Chapter 605 - 282: Friendly Communication

A steakhouse in Harrisburg, less than five hundred meters from the State Capitol Building.

The walls were adorned with outdated hunting-themed oil paintings. The heavy carpet, stained from years of cigar ash and spilled red wine, gave off a complex, indescribable odor.

Everything here exuded a kind of vulgarity belonging to the last century, deliberately maintained to cater to the tastes of the old assemblymen who had been dining here for half their lives.

If William Saint Cloud were here, he wouldn’t even entertain the thought of renovating the place, because it was beyond saving.

In the private room in the back, three men were seated around a circular table.

They wore suits of outdated styles but expensive fabrics, and were using knives and forks to cut into the sizzling ribeye steaks on their plates.

They were the chairmen of three key committees in the Pennsylvania House of Representatives.

The Chairman of the Health Committee, Ed Murphy.

The Chairman of the Appropriations Committee, George Carter.

The Chairman of the Rules Committee, Sam Rogers.

The door to the private room was pushed open.

Leo Wallace walked in, wearing a simple trench coat.

He looked far too young, completely out of place in this room steeped in stale air and tradition.

"Leo!"

Ed Murphy put down his knife and fork, a broad smile spreading across his face.

He didn’t stand up, merely pointing to the only empty seat with a greasy finger.

"Have a seat, have a seat. The steak here is good. I know you like it medium-rare, so I’ve already ordered one for you."

Leo sat down.

But he didn’t touch the steaming steak in front of him, nor did he even unbutton his trench coat.

He just watched the three old politicians as they heartily devoured their meals.

"Gentlemen."

Leo spoke.

"I trust you’ve all seen the bill."

"Of course, of course," Ed Murphy said, wiping his mouth. "Very creative, Leo, really. That clause on opioid regulation is beautifully written. The voters will love it."

He paused, his gaze becoming a bit shifty.

"But..."

There it was, the familiar turn of phrase.

"Article 107, the part about data localization and special audits... isn’t that a bit too radical?"

Ed Murphy lowered his voice, as if sharing a confidence.

"You know, our friends in the insurance companies aren’t happy. A representative from a health insurance company sat in my office all afternoon yesterday. They’re saying this violates free trade principles and that they’re going to sue us in Federal Court."

"We understand your determination to get things done, Leo."

George Carter, the Chairman of the Appropriations Committee next to him, picked up the conversation.

"But politics is the art of compromise. We suggest tweaking it a little."

"For example, how about a two-year transition period? Or changing the mandatory audit to voluntary reporting? That way, everyone has an out, the bill can pass smoothly, and you can claim your political victory."

The three old foxes exchanged a glance, their eyes glinting with their usual brand of calculation.

To them, this was just another round of haggling.

They thought Leo would be like all the young reformers before him—that to get his bill passed, he’d have to let them gut it, cut them in on a piece of the action, and bow to the financial backers still pulling strings from behind the scenes.

They were waiting for Leo to make a counteroffer.

Leo looked at them.

He suddenly found it a little amusing.

These old politicians, who had spent their entire lives hustling in Harrisburg, were still living in a bygone era.

’They think they’re the gatekeepers, but they’re actually pigs waiting for slaughter.’

Leo reached out and gently pushed the draft of the bill, which had been sitting beside him, to the center of the table.

"Gentlemen, you’ve misunderstood."

"I didn’t call you here today to negotiate terms."

Leo leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his stomach, and let his gaze sweep slowly across the three faces, now etched with astonishment and displeasure.

"Chairman Ed just mentioned a two-year transition period. That suggestion sounds full of political wisdom and a spirit of compromise."

"But I’m curious. Before you walked into this room, were the phone lines in your offices cut? Or have you developed a special kind of hearing that automatically filters out the roar of your angry constituents?"

He leaned forward, his shadow falling across the pristine white tablecloth, casting an oppressive weight over them.

"My back-end data shows that in the last four hours, the number of complaint calls to your respective committee offices has increased by four hundred percent."

"These calls are coming from your own districts. Your constituents are on the phone right now, demanding to know from your secretaries why you’re handing their lives over to insurance company actuaries."

"They’re asking if you people, who are on the taxpayers’ dime, are actually doing your jobs."

Leo pointed at the bill on the table, his speech slow but clear.

"And now you want to sit here and play salami-slicing games with me, trying to test my bottom line with a so-called two-year period."

"This only proves that you’re either completely oblivious to the current situation, or your arrogance has reached the point where you think public opinion is irrelevant."

"You think that as long as you close this door and divide the spoils in this smoke-filled room, all the noise outside will just magically disappear."

He let out a cold, mirthless snort, his eyes filled with condescending disdain.

"Wake up, gentlemen. You think you hold the power of life and death over this bill. You think I’m some beggar who came here to plead for your signatures."

"That kind of thinking is, in itself, a pathological form of arrogance."

"I am sitting here now to give you one last chance to make a graceful exit."

"You can continue to insist on your transition period. You can continue to obstruct this bill for the sake of political donations from those insurance companies."

"But I assure you, if this draft undergoes any substantive changes during the committee review, voters across Pennsylvania will immediately see the names of all three of you on the front page, along with a record of every private donation you’ve received related to pharmaceutical giants over the past five years."

"I will make you public enemies of this state before you even get home for dinner."

Leo watched them, his knuckles rapping a dull beat on the marble tabletop.

"So, put away your petty bargaining tactics. At this table, I’m the one who makes the rules."

"What you need to be doing right now is not fixing my bill, but fixing your own crumbling political reputations."

"This draft is not to be changed. Not even a single punctuation mark."

"That is my position."

The smile on Ed Murphy’s face froze.

George Carter set down his wine glass.

Sam Rogers narrowed his eyes.

"Young man."

Rogers began, his voice cold.

"Aren’t you being a little too arrogant?"

"Who do you think you’re talking to? Without our signatures, your bill won’t even make it out of committee. We can let it sit in procedural review for a year, until nobody even remembers it."

"You think you can stir up a little trouble in Pittsburgh and then come to Harrisburg to call the shots?"

Leo ignored his threat.

He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulled one out, and lit it.

Leo took a deep drag, exhaling a cloud of bluish-gray smoke.

"Gentlemen, do you think you’re helping me pass a bill?"

Leo let out a soft laugh.

"No."

"I’m saving you."

"I’m giving you a chance."

"A chance to be on the winning side."

"If you pass the bill now, you’ll be heroes."

"You’ll be warriors against greedy corporations, guardians of the people’s interests. Not only will you keep your current seats, you might even gain a few points in the polls."

"I’m sharing my political capital with you."

Leo blew a smoke ring. "You should be grateful."

Ed Murphy’s hand was trembling.

He wanted to retort, but Leo didn’t give him the chance.

Leo took out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, and displayed a list.

"Of course, you can also refuse."

"You can continue to be the insurance companies’ lapdogs for the sake of a few kickbacks."

"But I suggest you take a look at this first."

Leo tossed his phone onto the table.

It was a list of candidates.

"These are my candidates."

Leo said calmly.

"They’re already warming up in your districts."

"They have the campaign funds I’ve provided, the data support of the Mutual Aid Alliance, and a decade’s worth of dirt on your voting records."

"All it takes is one phone call from me."

"And they will officially announce their candidacy before the primary registration deadline."

"They will tell every voter in your districts how you sold out their health."

Leo stared into Ed Murphy’s eyes, which were slowly filling with fear.

"In the current climate of public opinion."

"Do you think you can win?"

"Either vote."

"Or retire."

"Choose one."

A deathly silence fell over the private room.

The three titans who had once called the shots in Harrisburg now sat shrunken in their chairs, unable to utter a single word.

Ed Murphy’s lips moved.

He wanted to object, to say that winning an election wasn’t so simple.

Building a base in a district takes over a decade of work; it can’t just be toppled by some young upstart with a pile of cash.

But the words died on his lips, forced back down his throat.

Because the man sitting across from him was Leo Wallace.

In his presence, any arguments about political conventions seemed pale and powerless.

If he said he could make you retire, you really would retire.

Ed Murphy lowered his head, staring at the now-cold steak on his plate, his appetite completely gone.

The other two chairmen fell into a similar silence.

They looked into Leo’s placid eyes and felt a bone-deep chill.

They realized that in front of this man, they had no right to negotiate—only to beg for survival.

"We... we’ll arrange it."

Ed Murphy finally spoke, his voice hoarse.

"The committee hearing is scheduled for tomorrow morning."

"We’ll push it through quickly. The content of the bill won’t be changed."

"But we can’t guarantee the final vote."

The other two men nodded silently.

They had surrendered.

Leo straightened up.

He picked up his phone from the table and put it back in his pocket.

"A wise choice."

Leo stubbed out his cigarette.

"This meal’s on me."

He pulled a few bills from his pocket and tossed them on the table.

"Keep the change."

With that, he turned and walked out of the private room.

The door closed.

The three old politicians sat in their chairs, looking at each other, their appetite for food completely gone.

The era that had once belonged to them had, in this moment, been crushed under the foot of that young man.

And the final act of this drama would be the birth of a new order.