much for the integrity of the mainstream media.

When capital wants to remain unseen, the media becomes its best camouflage.

They used boredom and trivialities to hide an elephant in the corner of the room.

Leo put down the paper and took a sip of his coffee.

The bitter taste spread through his mouth.

Morganfield’s PR team had done a professional job, and Gavin Stone’s maneuvering in the council had been flawless.

Ninety-nine percent of the city’s population had no idea that just a few afternoons ago, a piece of the very land beneath their feet had been sold off.

But there are always a few bloodhounds with sensitive noses who can smell the rot hidden beneath the scent of ink.

Sarah stood behind Leo with a worried expression, holding a tablet. She seemed to be hesitating whether to show it to him.

Just a few minutes ago, her PR team had picked up some unusual signals in public opinion.

Articles from several radical left-wing blogs and independent investigative journalists were beginning to circulate within a small circle.

The team’s analysts weren’t sure if this noise would affect the upcoming bond issuance. It seemed more like an ideological attack on the port bill itself, with no direct connection to the financial credit of the municipal bonds.

Sarah had wanted to filter it out as insignificant internet noise. The top priority right now was ensuring the legal process for the bond issuance went off without a hitch. There was no need to distract the Mayor with rants from a few radicals.

But she remembered Leo’s standing order: "If it has anything to do with this money, even if it looks like a meaningless scrap of paper, I want you to watch it like a hawk and report it to me immediately."

That’s why she had to bring it to him. But even at the last moment, as she was about to hand it over, she hesitated, unsure if this was an overreaction.

"Give it to me."

Leo held out his hand.

Sarah sighed, no longer hesitating, and passed him the tablet.

On the screen was a radical left-wing independent blog called "The Rust Belt Observer."

It was a niche publication that didn’t get much daily traffic but was known for digging up political scandals.

Today’s top story had a headline written in shocking, blood-red letters:

"Wallace’s Betrayal: The Dirty Deal Behind the Port’s Privatization."

The author had clearly done their homework.

Although they didn’t have direct evidence, they astutely pointed out the highly specific "500 acres of railroad land" clause in the Strategic Logistics Unified Management Bill.

"...Only one company in all of Pittsburgh meets this condition: Morganfield Industrial Group. This was a tailor-made bid, rigged from the start. It’s a blatant transfer of benefits."

"The same Leo Wallace who once protested with us on the lawn, who swore to fight the oligarchs, has personally handed the keys to the city to his former enemies in his third month as Mayor."

"He’s no savior. He’s just another con man who learned how to wear a suit."

Leo scrolled down to the comments section, which had already exploded.

Though there weren’t many of them, their words were so fiery they seemed ready to burn through the screen.

"Leo is a corporate stooge!"

"I was wrong about him! I handed out flyers for him in the freezing cold, and he just turned around and sold us out!"

"’For the workers’—what a load of crap! He’s no different from Carter Wright!"

"We need to protest at City Hall! We need to make him explain himself!"

Sarah looked at Leo’s expressionless face and couldn’t help but speak up. "Leo, these people have a decent following on X and Facebook. If we don’t do something, the rumors will spread."

"I can contact the platforms and have them throttle the content for ’spreading misinformation,’ or I can have our astroturfers bury these posts."

"No need."

Leo’s voice was calm, almost cold.

"But..."

"Sarah, it’s just a few baseless rumors," Leo said, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. "I trust the citizens of Pittsburgh are smart enough to tell fact from fiction. They can see who’s fixing their roads and who’s signing their paychecks. This noise won’t change anything."

"You can go now. I need to be alone for a bit."

Sarah looked at Leo’s impassive face, opened her mouth, but said nothing.

She sighed, turned with the tablet in her arms, and walked out of the office, pulling the door shut behind her.

The door closed.

Leo was alone in the room.

The look of detached calm on his face vanished instantly.

He opened the webpage again, his eyes glued to the comments.

"Con man," "traitor," "stooge."

The words pricked at his eyes like needles.

Just a few months ago, seeing comments like these would have made him angry, made him feel wronged. He would have wanted to rush out and defend himself, to tell everyone about his difficult position, his grand vision.

But now, as he looked at these words, he felt nothing at all.

The feeling was strange.

It was as if a nerve inside him had died, or perhaps, had been encased in something harder.

’Let them curse me.’

’A few faint barks can’t stop a moving train.’

’The mainstream media has been silenced. Most citizens only care if the roads are fixed and if they’re getting paid. The voices of these few people won’t escape their little circle.’

Leo muttered to himself, as if trying to justify his actions.

He pulled open a drawer and took out the black notebook.

It was the journal he had started writing on his first day in office.

He flipped to a new page and picked up his fountain pen. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

The nib hovered over the paper, pausing for a few seconds.

Then, he forcefully wrote a line of text.

"For the five hundred million US Dollars."

"For Phase Two of the Revival Plan."

"For Margaret."

After writing these three lines, he stared at the still-wet period at the end.

He added another sentence below it, the pen stroke so sharp it tore the paper.

"This infamy is mine to bear."

He closed the notebook with a soft SNAP.

He stood up and faced the floor-to-ceiling window.

His reflection stared back from the glass.

Impeccably dressed in a suit, with a cold, stern face.

’Mr. President,’ Leo thought, ’is this the price of growth?’

Roosevelt’s voice echoed in his mind.

"Yes, my boy."

"When you decide to get your hands dirty for the good of the majority, you must accept being scorned by a portion of the people."

"That passionate young man who ate pizza and shared in the anger on the lawn is already dead."

"But that’s okay."

"Because only when he is dead can the ruler who will truly change this city rise from his corpse."

Leo looked at his reflection in the glass, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly into a mirthless smile.

He turned off his computer screen.

The black screen completely swallowed the curses and accusations, and at the same time, reflected Leo’s face.

It was the face of a ruler—hard-lined and filled with calculation.

"How does it feel?" Roosevelt asked in his mind.

"Quiet," Leo answered.

Yes, once the clamor of the internet was silenced, the world of power was, in fact, terrifyingly quiet.

Leo walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the wasteland along the Monongahela River, where construction was about to begin.

Soon, it would be filled with Morganfield’s cranes and shipping containers. Money and opportunity would flow there. But so too, of course, would the price he paid for selling out his principles.

"Let them curse me,"

Leo said softly to the city outside his window.

"Once the pile drivers start roaring, no one will be able to hear their voices anymore."