Chapter 280: Chapter 142: The Severed Supply Line

「Three days later, in Erie City.」

This port city on the shores of Lake Erie, once the industrial jewel of Northern Pennsylvania, was now depressed and dilapidated.

The General Electric locomotive plant had long since laid off most of its workers, and the massive factory buildings stood empty.

The conference room in City Hall was hazy with smoke.

The Mayor of Erie, a Republican in his sixties, frowned as he looked at John Murphy, who sat across from him.

"Representative Murphy, I respect you, but you’re a Democrat."

The Mayor tapped on the table.

"And you’re running for Senator, challenging our party’s candidate, Warren. I can’t possibly support you publicly. The state party would kill me."

Murphy smiled.

He took a document from his briefcase and pushed it across the table to the mayor.

"Mr. Mayor, this is a letter of intent for a purchase, just signed by the Pittsburgh City Government."

"Pittsburgh is expanding its Inland Port, and we need a large quantity of heavy-duty port machinery parts, as well as specialty steel."

"We were originally planning to import them from Germany, or buy them from local oligarchs."

"However, I’ve heard that while some of Erie’s old factories don’t have orders anymore, they still have the technology and the production lines are ready to go."

Murphy looked the mayor in the eye.

"The total value of this contract is approximately thirty million US dollars."

"If Erie’s businesses can take this order, I think it could put at least a thousand laid-off workers back on the factory floor."

The Mayor’s gaze fell on the number, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

Thirty million.

For Erie right now, that was practically a lifeline.

"What... what do you want?" the Mayor’s voice was a little dry. "For me to betray Warren?"

"No, no, no."

Murphy waved his hand dismissively.

"Why would I put you in a difficult position?"

"I don’t need you to publicly betray anyone."

"I just need you to say a few fair words at the next Union rally."

"For example, that this purchase proves only true doers know how to take care of old industrial cities like ours."

"Or, that regardless of party, anyone who brings jobs to Erie is our friend."

"That’s all."

Murphy stood up and straightened his suit.

"Of course, if this is too difficult for you, I have a trip to Cleveland this afternoon. I hear their factories are also very eager for this order."

"Wait!"

Without much hesitation, the Mayor shot to his feet and pressed his hand down on the document.

"Representative Murphy."

The Mayor extended his hand.

"I think we speak the same language."

"When it comes to industrial revival, to the future of the Rust Belt, I believe our views are aligned."

"I’ll make arrangements with the Union guys."

"This contract must stay in Erie."

Murphy shook the proffered hand.

He felt the sweat on the other man’s palm, and he also felt the shift in power.

His success in Erie was just the first domino to fall.

Over the next two weeks, Murphy was like a tireless salesman, crisscrossing the folds of the Appalachian Mountains.

He went to Scranton and slapped an agreement to site a distribution center for the Pittsburgh Inland Port on the desk of the local transport union president.

He went to Johnston, using a massive cement procurement order for Pittsburgh’s municipal projects to open the door to the conservative mayor there.

And then there was Bethlehem, Altoona, Newcastle...

Wielding the checkbook Leo had given him, Murphy stitched the industrial cities forgotten by Philadelphia and ignored by Washington into the territory of the "Pennsylvania Industrial Revival Alliance," one by one.

He used the needle and thread of mutual interest to sew the fractured Rust Belt back together.

Meanwhile, in Pittsburgh, Leo was conducting a purge of the old guard.

On the day the franchise agreement was voided, the blue cranes and construction vehicles bearing the Morganfield logo retreated from the South District construction site like a receding tide.

The oligarch tried to use this "scorched-earth policy" to make a show of force to Leo, hoping to make him despair at the sight of the empty construction site.

But new blood quickly filled the vacuum.

The steel component company from Erie moved in, and construction crews from Scranton arrived as well.

Leo made good on his promise. He broke up the project and distributed the work among these allies who were hungry for an opportunity.

In just a few days, scaffolding was once again erected on the South District site, and the flags of different companies snapped in the river breeze.

Everything was ready. They were just waiting for the first batch of core building materials to arrive, and this massive construction project would officially kick off.

But as time passed, an unsettling quiet began to permeate the construction site.

Several hundred workers in hard hats gathered in twos and threes by the unfinished foundations. Some were smoking, others were kicking at the gravel underfoot.

They occasionally glanced toward the site entrance, their eyes filled with impatience.

According to the plan, the first batch of specialty steel components from Erie City should have arrived on site at ten o’clock this morning.

At two in the afternoon, the convoy of high-grade cement trucks from Scranton should have also entered the site to unload.

It was now three in the afternoon.

The entrance was completely empty. There wasn’t even a single delivery truck in sight.

Leo stood at the window of the port’s temporary command center, watching the stalled construction site.

Every minute of stoppage was burning through the budget.

The door was thrown open.

Ethan burst in, clutching a few sheets of fax paper, his hair a mess from the wind.

"Leo, we have a problem." Ethan slapped the papers on the desk, breathing heavily. "Our supply lines have been completely cut."

"Cut?" Leo turned around. "Didn’t Erie say they’d already shipped? The Mayor of Scranton called me just yesterday and said the convoy was on its way."

"They did ship," Ethan said through gritted teeth. "But the goods never arrived."

Ethan pointed to the first fax.

"This is an emergency notice from the Western Pennsylvania Railway Company. It came in ten minutes ago."

Leo picked up the paper.

"Dear Valued Customer, due to recent risks of track bed subsidence along the Allegheny River Basin railway section, and to ensure transport safety, our company has decided to implement a full closure of this section for emergency maintenance, effective immediately. During the maintenance period, all freight trains passing through this section will be suspended indefinitely or rerouted. Service resumption will be announced at a later date."

Leo stared at the word "indefinitely."

This railway was the main artery connecting Erie and Pittsburgh. The steel from Erie had to take this line.

"What about rerouting?" Leo asked.

"Rerouting means going through Ohio. It would triple the cost and add a week to the delivery time." Ethan shook his head. "And they said their dispatch capacity is tight. Even if we reroute, we’d be in a queue until next month."

Leo put down the railway company’s notice and picked up the second sheet.

It was an "industry advisory" sent from the Pennsylvania Freight Trucking Association to several logistics companies in Scranton.

"...In view of the complex road conditions and potential safety hazards surrounding the Pittsburgh South District construction site, the Association advises all member units to exercise caution when accepting heavy freight orders to this area. To ensure driver safety, the Association will suspend insurance coverage support for transport routes to this region."

Without insurance coverage, no legitimate logistics company would dare send a multi-ton cement truck on the road.

Leo tossed the two papers back on the table.

This wasn’t about track bed subsidence, and it wasn’t about safety hazards.

This was war.

Morganfield may have lost the port’s franchise rights, but he was still a major shareholder in the Western Pennsylvania Railway Company.

He was the one who controlled the rails, the ties, and the signal lights.

He was also the biggest sponsor of the freight trucking association.

He had lost the legal battle, but he still had other cards to play.

He had severed Pittsburgh’s arteries.

"He’s strangling us," Ethan said, slumping into a chair. "If the materials can’t get in, our Revival Alliance is a joke."

"Murphy is still touring the state, trading our purchase orders for votes. If those orders can’t be fulfilled, his campaign is over."

Leo gazed at the idle cranes outside the window.

This move by Morganfield had hit him where it hurt.

It was a classic financial noose.

’If I can’t have the port, then I’ll turn your port into a wasteland.’

’Mr. President,’ Leo called out in his mind. ’He’s forcing my hand.’

"Yes, he is."

Roosevelt’s voice rang out.

"He’s cut off your main artery."

"Railways are the blood vessels of the industrial age. Control the railways, and you control a city’s breathing. That’s what Vanderbilt did back in the day. He didn’t even have to fire a shot; just by locking down a railroad bridge, he could bring New York to its knees."

"Morganfield is using a century-old playbook against you."

"But he’s forgotten one thing, Leo."

"This isn’t the nineteenth century anymore."

"The circulatory system has more than just major arteries."

"If the aorta is blocked, blood will find its way through the capillaries."

"If the trains won’t run, we’ll use trucks."

"If the big companies won’t haul, we’ll turn to the people."

A flicker of understanding crossed Leo’s eyes.

"The people?"

"There are millions of truck drivers in the United States," Roosevelt’s voice began to rise. "Many of them don’t belong to any big company. They don’t take orders from that damned association. They’re owner-operators, freelancers, lone wolves making a living on the highway in their big rigs."

"They only recognize one thing: cash."

"Morganfield can order the railway company to shut down, but he can’t command the millions of free spirits scattered across the highways."

"Go find them."

"Since the path of the regular army is blocked, we’ll mobilize the guerrillas."

"Bring that steel back, piece by piece, like an army of ants."

Leo spun around.

He snatched the phone from the desk and dialed Frank’s number.

"Frank, where are you?"

"I’m at the site entrance, holding back a few foremen who are trying to stir up trouble." Frank’s voice was gruff. "The sons of bitches say they can’t work without materials and want to be paid for the downtime."

"Forget about them," Leo said, speaking rapidly. "Get to my office. Now."

「Five minutes later.」

Frank burst into the office.

"What’s going on?"

Leo handed him the two notices.

Frank glanced at them and let out a filthy curse.

"That old bastard. He’s trying to starve us out."

"Frank, I need trucks." Leo stared into the old Union leader’s eyes. "I need the drivers who own their own rigs. The ones who hustle for gigs at the docks, who do private hauls in the middle of the night. The independent drivers who’d drive straight into hell if the pay was right."

"Can you find them?"

Frank paused for a second, then broke into a wide grin.

It was a smile with an outlaw swagger to it.

"Leo, are you insulting me?"

Frank thumped his chest.

"I’ve been around Pittsburgh for decades. Who is there that I don’t know?"

"Those guys get squeezed out by the big companies so bad they can barely eat. They hate that bullshit association."

"As long as you’re paying, forget hauling steel from Erie—they’d take a job hauling shit from the White House."

"Money is no object."

Leo said.

"Payment in cash. Fifty percent above market rate for the freight. And if they can get the goods here tonight, I’ll pay double."

"Tell them it’s to stick it to that old bastard Morganfield."

Frank’s eyes lit up.

"I’m on it."