Chapter 425: Chapter 197: Sunshine Procurement
In the Pittsburgh South District, inside an aging red brick row house.
Nathan Coleman sat at the dining table, his large hands—covered in calluses and small cuts—cupping a mug.
His eyes were fixed on the laptop screen, his brow furrowed into a deep crease.
"Dad, you just have to click."
His son, sitting across from him, pushed the mouse over to Nathan’s hand.
The screen displayed the Pittsburgh City Government’s newly launched "Sunshine Procurement Platform."
The page design was simple, with just a few input fields: Project Name, Work Plan Summary, Bid, and Estimated Timeline.
The project was the "Twelfth District Community Center Renovation."
It wasn’t a big job: replacing the floors, painting the walls, and patching a leaky roof.
For an old pro like Nathan, who’d been in the renovation business for thirty years, he could calculate the materials and man-hours needed with his eyes closed.
But he still didn’t move.
"It’s no use, Sam." Nathan leaned back, the chair groaning in protest. "These city jobs never go to guys like us. They’re all rigged from the start."
Nathan knew the rules of the game all too well.
For the past ten years, every job he’d gotten had been secondhand, or even third-hand.
The contracts always went to big companies run by guys in suits who wouldn’t know which end of a hammer to hold.
Like that construction company owned by Councilwoman Linda Rossi’s brother-in-law.
They’d take the lion’s share of the profit, then toss the scraps to small-time subcontractors like Nathan.
He did the hardest work for the least amount of pay, and on top of that, payments were always late.
"It’s different now," Sam said, pointing to the prominent city seal on the screen. "This is Leo Wallace’s new policy. They said on the news that any registered business can bid. There are no barriers to entry."
"You actually believe a politician?" Nathan scoffed. "They just hide the hurdles somewhere else. It used to be about who had the thickest envelope. Now, I bet it’s about who can fill out the most paperwork."
"There’s no paperwork, Dad."
Sam took the mouse and clicked on the "Credentials" section.
A green checkmark instantly appeared.
"See? The system automatically pulled your tax records and past business credit score. You have an ’A’ rating. You’re fully qualified."
Nathan was taken aback.
’The system pulled my tax records directly from the IRS.’
"Come on, enter your bid," Sam urged.
Nathan hesitated.
He watched the cursor blink in the bid amount field.
He’d already done the math.
Cost of materials, labor, plus a reasonable profit margin.
Fifty-eight thousand US dollars.
That was his rock-bottom price.
Under the old system, he would have had to bid at least eighty thousand. Twenty thousand of that would be needed to grease some palms, or to be skimmed off the top by the big company that officially won the contract.
"Fifty-eight thousand," Nathan said.
"That low?" Sam was surprised. "Didn’t you always bid eighty thousand before?"
"That was to feed the Vampires," Nathan grumbled. "If this system is really as clean as they say it is, I can do the job for fifty-eight thousand. And I’ll do it better than anyone else."
Sam typed in the number.
He clicked "Submit."
A green dialog box appeared on the screen: "Bid submitted successfully. Now entering review process."
The entire process took less than five minutes.
Nathan stared at the screen, but he still felt uneasy.
’This feels like a joke,’ he thought. ’It was as easy as buying a pair of shoes online.’
He couldn’t believe a government job could be handled this way.
...
「Meanwhile.」
City Hall, second floor, Procurement Office.
Bob sat across from Miller, the purchasing agent.
He was a portly contractor with a thick gold chain around his neck. The buttons on his suit were stretched taut over his belly, looking like they might pop at any second.
Bob slid a thick envelope across the desk toward Miller, his movements practiced and casual.
"Same as always, Miller," Bob said with a smile that revealed a set of tobacco-stained teeth. "I saw the community center renovation. The bid is eighty-five thousand. Five percent of that is for your trouble, and another ten percent is for the higher-ups."
Miller eyed the envelope and swallowed hard.
He was a veteran here; he’d made this kind of deal countless times.
The cash in that envelope was enough to buy his wife a new purse or get a new TV.
But he didn’t reach for it.
Not only did he not reach for it, he actually recoiled, as if the envelope were a bomb about to explode.
"Take it back, Bob," Miller said, his voice a little hoarse. "That’s not how it works anymore."
"Not how it works?" Bob raised an eyebrow. "You’ve got to be kidding me. So the Mayor changed, you think the rules did too? Leo Wallace has to eat, same as anyone. Is it not enough? We can negotiate."
"It’s not about the money."
Miller pointed to the computer screen in front of him.
"It’s this damn system," Miller said, his voice low. "That lunatic Mayor has been working on this thing since his first day in office. Everyone thought it was a joke at first. The pushback was insane, and nobody would cooperate."
Miller swallowed and leaned forward.
"But last week, it officially went live. A few guys who didn’t take it seriously tried to get around the system, and now they’re being investigated by the municipal affairs office."
"I don’t buy it." Bob sneered. "Computers are dumb, people are smart. You just enter my bid proposal. I refuse to believe it can just spit it back out."
Bob tossed his flash drive to Miller.
"Enter it. Eighty-five thousand. That price includes first-class service."
Miller hesitated.
He glanced at the envelope, then back at the computer screen.
Comments