“A gift?” Leo asked. “What kind of gift?”
“A procedural flaw in the law is our sword,” Roosevelt explained. “It can pierce the other side’s defenses, but it isn’t sharp enough—not enough to be fatal.”
“We need to get all of Pittsburgh on our side. We need Mayor Cartwright and his friends to feel the scalding burn of public opinion before they make their move.”
Early the next morning, Leo told Sarah, Margaret, and Frank about the new strategy he and Roosevelt had discussed the night before.
The strategy for “Heart of Pittsburgh” needed to change.
It could no longer be just Leo sitting in front of the fireplace, analyzing legal clauses for the camera.
Those videos were professional, but they were too far removed from ordinary people.
They launched an entirely new video campaign.
The name was simple.
“My Community Center Story.”
Sarah designed a clean, simple poster. On it were the words:
“Have you, or has your family, ever received help here? Has your child ever spent a happy afternoon here? Have you ever found a new job here, or a new friend? Please tell us your story. Let us defend our shared home together.”
The poster was put up at the entrance of the community center, and Frank’s old buddies plastered it across every corner of the neighborhood.
Sarah posted it on their Facebook and Twitter pages.
At first, there were not many responses.
People were used to silence. They were not used to telling their stories in front of a camera.
The first to step forward was George.
Sarah recorded a short video for him on her phone.
George sat on the worn-out sofa in the community center and, in English thick with a Pittsburgh accent, spoke about his life after losing his job, and how the computer classes at the community center had allowed him to reconnect with the world.
His account was plain, without any dramatic twists, but it was filled with the power of truth.
The video was posted on the “Heart of Pittsburgh” channel.
The second story came from Rosa.
She spoke about the loneliness and fear of living alone after her husband passed away, and how the senior choir at the community center had helped her find her voice and her smile again.
One story after another began to emerge.
Over the next few days, the “Heart of Pittsburgh” channel entered a state of explosive growth.
Sarah and Leo were filming and editing almost every day.
They released more than a dozen short videos in succession.
Each video was the true story of an ordinary Pittsburgh citizen.
A Vietnam veteran covered in scars spoke to the camera about how the community center’s psychological support group had helped him gradually step out from the shadow of postwar trauma.
A single mother working in a restaurant spoke about how her child, who had a reading disability, fell in love with books through the community center’s free after-school tutoring program, eventually improving his grades and getting into a decent community college.
A middle-aged steelworker laid off from the factory during the financial crisis spoke about how he learned pipe repair through the community center’s free skills training program and found another job that could support his family.
Every story was real, simple, and full of emotional impact.
The production of the videos was very simple: faces etched with the hardships of life, and heartfelt accounts spoken from deep within.
At the end of every video, Leo had Sarah add a line of white text on a black background.
“Mr. Mayor, this is what you are preparing to sell.”
This series of videos completely set off Pittsburgh’s public discourse.
Within just three short days, the total number of views surpassed one million.
For a city of only three hundred thousand people, this was an astonishing number.
Almost every Pittsburgh citizen had seen at least one of the stories on their phone.
This time, the comment sections were filled with tens of thousands of messages of anger and support.
“I cried. That single mother’s story is exactly what my family went through.”
“I’m the son of a steelworker too. When my father lost his job, our family also received food assistance from the community center.”
“That bastard Cartwright! To please his rich friends, he actually wants to tear down the last home we poor people have!”
“Where is the hearing being held? We’re all going to show up and support them!”
The mainstream media could no longer remain silent.
At first, they had wanted to smear Leo with the narrative of “radical activists inciting populism.”
But now, what they faced was no longer Leo alone, but the stories of thousands upon thousands of flesh-and-blood Pittsburgh citizens.
Any reporter who dared question the authenticity of those stories would be drowned in the outrage of the public.
The Pittsburgh Chronicle had no choice but to change its reporting strategy.
They sent out their best reporters and began going deep into the communities to interview the people in the videos.
One in-depth report after another appeared on the front page of the newspaper.
The community center incident had completely escalated into a major public event drawing attention from the entire city.
Mayor Martin Cartwright’s office phone and the comment sections of his social media accounts were completely occupied by furious citizens.
The pressure of the entire city was focused on City Hall.
On the night before the second hearing, Leo and his small team were making their final preparations at the community center.
Dozens of community residents and volunteers packed the tiny office.
Some were printing leaflets, some were making phone calls, and some were preparing placards for the demonstration the next day.
Just then, a volunteer walked up to Leo with a manila envelope.
“This was delivered by a courier just now. It was addressed specifically to you.”
Leo took the envelope.
There was no sender information on it.
He tore it open. Inside was a stack of photocopied A4 papers.
He took out the papers. With just one glance, his heartbeat began to quicken.
It was a set of internal meeting minutes from City Hall.
The meeting had taken place two days after the municipal government issued the auction notice.
According to the minutes, Mayor Cartwright, under the pretext of discussing “the city’s future development plan,” had held an “informal private luncheon” with the CEO of Pinnacle Development Group.
Although this was not direct evidence of corruption and could not prove that they had reached any illegal deal over the meal, it was a clear signal of a “conflict of interest.”
During a sensitive period in which the mayor was disposing of a public asset, he had met privately with the sole bidder for that asset.
In itself, this was a serious violation of the code of conduct for public officials.
Leo held the document, feeling his hands tremble slightly.
Roosevelt’s voice sounded in his mind, carrying a trace of a smile.
“Good. It seems everything is ready now.”
“Kid, tomorrow it’s our turn to attack.”