Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

Pittsburgh, Saint Paul’s Cathedral.

The cathedral was empty.

Leo sat in the front-row pew, holding a heavy Bible in his hands, his fingers lightly tracing the scripture-filled pages.

This was his way of waiting for the results.

In this chaotic world, only this place was quiet enough—quiet enough for him to hear the sound of the citadel of power in Harrisburg, hundreds of miles away, collapsing.

Leo was not a Catholic.

He had always maintained a utilitarian approach to such sacred buildings.

In his eyes, religious buildings offered a ready-made solemnity and a tranquility that could cool the mind, making them excellent places for contemplation.

As for faith, that was just a wrench in the toolbox—to be taken out when useful and tossed aside when not.

In a way, Leo’s behavior was more like that of a typical Protestant.

"If Max Weber saw you now, he would definitely write you into one of his books."

Roosevelt’s voice echoed in Leo’s mind.

"The essence of capitalism is built on the Protestant understanding of the sanctity of one’s vocation. You work hard, you pursue efficiency, you calculate interests like a precision machine—this is how you prove you are one of God’s chosen through worldly success."

"Although you claim not to believe in God, your every move follows this logic. For you, accumulating power is your divine calling."

Leo had no intention of discussing sociology with Roosevelt at this moment. He simply lowered his head and turned a page.

He recited softly, his voice echoing under the vast, empty dome.

"He changes times and seasons; he deposes kings and raises up others. He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to the discerning."

Harrisburg, State Capitol Building Press Conference Hall.

Aston Monroe stood at the lectern, his face washed out white by countless camera flashes.

He held up a document that had just been signed by the special investigative committee.

"This is the preliminary investigation report on the Governor’s Office’s abuse of power, obstruction of justice, and misappropriation of public funds."

Monroe’s voice, carried by the microphones, spread across the entire state.

"To uphold the legal dignity of Pennsylvania, the investigative committee has decided to formally launch an investigation into Governor Bob Campbell."

Behind him, William Saint Cloud, the Acting President of the Senate, struck the expensive Crystal Gavel.

The crisp sound of the impact announced the beginning of the severance.

Campbell’s deputy had plunged the first knife into his chest.

Leo turned another page, his finger stopping on the Book of Psalms.

"Defend the poor and fatherless; do justice to the afflicted and needy."

Philadelphia, state penitentiary.

Luigi Randall sat in his narrow cell.

The patch of sky visible through the barred window was no bigger than the palm of his hand.

He wore a prison uniform with the number 0943, staring at a small patch of mold on the wall.

Meanwhile, beyond the high walls of the prison, on the streets of Pittsburgh and in the squares of Philadelphia.

Tens of thousands of people were holding up banners.

"We want to live!"

"Healthcare is a right, not a commodity!"

Alina led the families driven into poverty by illness to block the entrances of the insurance companies.

They plastered the glass curtain walls with claim denial letters and hung photos of the deceased from the lampposts.

The angry crowd roared, crying out for justice for the young man locked in a cage, and also for their own loved ones who couldn’t afford medical treatment.

At the same time, in Erie, in Scranton, in Alondon.

In every city that had joined the Industrial Revival Alliance, the same scene was playing out.

It was a meticulously planned uprising, blooming everywhere at once.

The flames were ignited in Pennsylvania, then spread westward along the rusted railway tracks, abandoned national highways, and the fiber optic cables of the internet.

Autoworkers in Ohio, farmers in Indiana, teachers in Wisconsin, nurses in Michigan.

Every family gasping under the weight of high insurance premiums, every person who had ever been handed a death sentence in the form of a claim denial—they were all ignited at this moment.

They took to the streets, surrounded the local insurance company buildings, and held sit-ins in front of their State Capitol Buildings.

This wasn’t just for Luigi Randall.

It was for themselves, too.

Leo had successfully transformed a legal case into a class war sweeping across the entire Rust Belt.

In the cathedral, a candle flame flickered.

Leo’s voice grew deeper.

"If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand."

Washington D.C., Republican National Committee Headquarters.

Richard Taylor watched the large screen on the wall, swirling a glass of red wine in his hand.

On the screen was a Fox News special report: "Pennsylvania Under the Democrats: Chaos and Collapse."

"Look," Taylor said with a smile to the aide beside him. "They’re fighting amongst themselves."

The Republican Party’s propaganda machine was running at full blast.

They were frantically sharing scenes of the chaos in Harrisburg on social media, portraying the Democratic Party as a failed party incapable of governing.

"Inflation, healthcare collapse, street riots."

"This is the future the left will bring you."

The wavering of Pennsylvania’s swing voters was obvious; poll numbers that had once leaned blue began to plummet.

The foundations of the Democratic Party were burning, and the one who lit the match was none other than the Mayor of Pittsburgh from their own camp.

Taylor watched the Republican Party’s approval ratings climb steadily on the screen, but he didn’t feel the relief he had expected.

He thought back to his conversation with Leo Wallace the other day.

The young man had promised to throw Pennsylvania into chaos, and he had delivered.

He’d done it more thoroughly, more uncontrollably, than Taylor could have imagined.

But Taylor couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

He wasn’t even sure if this counted as making a deal with a tiger.

Leo’s ruthlessness, his willingness to do whatever it took to achieve his goals, and the madness of betting an entire state sent a chill down Taylor’s spine.

The bigger this fire burned, the more it benefited the Republican Party.

But if the fire spiraled out of control and burned something it shouldn’t, that would be a different story.

He needed to make sure he was the one controlling the fire, not the kindling consumed by it.

Leo’s finger traced across the scripture, stopping on a line filled with killing intent.

"The kings of the earth rise up and the rulers band together against the Lord and against his anointed one."

Washington, Office of the House of Representatives Majority Leader.

Raymond Walker was roaring into the phone.

"Monroe! What the hell are you doing?"

"We need you to solve the problem, not play the damn moral judge!"

"Leo Wallace is undermining us! He’s handing the Republicans a knife!"

Walker slammed a polling report down on the table.

"I don’t care what methods you use, just dismantle Leo’s power base, and do it now!"

"Send those mobs home!"

"Stop talking to me about procedure! Or strategy! I want results now!"

Walker’s voice was filled with agitation.

The Democratic Party’s nationwide approval ratings were in a continuous decline because of the chaos in Pennsylvania, and the alarm bells for the general election were already ringing.

"You need to take his place as soon as possible, Aston," Walker lowered his voice. "As soon as you’re in the governor’s seat and have control of Pennsylvania’s administrative machinery, we in Washington will have plenty of ways to deal with that kid from Pittsburgh."

"But first, you have to get that position."

"Stop the act, Aston. Accelerate."

Monroe gripped the phone, his eyes cold and dark.

He hung up and looked out the window at the dense, dark crowd below.

He needed chaos.

Chaos big enough to give him a legitimate reason to take over everything.

The cathedral bells tolled.

Leo’s voice became mournful.

"The Lord said, ’What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground.’"

Harrisburg, State Capitol Plaza.

In the dark of night, the National Guard’s defensive line was like a great wall of steel.

"Hold the line! No retreat!"

The commander’s voice roared through the radio.

And on the other side of the line, a few professional agitators mixed in with the crowd lit the Molotov cocktails in their hands.

BOOM!

Flames exploded in front of the wall of shields.

It was immediately followed by a crisp crack.

The sound of a gunshot.

Or maybe a firecracker.

On a night this tense, no one could tell the difference.

Fear instantly shattered the soldiers’ psychological defenses.

"Open fire! Disperse them!"

Tear gas canisters, trailing white smoke, were fired into the crowd.

Chaos erupted.

Stampeding, screaming, crying.

A young student fell on the steps, blood gushing from their forehead, staining a white state flag red.

Blood had been spilled.

Leo closed the Bible and shut his eyes.

"I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind."

Governor’s Mansion.

Bob Campbell watched the young person lying in a pool of blood on the television.

He sat in his chair, the signed resignation letter resting on the table beside him.

He knew what had happened.

This was Monroe’s doing.

The deputy he himself had promoted had not hesitated to orchestrate bloodshed to hasten his downfall and secure his own seat on the throne.

Perhaps with the tacit approval of Washington.

The bigwigs couldn’t wait any longer; they needed a scapegoat to quell the public’s anger.

’Is this the deal?’

Campbell gave a bitter smile.

He wanted to make a graceful exit, but this era wouldn’t afford him any dignity.

Since he had to go one way or another, he might as well just go.

In the cathedral, the phone in Leo’s pocket vibrated.

Leo opened his eyes.

He took out his phone.

There was just a short message on the screen. The sender was Ethan.

"Will officially announce resignation tomorrow at 3 PM."

Leo stared at the line of text.

’It’s all over.’

’Or rather, it has only just begun.’

He stood up.

At that moment, like a priest who had just finished celebrating Mass, he softly recited one final verse.

"See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland."

Leo closed the Bible, placing it back on the pew.

He adjusted the collar of his overcoat and turned toward the cathedral doors.

He pushed open the heavy wooden doors.

The sunlight outside was blinding, and the clamor of the street rushed in to meet him.

The blare of car horns, the chatter of pedestrians, the roar of a distant construction site.

These were the sounds of the mortal world.

Leo stood on the steps and took a deep breath of the polluted air.

He remembered himself from a few years ago, working hard in a coffee shop.

Back then, his only dream was to pay off his one hundred and thirty thousand USD debt.

Now, he carried the fate of a state on his shoulders.

’Was it worth it?’

He asked himself.

But no one answered.

The wind howled as it passed through the gaps between the skyscrapers, as if in response to his question, or perhaps singing a final dirge for a bygone era.

’This is the end.’

’And also the real beginning.’

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