Chapter 646 - 301: Established Fact

Harrisburg, the State Capitol Building.

This building represented the law and order of Pennsylvania, a symbol of due process.

But at this moment, an immense, invisible pressure enveloped the structure.

In a coffee shop across from the State Capitol Building, Tom Harris, Senior Vice President of Pennsylvania National Bank, stared intently at the Representative sitting across from him.

Harris held no coffee in his hand, only a scorching hot phone.

"Listen, Mike."

Harris’s voice was low and his words came fast, each one sounding as if it were being squeezed through his teeth.

"I don’t care what procedural flaws that damn bill has, and I don’t care about your Whip’s political considerations."

"I only know one thing: if the House of Representatives doesn’t pass that ten-billion-dollar infrastructure bill within two months, Pennsylvania’s financial system will have a meltdown on schedule two months from now."

Across from him, Representative Mike Donald wiped the sweat from his forehead.

He was a moderate from a middle-class district, accustomed to walking the tightrope between big corporations and his constituents.

But today, the tightrope had snapped.

"Tom, you have to understand," Donald tried to explain. "This isn’t how things are done. That Leo Wallace contracted out the projects before the bill was even submitted. He acted first and sought approval later."

"If we approve it now, we’re essentially legalizing this kind of procedural violation. It’ll create endless trouble down the line."

"Trouble down the line?"

Harris scoffed, then showed Donald his phone screen.

It displayed the bank’s internal, real-time credit monitoring data.

"See this red bar? That’s the bridge loans we’ve issued over the past two weeks. The total already exceeds three billion US Dollars. That money has flowed to construction companies, steel mills, and cement factories across the state. It’s even been used to pay workers’ salaries."

"And what was our basis for issuing these loans? A letter of intent for a bill that hasn’t even passed, and the credit backing of all the cities in the Industrial Revival Alliance."

Harris was aggressive and overbearing, his presence overwhelming.

"If the bill doesn’t pass, those three billion US Dollars become bad debt. Our bank’s capital adequacy ratio will instantly plummet below the warning line. We’ll go bankrupt. Depositors will make a run on the bank. The entire state’s financial chain will break."

He leaned in close to Donald.

"When that happens, it won’t just be those workers losing their homes. It’ll be you Legislators, too."

"Mike, do you think angry voters will listen to you explain due process then? All they’ll know is that you cast a ’no’ vote, which led to the bank foreclosing on their homes and their factories shutting down."

"They’ll drag you out of this building and ’take care of you’ on the steps."

Donald looked into Harris’s bloodshot eyes.

He understood.

This wasn’t a time to discuss political logic. This was a game of survival.

In reality, Pennsylvania’s financial system was nowhere near as fragile as Harris described.

The nation’s financial resilience was far stronger than a single piece of legislation.

But these words represented the unified will of the bank’s top executives, the consensus of the entire Pennsylvanian banking industry’s leadership.

They knew full well they were engaged in irregular practices.

To avoid complications from delays and to put pressure on the Legislators.

They had decided to manufacture this extreme panic.

Bankers couldn’t care less about procedural purity, nor did they give a damn about legislative rigor.

They only recognized money.

As long as the bill passed, all the risks born from their irregular actions would be instantly legitimized.

Bad debt would become assets on the books, and interest would become real dividends.

The bankers had gone mad.

For the sake of interest payments and the grand promises Leo had made, they had willingly jumped into this pit.

Now, to save themselves, they would stop at nothing to force the legislature to pass the bill.

They were accomplices.

And now, they were demanding the legislature become accomplices as well.

Donald felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him.

"I understand."

Donald’s voice was barely a whisper.

"I’ll go talk to the Party Whip. I’ll tell him that if this bill doesn’t pass, Pennsylvania won’t have any banks tomorrow."

Harris leaned back into his seat, the ferocious look on his face vanishing instantly.

"A wise choice, Mike. I knew you were a reasonable man."

Harris stood up and walked out of the coffee shop without a backward glance.

Donald remained seated.

’He knew he had just sold out the last shred of a Legislator’s dignity.’

’But he had no choice.’

...

「Meanwhile, in the Pittsburgh South District.」

On the massive overpass reconstruction site, the drum of a concrete mixer turned ceaselessly.

Foreman George stood on the scaffolding, walkie-talkie in hand, directing a tower crane as it lifted a bundle of rebar to a designated spot.

"Slow down! To the left! Good, drop it!"

The rebar slammed onto the floor slab with a dull THUD.

George took off his hard hat and wiped the dust from his face.

He gazed at the bustling construction site, feeling a sense of unreality.

’I’ve been in construction for thirty years, and I’ve never seen a project like this.’

’No down payment, no formal contract, and they’re even changing the blueprints as we go.’

’His boss, Peter Hoffman, had just given him a card and told him that wages and material costs would all be deducted from it.’

George had been skeptical at first.

But when he took that card to the local supermarket, bought a cart full of beer and beef, and checked out without a problem, his doubts vanished.

’Whether it’s US Dollars or points, if it can buy stuff, it’s money.’

More importantly, the job paid well.

Double pay for overtime, and you got paid daily.

For these workers, who had been unemployed and idle at home for half a year, this was a gift from God.

"George!"

A young worker below shouted.

"Heard those Legislators in Harrisburg are arguing, saying this project is illegal and they’re gonna shut it down?"

Several nearby workers stopped what they were doing and shot fierce glances in his direction.

The jackhammers and wrenches in their hands glinted coldly in the sunlight.

"Shut it down?"

George spat on the ground.

"Who’d dare shut us down?"

"The concrete’s already mixed. Once it’s poured, it turns to stone. You think they can dig the stone back out?"

"Besides,"

George pointed toward the distant City Hall building.

"We’ve got Mayor Wallace backing us up."

"If that young man had the guts to let us start, he can handle those bureaucrats."

"If those Legislators dare to cut off our wages..."

George gripped his walkie-talkie tightly.

"...we’ll just drive these excavators to Harrisburg and help them ’fix up’ that busted State Capitol Building of theirs."

The workers burst into laughter, but there was a vicious edge to the sound.

They didn’t care where the money came from.

Whether it was from bonds issued by the State Government or something Leo conjured out of thin air, it made no difference to them.

They lived by a simple, unbending rule: work, get paid, eat.

Anyone who broke that cycle was their mortal enemy.

Once the concrete set, the rebar was welded, and the wages were paid, this was no longer an administrative order that could be casually revoked. It was a social reality affecting the livelihoods of tens of thousands of families.

The law can be retroactive, but concrete cannot.

...

「Harrisburg, the House of Representatives Chamber.」

「2:00 PM.」

The air was hot and suffocating.

Two hundred and three Representatives sat in their respective seats, the only things on their desks were phones vibrating manically.

Threats from bankers, warnings from Unions, pleas from contractors, roars from voters.

These voices converged into an irresistible torrent, washing away the last vestiges of composure from this group of Politicians.

Members of the House of Representatives serve only two-year terms.

This meant they were in a perpetual state of campaigning.

They were the group most afraid of public opinion, and also the most weak-willed.

In the face of this torrent, no one dared to be the stone that blocked the path.

It didn’t matter if you were a Democrat or a Republican, a progressive or a conservative.

At this moment, their positions were surprisingly uniform.

Survival.

If they didn’t pass this bill, if they didn’t write a legal check to cover the money that had already been spent, the entire Pennsylvanian economy would collapse tomorrow.

They would be torn to shreds by angry voters.

They’d already been held hostage by public opinion once, so they didn’t mind it happening a second time.

Speaker Dante Russo stood at the podium.

He looked down at his pale, dazed colleagues, and a profound sense of awe for Leo Wallace washed over him.

’That young man hadn’t even come to Harrisburg.’

’Sitting in his office in Pittsburgh, from hundreds of kilometers away, he had used an invisible string to choke them all.’

’He had taken everyone hostage.’

’The banks, to avoid bad debt, had no choice but to lobby for him. The workers, for their wages, had no choice but to support him. The business owners, for their orders, had no choice but to obey him.’

’He had turned them all into his accomplices.’

Now, this band of accomplices desperately needed a veneer of legitimacy to cover up this unprecedented case of acting first and asking for approval later.

"The vote will now begin."

Russo struck the gavel.

"On the ’Pennsylvania Comprehensive Infrastructure and Industrial Modernization Act.’"

"Cast your votes."

There was no debate.

No amendments.

No lengthy speeches.

Even the few opposition leaders who normally loved to find fault were now sitting with their heads bowed in silence, fingers hovering over the green ’yea’ button.

BEEP—

The numbers on the electronic tally board jumped wildly.

In an instant, the entire screen was filled with green lights.

Ayes: 189.

Nays: 14.

Abstain: 0.

An overwhelming pass.

The House of Representatives had surrendered.

At record speed, they had passed this ten-billion-US-Dollar bill—a bill riddled with procedural holes, yet indestructible in its real-world logic.

Russo looked at the numbers and let out a long breath.

"The bill passes," he announced.

His voice echoed through the chamber.

The Representatives wiped the cold sweat from their brows, feeling only the exhaustion of having survived a disaster.

They had saved their seats, and they had saved Pennsylvania’s financial system.

As for how this enormous debt would be repaid in the future? Or what consequences would come from this violation of procedure?

Those were questions for another day.

Or, perhaps, questions for the Senate to consider.

...

「Pittsburgh, City Hall.」

Leo Wallace stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down on the city that was now growing at a frantic pace.

His phone lay on the desk, its screen lit up, displaying a text message he had just received.

"House passed, 189 to 14."

It was from Ethan.

Leo’s face showed no expression.

’He didn’t need to celebrate.’

’Because it had all gone according to his calculations.’

Leo looked toward the political map of Pennsylvania on the wall.

The light for the House of Representatives had turned green.

The torrent, formed from money, desire, and the instinct for survival, was now surging toward its next target.

The Senate.

And Robert Kaufman was now standing alone on the levee, facing the imminent tidal wave.

He was the final obstacle.

And the last stone Leo had to kick out of his way.

"Kaufman can’t stop it," Leo said in a low voice.

He walked back to his desk and dialed Ethan’s number.

"Ethan, tell Kaufman."

"He can either open the gates and let the flood pass."

"Or he can be flushed down the drain along with his chair."

The hunt had begun.