Washington D.C., Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee.

Unlike the heavy political atmosphere of Capitol Hill and the White House, the mood in this building was more like that of an actuarial firm.

Hundreds of data analysts, strategic advisors, and fundraising experts worked here day and night. They had only one mission: to calculate.

Calculate the voter turnout in every district, calculate the conversion rate of every donation, calculate the odds of victory for every candidate.

Today, the door to the chairman’s office on the top floor was shut tight.

Chairman Harrison Boyd was holding a tablet. The screen displayed a tweet just posted by Russell Warren.

The tweet was just one short sentence, accompanied by a picture of the Erie Factory’s gates locked shut, with workers sitting on the curb eating cold sandwiches.

"Looks like the Democrats have finally found what they’re best at: completely burying Pennsylvania’s industry and then telling the workers it’s for their own good." 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

In just two hours, the tweet had been retweeted over fifty thousand times.

The comment section below was filled with the anger of Pennsylvania voters.

"These Washington bureaucrats don’t give a damn about whether we live or die."

"A Senator election? You can forget about my vote!"

Boyd put down the tablet.

He turned to face his director of political affairs, who was sitting on the sofa.

"This is what you called a surgical strike?"

Boyd’s voice was soft, laced with a deeply suppressed fury.

"You promised me that with a little pressure, that kid from Pittsburgh would kneel, Murphy would drop out, and Monroe would secure the nomination."

"And the result?"

Boyd gestured toward the window.

"Not only did you fail to deal with that kid, but you’ve turned him into a hero fighting the establishment. Worse, you’ve made the blue-collar class of Pennsylvania think the Democratic Party is their enemy."

The director of political affairs wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Mr. Chairman, it was an accident. We didn’t expect that Wallace to be so crazy. We never thought he could incite a statewide wildcat strike, nor did we anticipate such a strong reaction from the middle class..."

"I don’t want to hear excuses."

Boyd cut him off.

"I look at the polls. The latest data shows that if we don’t cut our losses immediately, our approval rating in Pennsylvania will fall below the critical threshold. If we lose Pennsylvania, our Senate majority is in jeopardy."

"That is the bottom line."

Boyd walked over to his desk.

"Get Harrisburg on the phone."

"I need to talk to that idiot myself."

...

Harrisburg, Vice Governor’s Office.

Aston Monroe was having the worst day of his political career.

The phone lines to his office had been cut because they were overloaded with complaint calls.

He had disabled the comments on his social media accounts, which had been flooded with vitriol.

Even his most important donors from Philadelphia had gently suggested this morning that he should properly handle the current PR crisis, lest the negative sentiment affect their corporate images.

Monroe sat in his chair, staring at the active order to freeze the funds on his desk.

It was an order he had issued, a symbol of his power.

If he rescinded it now, it would be an admission that he was wrong, that he had lost to some country bumpkin from Pittsburgh.

’My pride won’t allow it.’

RING RING RING—

The phone on his desk suddenly rang.

Monroe glanced at the caller ID, and his heart skipped a beat.

It was a number from Washington.

He took a deep breath, composed himself, and answered the call.

"Mr. Chairman," Monroe began, trying to keep his voice steady. "I was just about to report to you—"

"Aston, shut up."

Boyd’s voice came through the receiver, cold and direct.

"Listen, I don’t care what your reasons are, and I don’t care how wronged you feel."

"Stop that damn investigation."

"Now! Immediately!"

Monroe froze for a moment, then a wave of humiliation washed over him.

"But Mr. Chairman, you don’t understand the situation! That Leo Wallace is building his own independent kingdom! He’s bypassing the State Government to establish his own power structure, and he’s using Federation money to buy public support! If we back down now, no one will be able to control him in the future!"

"That’s your problem!"

Boyd raised his voice.

"Let’s look at the bigger picture, Aston. What is the main thrust of the Federation’s policy right now? It’s reshoring manufacturing, supply chain security, and revitalizing the blue-collar middle class."

"What are cities in the Rust Belt like Pittsburgh, Erie, and Scranton doing? They’re pursuing industrial revitalization. They’re restoring productivity through an internal cycle."

"From a macro-strategic perspective, this aligns perfectly with the White House’s economic narrative. This should have been a political achievement for our Democratic Party, a model we could boast about in the general election—’See? Under the leadership of the Democratic Party, factories are reopening.’"

"Besides, have they broken any laws?"

Boyd retorted.

"Our legal team has studied that ’Intergovernmental Cooperation Act.’ Leo Wallace found a loophole, yes, but he’s operating within the legal framework. He’s just doing business. As long as he hasn’t torn down the Pennsylvania flag from city hall, it’s not a rebellion."

"This so-called ’independent kingdom’ is just your fear of losing control. But that’s your fear, not the Party’s."

"I don’t care if he listens to Harrisburg. I only care if he can bring votes to the Democratic Party."