Chapter 733: Betrayal

Chapter 733: Chapter 342: Betrayal

In a suite at the Willard InterContinental Hotel, Washington D.C.

Leo was chowing down on a double cheeseburger.

Across from him, Mark had only a cup of black coffee.

He cradled the cup with both hands but didn’t drink, his expression tense as he stared at the dark liquid rippling gently inside.

“You should eat something, Mark.” Leo swallowed, then wiped his hands with a napkin.

“I can’t eat.” Mark’s voice was strained. “Leo, are we really doing this? Confronting Montoya and Cres directly?”

“We’re not confronting them.” Leo stood and walked to a mirror, picking up a navy blue tie and beginning to knot it. “We’re going to negotiate a partnership.”

He watched Mark’s tense posture in the reflection.

“Are Matthew and Gary all lined up?”

“All lined up.” Mark nodded. “Counting our people, plus the ones you secured in Pennsylvania, we now hold a total of 22 votes. They’ve all signed a letter of allegiance, pledging to support the nuclear power bill.”

“Good.”

Leo expertly cinched the knot of his tie to his collar and turned around.

“Mark, you’re meeting with Kod Montoya and Marcus Crassus today. Remember, don’t go in there acting like a subordinate giving a progress report.”

Leo walked over to the table and clapped Mark on the shoulder.

It was a firm clap, and it made Mark straighten his posture involuntarily.

“You walk in there like a creditor calling in a debt and slap that list on their desk.”

“Tell them those 22 votes are a solid, unbreakable bloc.”

“If they don’t support the bill—the one demanding the Nuclear Regulatory Commission simplify its review process and establish a fast track for strategic energy projects—then those 22 votes will stonewall every item on the Democratic Party’s agenda, indefinitely. Furthermore, none of them will make any endorsements for the President’s reelection.”

Mark swallowed hard.

“Montoya’s notoriously tough.” Mark’s voice was still hesitant. “If he decides to play hardball…”

“He won’t dare.” Leo’s tone was one of absolute confidence. “It’s an election year. He knows the price of failure better than you do.”

Mark hesitated before voicing the question that was really on his mind.

“Leo, why me? Murphy is closer to you, and he’s a Senator. He has far more seniority on Capitol Hill than I do. Wouldn’t his voice carry more weight?”

Leo straightened the bottom of his suit jacket, answering without looking up.

“Mark, you’re holding the 22 votes I gave you.”

“Whoever walks into that office holding those 22 votes is the most powerful person in the room.”

Leo looked up at Mark.

“Besides, some jobs aren’t right for Murphy.”

Leo’s eyes were full of encouragement.

“On this stage, everyone has a part to play.”

“Go on, Mark. Show them the resolve of the working class.”

Mark nodded, his expression firming. He picked up his briefcase, turned, and walked out of the suite.

The moment the door closed, the encouraging expression on Leo’s face vanished.

‘Mr. President,’ Leo thought, ‘I have a hunch Mark is about to get shut down hard.’

Roosevelt’s voice immediately echoed in his mind.

‘Your hunch is correct, Leo.’

“Those old men in the Establishment Faction are too arrogant.” Leo walked to the window, looking down at the bustling traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue. “They’re used to giving orders, used to keeping the junior congressmen in line with party discipline and resource allocation.”

‘Even with 22 votes, Mark doesn’t have the presence to stand up to an old fox like Montoya.’

‘So?’

“So I have to go see Richard Taylor.” Leo’s gaze sharpened. ‘I need to apply pressure from the outside. The Democratic Party bosses will only feel true fear when they hear the Republican Party’s sledgehammer at their door.’

Leo turned, grabbed his overcoat from the sofa, and put it on as he walked out of the hotel.

There was a chill in the Washington morning air.

The streets were filled with politicians in sharp trench coats and lobbyists with briefcases, all hurrying along.

They spoke in low voices, weaving quickly between the grand federal buildings.

‘Do you feel it, Leo?’

Roosevelt’s voice grew somber.

‘What?’ Leo asked internally.

‘Washington is always so quiet.’

Roosevelt answered, ‘But it’s an arrogant quiet.’

‘They think they can grind everything to a halt with convoluted procedures and endless hearings. They think politics is just a word game played in a few white buildings.’

‘But politics, too, follows the laws of physics.’

‘When you’ve rolled a big enough snowball—when you have overwhelming mass—you don’t need to persuade the rocks in your path to get out of the way.’

‘You just run them over.’

Leo strode toward a black car waiting at the curb.

‘You now hold the hundred-billion-dollar interests of energy giants, the votes of millions of Rust Belt workers, and control of the Democratic Party’s Progressives caucus.’

Roosevelt’s voice rang in Leo’s ears.

‘This is momentum.’

‘Take your snowball, and crush them.’

Leo pulled open the car door.

“K Street,” he ordered the driver.

…

K Street, Washington D.C.

The sign for the Capital Club was set into a heavy granite wall.

Leo walked through the revolving door and up to the front desk.

The receptionist was dressed in a well-tailored black suit. His face was stiff, his eyes professionally cold.

“Leo Wallace. I have an appointment with Mr. Richard Taylor,” Leo said.

The receptionist glanced down at a tablet.

He then looked up, offering a professional smile completely devoid of warmth.

“Mayor Wallace, Mr. Taylor is currently handling an urgent matter. Please wait in the adjacent waiting room.”

Leo nodded and followed an attendant toward an outer area.

The moment he stepped into the waiting room, he had a bad feeling.

The waiting room wasn’t large, furnished with only a few hardwood chairs.

It seemed to be a holding area, specifically for peripheral visitors not important enough to be granted access to the main club.

But for a politician, patience is a fundamental skill.

Leo pulled out a wooden chair and sat down.

The hands on the wall clock ticked by slowly.

Ten minutes. Half an hour. Forty-five minutes.

An hour passed.

From deeper within the club came the occasional low murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses.

No one came to offer Leo water. No one came to update him on the status of his meeting.

This was a clear political statement.

Leo leaned against the hard wooden back of the chair, perfectly calm.

The door opened.

A young man in a charcoal gray suit walked in.

He was Richard Taylor’s chief administrative assistant, and a high-level access badge for the Republican National Committee was clipped to his lapel.

The assistant walked up to Leo and looked down at him condescendingly.

“Mayor Wallace, my apologies for the wait.” The assistant’s tone was perfunctory, holding no real apology. “Mr. Taylor is in a closed-door meeting with an important guest. It’s run much longer than expected, so he won’t be able to see you today.”

Leo rose to his feet, meeting the assistant’s gaze.

“I’ve brought the restart plan for the Three Mile Island Nuclear Power Plant. This plan is backed by the National Energy Association.”

“We’ve already discussed the details of a joint proposal. This is about the Republican Party’s energy strategy in Pennsylvania.”

The assistant shook his head, cutting Leo off.

“We’ve conducted an internal review of your proposal. The conclusion is clear: your joint proposal does not align with the Republican Party’s priority agenda for the current Congress.”

The assistant gestured toward the main entrance.

“Sorry you made the trip for nothing. You can go back to Pittsburgh.”

Leo stared into the assistant’s eyes.

He saw undisguised condescension and dismissal in them.

This made no sense.

Richard Taylor was an extremely pragmatic political operator.

He had been the one to extend the olive branch, hoping to sow chaos among the Democrats and win votes in Pennsylvania.

Sterling, in particular, had shown immense enthusiasm for the Computing Power Special Zone and the nuclear project.

The Republican Party needed political contributions from the energy sector, and the energy sector needed the massive profits from the nuclear project.

Leo was the lynchpin holding it all together.

Taylor had no reason to shut Leo out at this juncture.

Unless… unless something major had happened, something big enough to upend the entire game.

Leo didn’t argue.

He turned, pushed open the glass door, and stepped out into the Washington wind.

As the cold wind hit his face, Leo’s mind raced.

‘They’ve abandoned you,’ Roosevelt’s voice echoed in his mind.

‘I know,’ Leo thought as he walked briskly down the sidewalk. ‘They didn’t even grant me a meeting, just cut off all channels of communication.’

‘That means they’ve found an alternative.’

‘An alternative with a better return than the nuclear plant restart and the Computing Power Special Zone, but with less political risk.’

‘Sterling betrayed us,’ Leo concluded.

‘Capital knows no loyalty,’ Roosevelt commented. ‘It only understands return on investment.’

Leo pulled out his phone and dialed Ethan’s number.

The call connected.

“Ethan, I just got shut out at the Capital Club. Richard Taylor refused to see me.”

Ethan sounded shocked on the other end of the line.

“How is that possible? They explicitly said they’d cooperate on our nuclear power bill on Capitol Hill. They need the energy sector’s support.”

“Something’s changed,” Leo said, his words rapid-fire. “I need you to start digging. Use all our channels on Wall Street.”

“Look into Sterling, the National Energy Association, and the Texas oil money.”

“Something huge and disruptive must have happened in the energy sector in the last few days.”

“Focus on any strategic shifts. Find out where they’ve moved their money and attention.”

“Do it now. I’ll hold.”

Leo walked to a corner park and sat on a bench.

He watched the traffic passing on the street.

In the distance, the dome of Capitol Hill overlooked the city from its high perch.

This was the largest marketplace for power in the world.

Every second, new deals were struck. Every second, old allies were sold out.

Perhaps this time, he was the one being sold out.