Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

Chapter 451: Chapter 210: Cold Night

The western suburbs of Pittsburgh, 2 AM.

A light rain drifted from the sky, carried on a cold wind.

Luigi Randall pulled his heavy, gray hoodie tighter around himself.

He wore a mask, the hood’s brim pulled down to his brow, revealing only a pair of bloodshot eyes.

A black backpack was slung over his shoulders, containing a few changes of clothes and an encrypted laptop.

He had been on the run for four days.

From the streets of Philadelphia to the wilds of Pittsburgh, Luigi felt like a rabbit hounded by hunting dogs, constantly running.

Adrenaline sustained his exhausted body, but a searing burn gripped his stomach. Hunger was devouring his sanity.

His last meal had been twenty hours ago: half a sandwich he’d found at a gas station.

Just then, a yellow "M" sign appeared before him—a 24-hour McDonald’s.

Luigi stood in the shadows across the street for a full five minutes.

He observed the situation inside.

There were only two customers, both asleep with their heads on the tables. The clerk behind the counter was yawning.

He crossed the road and pushed open the glass door.

Walking to the self-service kiosk, his finger hovered over the screen, trembling slightly.

He didn’t dare use a credit card. That would be a death sentence.

He could only use cash.

’A Big Mac combo, large Coke.’

Just then, a voice from a news report drifted from the wall-mounted TV overhead.

"...The manhunt for the murder of Apex Health CEO Arthur Vance is still ongoing. The FBI has named the suspect, Luigi Randall, as their most-wanted fugitive, and the reward has been increased to fifty thousand US dollars..."

Luigi’s body went rigid.

He slowly raised his head, and through the gap under his hood’s brim, he saw the enormous photo on the screen.

It was his ID photo from a few years ago—young, with a hint of a scholarly air.

A red warning scrolled across the bottom of the screen: EXTREMELY DANGEROUS, ARMED. IF SEEN, CALL THE POLICE IMMEDIATELY.

Fear shot through his nerves like an electric current.

He felt as if every eye in the place was fixed on his back.

The dazed cashier behind the counter, the homeless man sleeping at the table—it seemed like they were all secretly pulling out their phones.

’Hurry... hurry...’

He urged himself on frantically in his mind.

Just as his finger was about to tap "Checkout," he felt a wave of heat from behind him.

Someone was standing behind him.

Very close.

Luigi’s right hand subconsciously slipped into his coat pocket, closing around the grip of his pistol.

His finger rested on the trigger as his mind calculated firing angles and escape routes.

If the person behind him made a move, he would have to turn, fire, and smash through the glass door to escape—all within half a second.

He saw the person behind him in the reflection on the kiosk screen.

It was a burly white man, dressed in a work jacket stained with black machine oil and wearing a baseball cap with the "Pittsburgh Steel Union" logo.

The burly man was staring at the screen—or rather, at the back of Luigi’s head.

Luigi could feel the weight of that gaze.

It was a look of scrutiny, of confirmation.

Time seemed to freeze.

On the TV, the FBI spokesman’s warning continued: "...The suspect poses an extreme threat to society..."

The burly man behind him moved.

He took a step forward.

Luigi’s thumb flicked off the safety.

A large, rough hand reached over Luigi’s shoulder and pressed against the kiosk screen.

Luigi almost pulled the trigger.

But he stopped himself.

Because the hand didn’t grab him. Instead, it tapped the screen, bypassing the "Pay at Counter" option. The man then pulled out his phone and scanned it.

BEEP.

Payment successful.

"Add two espressos."

The burly man’s voice was deep and strong.

"You’ll need it, kid. The rain out there is heavy."

Luigi was stunned.

His hand was still gripping the gun, but the rigidity in his body was replaced by a profound sense of the absurd.

He slowly turned his head to look at the man behind him.

It was the face of a typical Rust Belt worker.

Rough skin, messy stubble, and the creases at the corners of his eyes held coal dust that would never wash away.

The burly man didn’t look at Luigi’s face. His gaze went past Luigi’s shoulder, fixed directly on the TV screen on the wall.

On the screen, footage of the murdered CEO was playing. The dapper executive was smiling as he discussed profit growth in medical insurance.

"That bastard."

The burly man cursed, staring at the photo of the dead man on the TV.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it was laced with a bone-deep hatred.

"Last year, my daughter was diagnosed with leukemia. The doctors said she needed a bone marrow transplant."

"We’d been paying for insurance with that company for ten years."

"The day after we submitted the claim, the denial letter arrived at our house. The reason they gave was a pre-existing genetic risk."

"Why didn’t they say that when we bought it? They wait until they have to pay out to start making excuses."

The burly man turned his head and looked at Luigi.

"That CEO’s bonus last year was twenty million US dollars. Meanwhile, my daughter could only go home and take painkillers."

Luigi’s throat bobbed. He wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

On the run, he had imagined countless scenarios of being recognized.

Being pinned to the ground by the police, being reported by a passerby greedy for the reward money, being surrounded by a mob of self-righteous citizens.

But he had never imagined this.

The burly man reached out and clapped Luigi firmly on the shoulder twice.

"This meal’s on me."

The burly man lowered his voice, leaning close to Luigi’s ear.

"I don’t know you, and I don’t want that fifty thousand dollars."