Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

Chapter 450: Chapter 209: An Undefinable Creature

"Leader."

His assistant stood to the side, speaking cautiously.

"Should we launch an opposition research campaign against him? Brand him as a radical socialist?"

"It’s useless."

McConnell closed the dossier.

"Don’t you see it yet?"

McConnell pointed to the records in the dossier, line by line.

"Look at what he’s done."

"He supports unions and high social benefits. That’s very left-wing."

"But he isn’t anti-gun. In Erie City, he even publicly promised to protect the Second Amendment."

"He isn’t against oil and gas; he even uses it to make deals with energy giants."

"He doesn’t get into all that frivolous gender politics. He only talks about jobs and infrastructure."

"He’s a Frankenstein’s monster."

McConnell offered a precise definition.

"He’s neither a traditional liberal nor the kind of conservative we’re used to."

"He’s a new political species, something we’ve never seen before."

"If you call him a socialist, he’ll throw his contracts with energy companies in your face."

"If you call him a corporate shill, he’ll have tens of thousands of high-paid workers roaring at you."

"People like him are the hardest to deal with."

"Because you can’t find his weak point. He has no fixed form."

McConnell stood up and walked to the window.

"He’s a thousand times more dangerous than Sanders."

"Sanders has principles, which means Sanders has weaknesses."

"This Wallace... he has no principles."

"All he wants is to win."

McConnell turned, his gaze chilling.

"Call Taylor."

"Tell him to suspend all media attacks against Wallace, effective immediately."

"Pull the smear pieces we had ready. Tell the radio pundits to shut their mouths."

"Since we can’t stop the bill anymore, continuing our attacks will only make him look like a lone hero fighting the Washington establishment. It’ll just paint him as a sympathetic figure."

"We can’t use the old playbook for dealing with regular Democrats on him anymore."

"We need to reassess this opponent."

McConnell sat back down in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the tabletop.

"Starting today, no rash moves."

"We need to prepare ourselves."

"We need to develop a new weapon, one designed specifically for this kind of monster."

...

「Late that night.」

A passenger jet from Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport pierced through the clouds, heading northwest.

The cabin was quiet. Most of the passengers were fast asleep.

Leo sat in a window seat, wide awake.

He gazed out the window.

Below, the lights of Washington D.C. were rapidly receding into the distance.

The labyrinth of white marble, the swamp of lies, deals, and political machinations, shrank before his eyes until it was just a glowing speck.

He was leaving it behind.

With two billion US dollars in spoils and a body weary to the bone.

’Did you hear that, Leo?’

Roosevelt’s voice echoed in his mind.

’Hear what?’

Leo asked mentally.

’The voices from the White House, from K Street, from Capitol Hill.’

’It’s the sound of fear, but also the sound of respect.’

Roosevelt let out a low chuckle.

’When you arrived, you were a nobody. A small-town mayor waiting in line to be summoned.’

’But now, as you leave, you’ve become the topic of their dinner conversations, an opponent they’re forced to take seriously.’

’They don’t know what box to put you in.’

’You support the unions, and you support capital.’

’You champion green energy, and you dig for coal.’

’You’ve torn a giant hole in the carefully woven red-versus-blue grid they live by.’

’You’re not left-wing, and you’re not right-wing.’

’You’re the winning-wing.’

’In Washington, that’s the only party that earns genuine respect.’

’Only winners get to define who they are.’

’You won, so you are righteous.’

’You won, so you are the rules.’

Leo leaned his head back against the seat.

He looked out at the pitch-black night sky, a relaxed smile spreading across his face.

He no longer had to think about the complex horse-trading, the nail-biting votes.

That was all in the past now.

That was the means, the process.

Now, he held the result in his hands.

All he wanted was to get back to Pittsburgh.

Back to the city that smelled of real life and rang with the clash of steel.

That’s where Frank, Margaret, Ethan, and Sarah were.

That’s where the port was waiting to be reopened, where neighborhoods were waiting for renewal, where tens of thousands of people were waiting, hungry for work.

That’s where two billion US dollars were waiting to be spent.

Where the entire Rust Belt was waiting for him to reawaken.

’Let’s go home, Mr. President.’

Leo thought to himself, his eyes burning with ambition.

’We’ve got work to do.’

’Pittsburgh is about to take off.’

The plane shot into the clouds, like a beast breaking its chains, racing toward the territory that was its own.