On the morning after the alliance was formed, Leo was awakened by hunger.
His stomach was contracting. The conversation from last night that had changed his life had, for the moment, been squeezed into a corner of his consciousness by the most primitive of physiological needs.
He sat up from the creaking bed and, with a trace of lingering hope, walked over to the refrigerator.
He pulled open the refrigerator door.
The dim light inside illuminated three things.
A carton of milk four days past its expiration date.
Half a bottle of ketchup.
And a small piece of butter on the door shelf that had begun to harden.
The embarrassment of reality instantly washed away every last bit of the towering ambition he had built up the night before.
He closed the refrigerator door and leaned against it, feeling a wave of dizziness.
At last, he could not help but send an inquiry to that great president in his mind.
“Mr. President, we don’t even have the money to buy a slice of luncheon meat for our next lunch.”
His voice echoed in his consciousness.
“Before we consider Pittsburgh’s future, I’m afraid I have to seriously consider the matter of ‘my lunch today’ first.”
This was a problem that could not be avoided.
Even the flames of revolution needed calories to burn.
Roosevelt’s voice sounded in his mind, carrying a hint of amusement.
“Leo, an outstanding politician must understand how to solve the problem of money. This is the most basic lesson, and also the most important one.”
“But our first sum of money must never come from the generosity of bankers, or some entrepreneur’s secret donation. That would put a shackle around your neck from the very first day you step onto the battlefield. Once you take their money, you become their servant.”
“Our first sum of money must, and can only, come from those you are going to serve—the people.”
Leo felt a wave of absurdity.
“The people?” he asked back. “But right now, to them, I’m nothing. A nobody. A doctoral student who just lost his job. Why would they give me money? To listen to me talk about the history of Roosevelt’s New Deal?”
“Of course not.” Roosevelt’s voice became patient and persuasive. “Before you ask the people for a single cent, you must first do something for them. Something they can see, something they can feel, something that will make them trust you.”
“And this thing is not for money, but to win their trust. Trust is the only hard currency in the political world.”
“Then what should we do?” Leo felt even more at a loss.
“Go to the place closest to the people, to the place where conflicts are sharpest, to the places those incumbent politicians avoid at all costs.” Roosevelt was like an experienced hunter teaching a young apprentice how to find prey.
“In those places, your enemies are entrenched, and your future supporters live there as well.”
He paused for a moment, and his tone became a little lighter.
“And I guarantee you, your lunch today can be found there too.”
Under Roosevelt’s guidance, Leo gave up the idea of continuing his standoff with the empty refrigerator.
He sat back down in his chair and turned on his computer.
He began searching Pittsburgh’s local news websites, those outdated community forums cluttered with advertisements, and local Facebook groups.
He filtered out boring community event notices, secondhand item listings, and announcements about lost cats and dogs.
What he was looking for was conflict.
Conflicts between communities and the government, between tenants and landlords, between ordinary citizens and large corporations.
He spent the entire morning immersed in this sea of trivial yet real information.
It was not until the afternoon, when hunger had already made his vision blur, that he finally discovered an announcement in an inconspicuous corner of the Pittsburgh municipal government’s website.
It was a list concerning the “compulsory auction of properties delinquent on real estate taxes.”
He scrolled down the list with his mouse wheel. Most of the entries were abandoned houses and shuttered small shops.
Then, one name made him stop.
Steelworkers Community Center.
He knew that place. It was less than ten blocks from his apartment.
It was an old brick-and-stone building that had once been a branch of the steelworkers’ union.
After the collapse of the steel industry, it had been converted into a nonprofit organization, providing help to unemployed families, the elderly, and children in the community.
There were after-school tutoring classes, free legal consultations, skills training for the unemployed, and in winter, it would even open its doors to provide shelter for the homeless.
It was the last small fortress that old workers like his father had built for themselves and their neighbors after being abandoned by the times.
And now, this fortress was going to be auctioned off.
The announcement stated it clearly: because of tens of thousands of dollars in unpaid property taxes, the Steelworkers Community Center would be forcibly auctioned by City Hall next week.
Leo’s heart sank.
He immediately opened a new browser tab and began searching in depth for every piece of information related to the matter.
He found a brief report on a local news website.
The report mentioned that the person in charge of the community center, an old man named Frank Kowalski, had been running around for months because of this issue. He had tried to apply to the mayor’s office for a tax exemption, and had also attempted to raise donations from the community, but both efforts had failed.
Leo did not stop searching.
On the municipal government’s public records website, he found the registered bidder information for this auction.
There was only one bidder.
A real estate company called Summit Development Group.
The name made Leo frown.
He seemed to have seen it somewhere before.
He ran another search. This time, he put “Summit Development Group” together with another name—the current mayor of Pittsburgh, Martin Cartwright.
The search results allowed him to understand the whole story.
Summit Development Group had been one of the biggest financial backers of Mayor Cartwright’s campaign.
Moreover, over the past few years, this company had acquired several plots of prime land from the city government at extremely low prices for the development of luxury apartment projects.
Their business model was crystal clear: tear down old communities, build new apartments, and then sell them to affluent professionals working downtown.
Leo could almost imagine the plot that would follow.
Summit Development Group would win the land occupied by the community center at the reserve price.
Then, that old building filled with the memories of Pittsburgh’s working class would be razed to the ground by bulldozers.
A gleaming luxury apartment building with floor-to-ceiling windows and a gym would rise from the earth.
And the elderly, children, and unemployed people who had once relied on the community center for help would completely lose their final refuge.
Leo leaned back in his chair, looking at the intertwined information on the screen.
He felt a surge of anger, but also a surge of excitement.
Roosevelt’s voice sounded in his mind.
“Do you see it, my boy?”
“A perfect battlefield.”
“Corrupt politicians, greedy capital, and the interests of ordinary people being ruthlessly harmed. Every element is present.”
“Go.”
“Your first job has arrived.”