Chapter 282: Chapter 144: Manhattan Project

The chairman’s office on the top floor of the Morganfield Building.

The massive floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the Pittsburgh nightscape, but Douglas Morganfield was in no mood to appreciate it.

He stood behind his expansive desk, a phone receiver in his hand.

On the other end of the line, a subordinate was reporting on the situation developing on the highway.

Those independent drivers, those owner-operators who were normally as disorganized as loose sand, had actually answered the call. They had formed a massive convoy and were now heading toward Pittsburgh along the interstate.

"A bunch of rabble."

Morganfield scoffed.

He hung up on his subordinate and, without missing a beat, immediately dialed another number.

It was the private line of the Pennsylvania State Police Commissioner.

"It’s me, Douglas."

Morganfield’s voice was calm, yet it carried an undeniable tone of command.

"The interchange of I-279 and I-79. It’s the chokepoint for anyone entering Pittsburgh."

"I’ve received information that a fleet of illegally modified, severely overloaded freight trucks is attempting to force its way into the city. These vehicles will tear up our roads, disrupt traffic, and could even pose a grave threat to public safety."

"As a taxpayer, I demand that the State Police fulfill their duty immediately."

"Set up a checkpoint there. The most stringent kind."

The Pennsylvania State Police Commissioner’s voice was full-throated, and he spoke with a knowing drawl.

"Douglas, old friend," the Commissioner’s voice echoed through the receiver. "You know that place is a powder keg right now. Washington is watching, and so is Harrisburg. No one wants to get their hands dirty at a time like this."

Morganfield’s grip on the phone tightened slightly.

He understood the subtext.

Everyone knew about the conflict between Morganfield and Leo Wallace.

Anyone still supporting Leo Wallace was a fool, but anyone who did Morganfield’s dirty work for free was an even bigger one.

The Commissioner might not be in the inner circle of power, but he had sharp political instincts.

He knew no one would back Pittsburgh right now, which meant he could enforce the law with impunity. But it also meant this favor for Morganfield was an extra service.

And extra services cost extra.

"I hear the department’s budget has been a little tight lately?" Morganfield’s voice was now completely flat. "Especially the Highway Patrol’s overtime pay and the plan to purchase new vehicles. I understand those have been held up in the State Assembly?"

The Commissioner’s knowing laugh came from the other end of the line.

"That’s right. The boys are working hard, and our equipment could use an upgrade. You know, maintaining public safety always comes at a cost."

"I’ll make a call to the chairman of the budget committee," Morganfield said, laying his cards on the table. "Also, the Morganfield Foundation has always been very concerned with the welfare of police widows. We’re currently preparing a special donation."

After hearing Morganfield’s offer, the Commissioner’s tone instantly became serious and professional.

"Since we’ve received a tip from the public, it is our duty to respond. We will deploy units immediately."

"I want every single vehicle stopped," Morganfield continued his orders. "Check their tire tread depth, their emission levels, their shipping manifests, and the drivers’ records."

The corners of Morganfield’s mouth turned down, his eyes cold as ice.

"If a single thing fails inspection, impound the vehicle. If you can’t find a problem, then look closer until you do."

"Understood," the Commissioner replied crisply. "I’ll make sure they understand that the laws of Pennsylvania are not to be trifled with."

"I want them to know that not just anyone can waltz through the gates of Pittsburgh."

He hung up the phone.

Morganfield walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

He gazed out the window at the pitch-black night sky.

’Does that young Mayor really think he can break this stalemate just by riling up a few truckers?’

’So naive.’

’In this country, government authority has always been capital’s strongest moat.’

’As long as the police block the road, they form an insurmountable iron curtain.’

’Those drivers are only making this run for the money. The moment they face the risk of having their trucks impounded, getting fined, or even losing their licenses, they’ll scatter immediately.’

’That’s just reality.’

...

「The interchange of I-279 and I-79.」

Night had fallen.

A dozen state police cruisers, their red and blue lights flashing, were parked sideways across the road, blocking the wide, four-lane highway and leaving only a single narrow lane open.

Red traffic cones and "STOP FOR INSPECTION" signs lined the roadside.

Powerful spotlights bathed the road surface in a harsh, pale white light.

The first dozen trucks to arrive had already been pulled over.

They were parked on the shoulder with their engines off, surrounded by uniformed State Troopers in their campaign hats.

The air was thick with tension.

A young State Trooper, badge number 4209, knelt beside the rear wheel of a Peterbilt heavy-duty truck, holding an electronic gauge.

The truck driver, a man named Fries, stood nearby, anxiously rubbing his hands on his pants.

"Officer, there’s nothing wrong with my truck," Fries said, forcing a smile. "I just had it serviced. This shipment of steel is a rush order for Pittsburgh..."

"Shut up."

The young trooper cut him off coldly.

He inserted the gauge’s probe into the grooves of the tire tread to take a reading.

"Left rear tire tread depth is 1.5 millimeters." The trooper stood up, writing in his ticket book. "The legal minimum is 1.6 millimeters. Your tire is excessively worn. It’s a blowout risk and a serious threat to public safety."