Chapter 640 - 297: First, Let’s Pretend We Have a Chicken

"With this tiered approach, we can forge what was once a rigid, centrally planned economic monstrosity into a highly competitive, national-level industrial fortress."

When Leo finished, the entire conference hall fell silent.

Everyone was stunned by this grand, almost audacious vision.

This was no longer an issue a Mayor should be considering.

This was the strategic perspective of a Secretary of State, or even the President.

"Of course," Leo shrugged, "we’ll encounter countless problems in the actual process. For example, technological barriers, diplomatic resistance, insufficient competitiveness, and retaliation from Wall Street."

"But this is my solution for Pennsylvania."

"A perilous path, but also a path to survival."

Ron Smith was silent for a long time.

He walked to the window and looked out at the Pittsburgh nightscape.

He had to admit that while the plan was insane, its logic was sound.

It seized upon the greatest tailwinds of this era—the US-China confrontation, the restructuring of global supply chains, and the energy crisis.

If it could truly be pulled off, Pennsylvania might indeed reclaim its former glory.

"Alright, Leo."

Ron turned around, a bitter smile on his face.

"Your blueprint is grand and very persuasive."

"But we’re back to the original problem."

"All of this—whether it’s internal infrastructure, industrial upgrades, or exports."

"It’s all built on a single foundation."

Ron pointed to the massive number on the screen.

"Money."

"You must first have that ten billion to start this machine. You must first start the machine to control the legislature. You must control the legislature to pass the bill and get the money."

"It’s a vicious cycle."

"A classic chicken-and-egg paradox."

"We’re stuck on the first step."

Ron looked at Leo, waiting for his final answer.

If this problem couldn’t be solved, then everything he had just said was nothing but a castle in the sky.

Leo looked at Ron, and at everyone else.

He didn’t panic, nor did he try to justify himself with more complex theories.

He just smiled.

"Ron, you’re right."

"It is a vicious cycle."

"But breaking this cycle is actually very simple."

Leo walked back to the head of the table.

"We just need to pretend."

"Pretend that we already have a chicken."

"Pretend that we’re already holding ten billion US dollars in orders."

"Then, we take this ’established fact’ to the legislators, the capitalists, and the voters."

"The chicken is already here, and it’s about to lay its eggs. Do you want to divide up the eggs now, or wait until the chicken has flown the coop and live to regret it?"

"When everyone believes we have the chicken."

Leo raised his hand high.

"That chicken... will truly lay its eggs for us."

"This is called ’manufacturing expectations’."

"It’s also called... political blackmail."

Leo looked at the Mayors, whose expressions were no longer under control.

"Now."

"Who is willing to join me in selling this invisible chicken?"

Outside, the wind from the Allegheny River battered the floor-to-ceiling windows of the headquarters building, the tempered glass emitting a low, rhythmic hum.

The sound reverberated through the room, a space filled with ambition and calculation. It was heavy and monotonous, like the beating of a war drum.

Every Mayor could feel their own heart beating in time with this vibration.

This silence was, in itself, an extremely fervent statement.

They saw clearly the path Leo had laid out.

It was a narrow bridge paved with lies, reinforced by power, leading to absolute dominion.

If they just walked across and nodded, they would no longer be disposable cogs in the administrative hierarchy, but the first partners in this nascent economic Empire.

Ron Smith was the first to rise, followed by Joe Byers, and then Foster.

More than twenty Mayors rose to their feet, one after another, the sound of their chairs scraping against the floor sharp and brief.

Leo stood at the head of the long table, calmly accepting their gazes.

He knew that from this moment on, the administrative borders within Pennsylvania had vanished.

Outside, the wind grew louder, making a sharp, striking sound.

A new war machine had just been assembled in this room.

The so-called laws, so-called procedures, and so-called partisan disputes had, in this instant, become clay that could be molded at will. The only truth was now clutched in the hands of these men who had decided to become bandits.

The old order of Pennsylvania was collapsing.

The sound of war drums had already pierced through the walls, roaring toward Harrisburg, toward Washington, toward an old world that was pretending to be asleep.