"If you keep betting on him, the day he loses the election, you’ll be a ghost in Washington. No one will take your calls."

Morganfield stared at Leo as if he were some kind of monster.

He had expected to hear some cliché-ridden speech about idealism, or perhaps a dry report on municipal construction.

But what he heard was a highly practical campaign playbook.

"This isn’t something a Mayor would say."

Morganfield spoke slowly, thin wisps of smoke curling up from the cigar in his hand.

"Everything you just said... about infiltrating electoral districts, using economic interests to splinter the Republican Party’s base, reshaping the entire state’s political landscape..."

"That sounds more like something Murphy’s campaign manager would say."

Morganfield shook his head, a complex note of lament in his voice.

"You’re in the wrong line of work, Leo."

"You shouldn’t be cooped up in that dilapidated city hall, locking horns with fools like Moretti. You really ought to be a campaign manager. Go to Washington. Orchestrate the major elections that decide the country’s fate. That’s the real arena for you."

His moment of reflection over, Morganfield took a long drag from his cigar.

Of course, he knew the Democratic Party was mounting a fierce offensive, but until this moment, he hadn’t believed Murphy was the only option.

"Even if you’re right and the Democratic Party will win," Morganfield retorted, "why does it have to be Murphy? From what I know, the party’s top brass is more partial to that Vice Governor from Philadelphia. He’s the Establishment Faction’s darling. If the Democratic Party is truly unstoppable, he should be the one to rise, not Murphy."

"You’re right. The Philadelphia guy certainly has the advantage."

Leo smiled.

"But that’s precisely why you should be praying for Murphy to win."

"Think about it, Douglas. The Vice Governor from Philadelphia grew up in elite East Coast circles. His donors are Philadelphia consortiums and New York bankers. Does he know you? Does he need your money? Does he give a damn whether Pittsburgh lives or dies?"

"If the guy from Philadelphia wins the primary and then goes on to defeat Warren in the general election..."

"Well then, congratulations."

Leo spread his hands.

"You’ll completely lose your voice in Washington. The newly elected Senator won’t owe you a thing. He might even make an example of your industrial conglomerate to please Philadelphia’s environmentalists."

"By then, you won’t even have anyone to get a word in with."

Morganfield’s hand, holding the cigar, froze in mid-air.

"But, what if Murphy wins?"

Leo’s voice dropped, low and seductive.

"Murphy clawed his way up right under your nose, thanks to your port project and that five hundred million US Dollar bond. He’s from Pittsburgh, which makes him your man."

"Only by winning the primary and securing the Democratic Party’s nomination can Murphy command the party’s full resources to defeat Warren in the general election."

"This is your only lifeline, Douglas."

"You have to back Murphy. Not for my sake, but to stop the Philadelphia guy from getting in."

"You lose Warren, an old friend who’s destined to fade away. But you gain Murphy, a new power broker on the rise."

"Is that a bad trade?"

The cigar room fell into silence, Morganfield’s mind racing.

If Murphy lost the primary, Morganfield would risk being silenced in Washington, regardless of who ultimately won the Senate seat.

Only by putting Murphy in office could he ensure he wouldn’t be on the losing side of the upcoming political shuffle.

With Murphy in Washington, combined with the legal monopoly Leo was offering in Pittsburgh, his port empire would finally be ironclad.

Morganfield finally reached out and picked up the sheet of paper from the table, the one covered in terms and conditions.

He folded the paper and, with a sense of gravity, placed it in the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

"This price is acceptable."

Morganfield stood up and straightened his suit.

"I’ll have my advisor contact your chief of staff shortly. They’ll hammer out the details."

"Everything you want—the loan guarantees, the corporate endorsements—it will all be on your desk by sunset tomorrow."

"That five hundred million US Dollar bond—it has to be approved."

His tone was unequivocal.

"And one more thing. Tell Murphy to get his campaign account ready."

Morganfield walked over to the drink cabinet, poured two glasses, and handed one to Leo.

"I’ll throw my full support behind his campaign in Pennsylvania. And not just in Pittsburgh. Philadelphia, Erie, Scranton... I’ll mobilize my entire statewide business network and all my media resources to build his momentum."

Leo took the glass, an eyebrow raised in surprise.

"So generous? That’s not your style, Douglas. I figured you’d offer a token ’friendly contribution,’ just like always."

"That was then."

Morganfield shook his head and took a sip of his drink.

"Before, those were just minor skirmishes. I could hedge my bets, and I wouldn’t lose no matter who won. But this is different."

"This is an all-out war between the two parties, a life-and-death duel for control of the Senate. On a battlefield of this level, no one will tolerate a fence-sitter."

"It’s either winner-take-all, or you lose everything."

Morganfield looked at Leo.

"I have the Pittsburgh port. My interests are now inextricably linked with Pittsburgh’s."