Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt-Chapter 72 - 56: The Gouged-Out Eyes
The Democratic Party’s primary election was less than three months away.
Inside Leo’s campaign headquarters, Karen Miller sat in the center of the room, directing the polling team and data analysts.
Frank was in a corner, roaring into his phone as he organized the next day’s canvassing event in the North District.
Sarah, wearing headphones, stared at three screens, her fingers flying as she replied to comments on social media.
Everything seemed to be in perfect order.
Until Ben, the intern in charge of data entry, let out a terrified scream.
"Karen, something’s wrong! I can’t log into the VAN System!"
The cry instantly cut through the din of the room.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the terminal in the corner.
Karen Miller was the first to react.
She threw down her pen and rushed over to Ben.
"What happened? Is it a network issue?"
"N-no... not the network." Ben’s voice trembled. "It says my account has been locked."
Karen pushed Ben aside and sat down at the keyboard herself.
She typed in her own admin account and password—the credentials with the highest level of clearance on the entire campaign team.
She hit Enter.
The screen flickered.
The familiar interface, usually filled with green data bars and blue maps, did not appear.
Instead, a glaring red dialog box appeared, bearing a single line of black text.
"Warning: Your access has been suspended."
Below it, a line of smaller text provided an explanation.
"Reason: Pursuant to Amendment 14 of the Democratic National Committee Data Compliance Charter, regarding the ’Security Assessment of Third-Party Data Interfaces,’ this account is suspected of a serious data security breach and is currently under internal security review by the Allegheny Democratic Committee. For any inquiries, please contact the administrator."
Karen stared at the text, her brow furrowed.
She was a battle-hardened professional campaign manager who had faced smear campaigns from opponents, funding shortages, and even candidate sex scandals.
But something about this situation felt wrong.
Leo walked over and stood behind her.
"Karen, what is it?"
Karen turned, looked at Leo, and took a deep breath.
"We’re locked out of the VAN System."
"The VAN System..."
Leo muttered the name. He remembered the introductory materials he had read when he was first learning about the mayor’s race.
The VAN System, short for Voter Activation Network, was a massive database established by the Democratic National Committee.
The system contained all the information on every registered Democratic voter in Pittsburgh.
Their names, addresses, and phone numbers.
Their voting history from the past several years—whether they voted in primaries or only in general elections.
Their specific views on gun control and environmental issues, even details like whether they owned a dog, what magazines they subscribed to, and who they had last donated to.
In the campaign strategy Leo had laid out, everything from which doors Frank’s ground team should knock on, to who they should call, to what flyers they should hand out in which neighborhood, was all planned using data from this system.
Now, hearing this news, the room fell silent.
Everyone realized the gravity of the situation.
This clearly wasn’t a technical glitch. It was a precision strike.
"It was Carter Wright."
Frank hissed the name through his teeth.
"No one but that bastard would pull something like this."
Karen nodded. "The Allegheny Democratic Committee—our local party headquarters—holds the local administrative privileges for the VAN System."
"The chairman of that committee is an old friend of Carter Wright’s."
"They’ve used a ’security breach’ as a pretext to lock our account. By the time their so-called internal review is over, the primary will be long gone."
"They’re using the rules to cheat, legally."
A wave of dizziness washed over Leo.
He could almost see Carter Wright in his office, holding a glass of red wine, watching the chaos unfold on their end with a smug, cold laugh.
Finally, all eyes in the room fell on him.
He was the boss. He had to come up with a solution.
But right now, he had nothing.
Leo instinctively wanted to call out that name in his mind.
The mentor who could always guide him when he was in despair.
But he clenched his jaw and forced the cry for help back down his throat.
’I can’t just cry for help every time I run into trouble.’
’If I can’t even overcome an administrative hurdle of this level, if I have to rely on Roosevelt to clean up my messes every time, what right do I have to govern a city? What gives me the right to say I’m better than Carter Wright?’
Leo forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to get his brain working again, trying to find even a sliver of light in this pitch-black dead end.
But he failed.
A sense of powerlessness washed over his mind, wave after wave, like a relentless tide.
"Mr. President..."
"Relax, my boy."
It was Roosevelt’s voice.
"I know what you’re thinking. You want to shoulder this yourself. That’s good. It shows you have backbone."
"But you don’t need to despair over a clumsy trick like this, and you certainly don’t need to feel like the sky is falling."
"Because this is just so utterly unimaginative."
"This is the work of a bunch of fools who haven’t learned a thing!"
There wasn’t the slightest trace of panic in Roosevelt’s voice.
"Leo, look at them. These are the enemies we have to face."
