Chapter 602 - 281: Jealousy Outside the Wall

Pittsburgh South District, Crawford Pharmacy.

The early morning fog had not yet lifted, but a long line had already formed at the entrance.

The line was quiet and orderly.

This was thanks to two security guards standing by the door, clad in uniforms bearing the "Mutual Aid Alliance" logo.

They were powerfully built, and the crackle of static occasionally hissed from the walkie-talkies at their waists.

A conspicuous red poster was taped to the pharmacy’s glass door.

It had only two lines of bold, black text:

This location only provides services to members holding a "Rust Belt Health Mutual Aid Card."

Non-members, please do not line up.

At the very front of the line, Old Jack tremblingly pulled a dark red card from his coat and passed it through the window.

"Two vials of insulin glargine," Old Jack said.

The pharmacist behind the counter skillfully took the card, swiped it on the reader, and the facial recognition went through.

BEEP.

Green text indicating successful verification flashed on the screen, immediately followed by the price: $70.00.

Old Jack took out two crumpled twenty-dollar bills, counted out three tens, and passed them in.

The pharmacist pushed out two perfectly packaged boxes of medicine.

"God bless Mayor Wallace."

Old Jack clutched the two boxes tightly, muttering to himself as tears welled up in his cloudy eyes.

Just last month, he had nearly sold the pocket watch his father had left him for one of these small vials.

But now, it only cost seventy US dollars.

He turned and walked away, his steps a little lighter.

The line continued to creep forward.

Just then, the sound of an argument shattered the previous calm.

In the middle of the line, a middle-aged woman in a floral dress was grabbing a security guard’s arm, her voice sharp and anxious.

"Please, I’m begging you, let me in!" the woman pleaded. "I drove two hours to get here from Westmoreland County! My son is having an asthma attack, and the pharmacy over there wanted to charge me two hundred dollars. I just don’t have it!"

"Ma’am, I’m sorry." The security guard’s face was impassive, his arm barring her way like an iron rail. "The rules are the rules. Your registered residence isn’t in Pittsburgh City, so the system can’t recognize your information."

"I have money! I’ll pay cash!" The woman pulled a handful of bills from her purse, along with a few coins.

"It’s not about the money."

The pharmacist leaned out of the window and pointed at the networked computer.

"Our inventory management system is connected to the network in real-time. The distribution of every single vial of medicine must correspond to a valid Mutual Aid Card ID. Without an ID, the system won’t release the stock, and I can’t print a receipt. It’s a risk control measure; no one can get around it."

"Can I borrow a card, then?" The woman turned to the people in line behind her. "Can anyone lend me their card?"

The people in line fell silent.

Some shot her sympathetic glances, while others instinctively clutched their pockets.

"Don’t waste your breath," a young worker further back in the line said coldly. "Every card is linked to facial recognition, and the monthly quota is fixed. If I lend it to you, I won’t get my medicine next month. This is Pittsburgh, not a charity."

The woman stood frozen, her face pale as a sheet.

She watched the people of Pittsburgh walk out with medicine in hand, their faces relaxed and carefree, then looked down at her own empty hands.

An insurmountable chasm stretched out before her.

It was an invisible wall.

The people inside the wall enjoyed privilege, enjoyed a cheap guarantee on life itself.

Those outside could only despair in the cold wind.

"This isn’t fair!"

The woman suddenly shrieked, her voice filled with venomous resentment.

"Why?! Why do you only have to pay a few dozen dollars while I have to sell my car and my house? We’re all Pennsylvanians! This isn’t fair!"

The security guards wasted no more words. They each took one of the woman’s arms and escorted her out of the line.

The woman sat on the curb, her mind flashing back to an article she had scrolled past on her phone one morning.

It was an in-depth piece published by the "Rust Belt Observer," with a headline written in large, bright red letters: "Who Is Stealing Your Lifesaving Money?"

The article had been precision-targeted by Sarah, following Leo’s instructions.

The article didn’t point the finger at the various city halls.

Sarah knew perfectly well that the mayors in the Industrial Revival Alliance were on their side. Attacking them was pointless. What Leo needed was pressure at a higher level.

In the article, Sarah had used a straightforward chart to illustrate a power structure.

On the left side of the chart was Leo Wallace’s bill. On the right was a dense list of names: the state Representatives and state Senators from Pennsylvania’s various counties.

The article stated it plainly:

"Your Mayor wants to help you, but he doesn’t have legislative power. The people who truly decide whether or not your child can afford their medicine are the lawmakers sitting in the halls of Harrisburg, taking political contributions from pharmaceutical giants."

"Look at the representative for your district. They are in committee right now, using procedural justice and free market principles as excuses to stonewall the very bill that could save you ninety percent on your medical expenses."

"They are protecting their own secret bank accounts."

The woman remembered a familiar name on that list.

It was the Representative from her district, a middle-aged man who always beat his chest during elections and promised to take care of blue-collar families.

She had mostly forgotten about these political dealings.

But now, the matter-of-fact relief on the faces of the Pittsburgh residents in the pharmacy ignited something in her.

She took a picture of the line outside the pharmacy, then another of her own beat-up Ford. With tears in her eyes, she rapidly tapped out a line of text on her phone’s screen.