novelnext Chapter 368 - 174: Leader (4)
Chapter 368 - 174: Leader (4)
"We all know what our financial situation is."
"Just last month, news came from Washington. Senator Warren, in Congress, personally axed two critical budget allocations for us here in Erie City."
He pulled two crumpled photocopies from his pocket.
"The first is a notice from the Federal Transportation Department, suspending the special appropriation for dredging the Erie Port channel. Twelve million US dollars."
"The second is a letter from the Federal Environmental Protection Agency, deferring the release of the soil remediation fund for Erie City’s heavy industrial zone. Eight million US dollars."
Smith crumpled the two papers into a ball and slammed it onto the ground.
"Twenty million US dollars! A full twenty million!"
"This money was supposed to dredge our port so we could accommodate larger ships! It was supposed to clean up that contaminated land so we could attract investment and build new factories!"
"We factored that money into this year’s budget. We were counting on it to balance our books."
"But now, the money is gone."
"This twenty-million-dollar shortfall is the first domino to fall."
"Because of this shortfall, we couldn’t make the down payment to the port construction crew, so the project stopped. Because of this shortfall, we can’t complete the soil remediation, so new factories won’t come, and there’s no new tax revenue."
"What’s worse, to fill this massive hole, to keep this city running, I had to use every fund I could get my hands on—including your pension accounts!"
"That’s why you aren’t getting your money today!"
"It’s not that I want to stiff you on what you’re owed! It’s because Senator Warren, just by flapping his gums in Washington, took the food right out of our mouths!"
Smith pointed to the crumpled papers on the ground.
"To keep this city alive, to keep you all from starving, I had to swallow my pride and go beg that young Mayor from Pittsburgh."
"I begged him for more orders. I begged him to buy our steel. I begged him to let Erie’s factories start up again."
"And he agreed."
"We signed the contract, we prepared the shipment, we even organized the convoy of trucks."
"As soon as that shipment reaches Pittsburgh, as soon as they sign off on it, thirty million US dollars would have been deposited into our accounts. Your pensions, your wages—it would have all been covered."
"But!"
Smith’s voice suddenly rose, growing sharp.
"Just as we were about to ship, the road was cut off!"
"The state police set up roadblocks on the highway."
"They’ve sealed off the road to Pittsburgh!"
"They won’t let our shipment through!"
"If Pittsburgh can’t get the shipment, how can they pay us? And how can we pay you?"
"Who did this?"
"Besides Senator Warren, with his connections reaching all the way to the top in Washington, who else could order around those bureaucrats in Harrisburg? Who else could make those big corporations fall in line?"
"And why?"
"Because that Mayor in Pittsburgh... he’s a Democrat."
"For his political battles in Washington, to stop the Democrats from scoring a win in Pittsburgh, to prevent that young mayor from chalking up an achievement—that’s why Senator Warren did it."
"He decided to blockade Pittsburgh."
Smith’s eyes looked feral.
"But what about the cost?"
"We are the cost!"
"The cost is Erie’s factories getting no orders! The cost is our trucks rusting in their garages! The cost is your pension accounts being drained to zero!"
"In Senator Warren’s grand political chess game, we, the city of Erie, his loyal voters who have supported him for decades—we are nothing but cannon fodder to be sacrificed at any moment!"
"He would rather watch the old people of Erie starve to death than see the Democrats in Pittsburgh successfully build a port!"
"That is the truth!"
A dead silence fell over the square.
In their minds, Warren had always been their protector, their shield against the liberal elites in Washington.
But now, the Mayor was telling them that this same shield had been brought down on their own heads.
And all for the sake of a so-called "political struggle."
For these retired workers, who were about to run out of food this very month, nothing was more infuriating than being betrayed by one of their own.
"Is... is this true?"
The old worker at the front asked, his voice trembling.
"You don’t have to believe me."
Smith pointed to his own face.
"You can smash my head in with a brick right now."
"But even if I die, the money still isn’t coming."
"Go ask those truck drivers! Ask them why they aren’t delivering the shipment to Pittsburgh! Ask them if they were stopped halfway by the state police!"
"I don’t understand it either!"
Smith pounded his chest forcefully, producing a dull THUD THUD.
"I made over a dozen calls to Senator Warren’s office! I begged him! I said, ’Senator, this is business. This is Erie’s lifeline. Please, give us a break.’"
"And the result?"
"No one took my calls!"
"In their eyes, the life or death of small, backwater cities like ours means nothing. As long as they can win an election, as long as they can strike a blow against their opponents, what’s the sacrifice of a few of us?"
The mood in the crowd began to ferment.
The simple anger that had been directed solely at the mayor began to transform, becoming more complex and far more destructive.
The fear of abandonment and the fury of betrayal mixed together, creating a dangerous chemical reaction.
"How could he do this..."
"My whole family voted for him..."
"That’s our pension money..."
The murmurs swelled into a roar.
Smith watched their faces, knowing the fire had been lit.
He just had to add more fuel.
"Brothers."
Smith’s voice became weary and heavy.
"I’m just a small-town mayor. I can’t fight against the big shots in Washington."
"All I can do is watch as that thirty-million-dollar contract turns into scrap paper, and watch as your checks become empty promises."
"I want to pay you, too. But I don’t have the money."
Smith took a step back, looking helpless and desolate.
"If you think this is my fault, then go ahead, start smashing. After you’re done, remember to lock your doors when you go home, because next month, we might not even be able to pay the police."
He turned, making as if to leave.
"Wait!"
The old worker who had led the crowd called out to him.
"Mayor, what are we supposed to do then?"
"Are we just supposed to wait here and die?"
Smith stopped and turned back.
An almost imperceptible glint flashed in his eyes.
"I don’t know."
He shook his head.
"I don’t know what to do. I only know that I made countless calls to Warren’s office, that I submitted over a dozen applications to the State Government."
"I only know that if I hadn’t signed that contract, our city would have truly died."
"But..."
He paused.
"Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it. Perhaps we should have chosen to starve to death with dignity, all for the sake of party purity and to uphold the honor of the Republican Party."
"After all, those are principles."
Smith’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
The rage that had made them want to eat the mayor alive was now replaced by a deeper, more desperate emotion.
The people looked at one another, at a loss.
The bricks in their hands slowly lowered.