Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

Chapter 442: Chapter 207: The Changing Vote

Adams Licorice Hotel, East Wing Cigar Room.

Sterling sat in an armchair in front of the fireplace.

He was portly, with a ruddy complexion and short, thick fingers, one of which bore a massive gold ring.

He held a glass of expensive cognac, his eyes filled with undisguised mockery.

"A rare guest."

Sterling looked at Leo as he walked in.

"Mr. Wallace, if I recall correctly, just the other day your spiritual mentor, Sanders, was on TV screaming about how he wants to either throw us in prison or slap us with a ninety-percent punitive tax."

Sterling set down his glass and pointed to the bill in Leo’s hand.

"And now you come running to me, holding a document filled with words like ’green energy’ and ’carbon neutral’?"

"Are you asking me to commit suicide? Or do you want me to sponsor your little environmentalist utopia?"

"Stop dreaming, young man. We dig coal, we drill for oil. We have petroleum running through our veins, not solar power that only works for two hours a day."

Every one of Sterling’s words was barbed.

He represented the National Energy Association, the central bastion for the fossil fuel industry.

In their eyes, Leo and Sanders were the gravediggers determined to wipe them out completely.

Leo neither sat down nor showed any discomfort at the man’s attitude.

He knew full well that if Sterling truly didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t even be here.

This kind of opening tirade was just a negotiating tactic, an attempt to gain a psychological advantage right from the start.

Leo looked at Sterling.

"Mr. Sterling, the ’green’ part of the bill is for the media. It’s for the aides in the White House who are anxious about environmentalist votes."

Leo’s voice was steady.

"But you’re an expert. You, more than anyone, should understand the fundamental logic of industry."

"I want to revive heavy industry in Pittsburgh. I want to fire up those blast furnaces again, to get those massive forging presses running once more."

"And what does that mean?"

Leo held up one finger.

"It means a stable, twenty-four-hour, uninterrupted energy supply."

"Do you think you can power a steel mill that produces a million tons a year with wind turbines that depend on the weather, or with solar panels that are useless at night?"

Sterling narrowed his eyes. The way he looked at Leo changed subtly.

"I need stable electricity."

Leo laid his cards on the table.

"I don’t care if it’s coal, gas, or nuclear. As long as it’s stable, as long as it’s cheap, and as long as it guarantees my factories won’t lose power in the dead of winter."

"I’ll take it."

Leo walked up to Sterling, his gaze sharp.

"’Carbon’ might be a dirty word in Washington, but in the industrial zones of Pittsburgh, carbon is energy. It’s power. It’s the workers’ livelihood."

"I’m a pragmatist, Mr. Sterling."

"I won’t sacrifice my industrial revival plan for some vague, ethereal environmental ideal."

"That’s all well and good," Sterling said, swirling his drink. "But that’s not what the bill says. It’s all about subsidies for renewable energy."

"The bill is one thing, implementation is another."

Leo took another document out of his briefcase.

"This is a draft of a commercial contract."

"As long as you support the passage of the bill, and as long as that two billion US Dollars comes through."

"My Industrial Revival Alliance, along with the municipal utility authorities of all member cities, will sign a ten-year guaranteed power purchase agreement with your member companies."

Leo pushed the document in front of Sterling.

"We promise that for the next ten years, regardless of how energy market prices fluctuate, we will purchase the entire output of all your coal and gas power plants in Western Pennsylvania at a locked-in price."

"This is to ensure the security of our industrial power supply."

"This is a deal worth billions of dollars in cash flow, Mr. Sterling."

Sterling picked up the contract.

The current energy market was extremely volatile, and the pressure from environmental policies was making life increasingly difficult for traditional power plants.

A ten-year, long-term, locked-in contract was practically a lifeline for thermal power plants that could be shut down at any moment.

It meant stable revenue. It meant being able to secure bank loans. More importantly, it meant having something to show the shareholders.

"And you have the authority to make this decision?" Sterling looked at Leo skeptically.

"I’m the chairman of the Revival Alliance," Leo replied. "I have the authority to decide whose electricity we use."

Leo paused for a moment before continuing, "Besides, Mr. Sterling, don’t forget we have the Alliance’s note system."

"As long as your energy companies agree to use the note system for settlement, then the factories in cities like Erie and Scranton... they’ll have to use your power whether they want to or not."

"But that’s not enough."

Sterling put the document down. He wanted more.

"This only protects our current profits, but what about the future? You know as well as I do that the current environmental approval process is a nightmare. The damned clauses in the National Environmental Policy Act mean we have to wait five years just to build an oil pipeline."

"If we can’t solve that problem, we’re on a dead-end street sooner or later."

Leo looked at the greedy old man, his heart tightening slightly.

The National Environmental Policy Act. It was the Bible of the American environmental movement, one of the core tenets of the Democratic Party’s base.

Forget the fact that he was just a Mayor; even the President would face a national political firestorm if he tried to touch that act.

’Mr. President, is he joking? How could I possibly touch that act?’ Leo asked in his mind.