Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt-Chapter 99 - 68: Administrative Attack

"I’ve died once already, son. The world doesn’t need a second Roosevelt. It needs you."

"If I were to step in now and help you crush Carter Wright, you might win this election, but you might lose yourself. You’d become a politician who depends on others, not an independent leader."

"While I may be your campaign manager now, your own thoughts are just as important."

Leo was stunned.

He thought back over the past few months.

Yes, he had grown more and more reliant on this voice. He’d started to mimic Roosevelt’s tone, to imitate his way of thinking.

He’d gotten used to asking, "Mr. President?" whenever a problem arose.

But then he looked at the real world—at the mountain of fines piled on his desk, at the workers outside waiting for their paychecks in the cold wind.

Leo took a deep breath.

He stood up straight in the conscious space, looking directly at the giant in the wheelchair.

"Mr. President, you’re wrong."

Leo’s voice turned unnaturally calm.

"I am not your vessel, nor have I ever thought about becoming a second you."

"I am who I am. I’m Leo Wallace, a poor kid from Pittsburgh."

"But right now, I’m facing a war. My soldiers are bleeding, and my positions are being lost. And at a time like this, you want to talk to me about independence? About selfhood?"

Leo took a step forward, closing in on Roosevelt.

"Those workers outside are waiting to eat. My team is waiting for their paychecks. Carter Wright is waiting to see me die."

"Dying for the sake of some so-called ’independent personality’ at a time like this isn’t integrity—it’s a betrayal of my supporters."

"For the sake of victory, a politician can sell their soul and sacrifice their reputation."

"Right now, the only chip I have left that hasn’t been taken from me is myself."

"If necessary, I will not hesitate to place myself upon the altar in exchange for your power."

"As long as I can win, as long as I can make Carter Wright get lost, I don’t care."

"This is my pragmatism."

"We are partners. You said so yourself. When one partner is in a desperate situation, is the other supposed to stand by and watch for the sake of some ’educational purpose’?"

"I don’t need you to drive the car for me, but right now, I’m stuck in the mud. My engine has stalled. I need you to give me a push. I need your fire to ignite my engine!"

"Once I break free from this quagmire, the steering wheel will still be in my hands. The road ahead will still be mine to travel."

"Stop acting like some lofty mentor, Mr. President. Come down here. Get into the mud with me. Stand with me."

Roosevelt looked at Leo.

He saw the fire burning in those young eyes.

It was the will to survive, it was ambition, it was a sense of responsibility.

He no longer saw a student seeking shelter.

He saw a politician who, in order to achieve his goals, dared to use anything and everything.

"Good kid."

Roosevelt laughed.

"You’ve finally learned."

"To do whatever it takes for the result, even if it means turning yourself into a tool."

"Now, you finally have the makings of a politician."

He put his glasses back on.

In that instant, the aura about him changed dramatically.

The gentle air of an elder vanished without a trace; the hesitation and conflict dissipated like smoke.

In its place was an awe-inspiring, iron-blooded authority.

That was December 8, 1941, the day after the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor.

That was the look he had when he gripped the edges of the lectern, forcing himself to stand on his leg braces, as he faced Congress, the nation, and a world about to be consumed by the fires of war.

His chin was raised slightly, his gaze as sharp as a falcon’s.

A tone of unprecedented resolve echoed in Leo’s mind.

"In that case, let’s do this together."

"Leo, you must understand one thing."

"When your enemies use the rules to drag the battlefield into the mire where they are strongest; when they use the bureaucratic machine to try and suffocate you."

"Any attempt to solve the problem from within the rules is suicide."

"You can’t untie those dead knots, because those knots can’t be untied."

"The only way is to pick up a sword and cleave that knot in two, along with the table it’s on!"

"Son."

"It’s time."

"This time, we’re going to flip the whole board."