On the day of the second hearing, the scene in front of Pittsburgh City Hall was utterly different from a week ago.
Hundreds of citizens had gathered in the square, holding up all kinds of signs.
“Communities Are Not Commodities!”
“Mayor Cartwright, Stop Selling Pittsburgh’s Soul!”
“We Stand with the Steelworkers Community Center!”
Frank and his old buddies, wearing jackets printed with union logos, maintained order among the crowd.
Interview vans from more than a dozen local and national media outlets were parked along the edge of the square, their cameras and long lenses aimed at the doors of City Hall.
The atmosphere inside the venue had likewise undergone a dramatic change.
The gallery was packed to capacity, filled with citizens supporting the community and media reporters.
Robert Jennings, chairman of the City Planning Commission, no longer had the ease and casualness he had shown last time. He looked restless, constantly wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.
Allen Wexler, the lawyer for Summit Development Group, still sat in his place, a professional smile on his face, but his eyes no longer held the same confidence as before. There was now a trace of gravity in them.
When Leo led the community representatives into the venue, applause erupted from the gallery.
Leo nodded to the crowd, then walked to the podium.
This time, there was no trace of nervousness or uncertainty in his eyes.
Chairman Jennings struck the gavel and announced the start of the hearing.
Leo rose directly and walked toward the podium.
“Mr. Chairman, before discussing any substantive issues, we request that the committee first review the new evidence that has emerged since the previous hearing.”
Jennings’s gaze immediately turned to Allen Wexler.
Wexler still wore a smile. He gave Jennings an almost imperceptible nod.
Jennings withdrew his gaze and cleared his throat. He said to Leo, “Please present your evidence, Mr. Wallace.”
Leo took out the documents he had prepared.
“According to Article 11, Section B of Pittsburgh’s Urban Asset Disposal Ordinance, for the assets of nonprofit institutions with the nature of public community services, City Hall must, at least sixty days before auction, issue public notice through no fewer than three local public media outlets.”
He placed a photocopy of the legal provision onto the projector, allowing everyone to see it clearly.
“And the fact is,” Leo continued, “the public notice period for this auction was only forty-five days, and notice was issued only on the municipal government’s official website and in a community tabloid with extremely low circulation. This is a serious violation of statutory procedure.”
“Therefore, we believe that the entire auction process was illegal and invalid from the very beginning!”
As soon as he finished speaking, a wave of supportive murmurs rose from the gallery.
Wexler immediately stood up.
“Objection,” he said. “Mr. Wallace’s interpretation of the ordinance is biased. The term ‘public media’ mentioned in the ordinance is not explicitly defined. The municipal government’s website and a community newspaper likewise fall within the scope of public media. As for the issue of the notice period, that may merely have been a minor clerical error and does not affect the legality of the entire auction.”
He tried to use the sophistry he was best at to blur the focus of the issue.
But this time, Leo was not led into his trap.
Under Roosevelt’s guidance, Leo had long since prepared for these possible arguments.
“Mr. Wexler, are you insulting the intelligence of everyone present?” Leo’s tone became aggressive. “The legislative intent behind ‘public media’ is to ensure that information reaches the public to the greatest extent possible. Can a government website visited by only a few hundred people a day, and a community newspaper subscribed to by only a few hundred elderly residents, be compared to the Pittsburgh Chronicle with its circulation in the hundreds of thousands, or to local television stations with millions of viewers?”
“As for the so-called minor error you mentioned, that is even more of a joke. Being one day short is an error. Being fifteen days short is deliberate deception! The purpose was to keep more citizens from finding out about this matter, so that your client could complete this filthy transaction at the lowest possible cost!”
Leo cited statutes and precedents, refusing to yield an inch.
He listed the relevant legal cases one by one.
In a debate purely over legal procedure, this history student who had spent several days buried in the library was actually going back and forth with a battle-hardened top lawyer—and even seemed faintly to have gained the upper hand.
Beads of sweat also began to appear on Wexler’s forehead.
He realized that the young man before him was a completely different person from the greenhorn who had been on the back foot throughout the previous hearing a week ago.
Just as Wexler was preparing to argue again, Leo changed tack.
He did not continue entangling himself in the legal details.
He knew that the anonymous meeting minutes were his final trump card, but now was not yet the time to play it.
He pressed the switch on the projector.
The large screen in the meeting hall lit up.
“Mr. Chairman, Mr. Wexler. I think the debate over the legal text has already been made sufficiently clear.”
“Now, I would like to ask you—and everyone present—to watch something else.”
“Something about what this auction truly means.”
“Objection!”
Allen Wexler’s voice rang out at once, and he shot to his feet.
“Mr. Chairman, I must remind you that this is a legal hearing concerning municipal auction procedures, not a community activity room for screening home videos.”
His tone was filled with urgency.
“Whatever Mr. Wallace intends to play has nothing to do with the legal issues of this hearing. Its sole purpose is emotional incitement, which is of no help whatsoever in resolving legal questions. I request that the chairman immediately stop this unprofessional and time-wasting behavior.”
Everyone’s gaze turned to Chairman Jennings.
The reporters’ cameras also shifted from Leo and Wexler to the chairman’s platform.
Another layer of sweat appeared on Chairman Jennings’s forehead.
He could feel the immense pressure brought by the hundreds of eyes in the room, and he could see the ceaseless flashing of the reporters’ cameras.
He knew that if he agreed to Wexler’s request at this moment, tomorrow’s newspaper headlines would read: “City Hall Chairman Refuses to Listen to Citizens’ Voices.”
For his personal political career, that would be a disaster.
He cleared his throat and struck the gavel heavily.
“Mr. Wexler’s objection has been entered into the record.”
His voice was much louder than before, as if to conceal his own guilty conscience.
“However, considering the immense public concern this incident has aroused, the committee has decided to give Mr. Wallace an opportunity to present his background materials.”
He turned to Leo and added,
“Please note, Mr. Wallace, do not take too long.”
Leo nodded toward the chairman’s platform, then pressed the play button.
On the large screen in the meeting hall, the logo of “Heart of Pittsburgh” lit up.
The first to appear was the Vietnam War veteran covered in scars.
Facing the camera, he spoke of how, after returning from the battlefield, he had been tormented by nightmares and alcohol, and how the mutual aid group at the community center had pulled him back from the brink of collapse.
The second to appear was the single mother working in a restaurant.
With tears in her eyes, she described how her child, who had a reading disability, had read a complete sentence aloud to her for the first time in the community center’s tutoring class.
The third, the fourth...
The stories of ordinary Pittsburgh citizens played one after another in the meeting hall.
The entire venue fell silent.
The reporters who had been whispering moments earlier stopped talking.
They simply held up their cameras, recording every face on the screen, and the faces of the citizens in the gallery who were silently weeping because they understood those feelings all too well.
The video finished playing.
Leo turned off the projector.
He turned around and faced Allen Wexler, his gaze blazing.
He asked the fatal question.
“Mr. Wexler, your legal knowledge is impeccable. You are an outstanding lawyer.”
“But now, can you answer me one question in front of all the citizens of Pittsburgh—a question that has nothing to do with the law?”
“Is your client, Summit Development Group, truly prepared to use these people’s tears, these veterans’ nightmares, and these single mothers’ hopes to water the expensive lawn in front of the luxury apartment building they intend to construct?”
Allen Wexler felt the pallor of language.
He could not answer that question.
He could debate the law. He could explain procedure.
But in front of all the media cameras, he could not deny the genuine emotion and humanity in those videos.
He opened his mouth, but not a single word came out.
The atmosphere in the venue became unbearably awkward.
Seeing that the situation had completely spiraled out of control, Chairman Jennings hammered the table frantically with his gavel.
“Order! Order!”
“In view of the new evidence regarding the auction procedure that has emerged at today’s hearing, as well as the broad public concern it has triggered…”
He glanced at the pale-faced Wexler, then at Leo, who remained perfectly composed.
He made his choice.
“I hereby announce that this hearing is adjourned! As for the final disposition plan for the community center, it will… it will be discussed again at a later date!”
After saying that, he hurriedly left the chairman’s platform.
Leo and the community residents walked out of City Hall.
What greeted them was the deafening cheers of hundreds of citizens in the square outside.
They shouted Leo’s name, and they shouted, “Long live the community!”
Margaret and Frank came forward and embraced Leo tightly.
They had won the second round.
But there was not much joy on Leo’s face.
He knew this was only a temporary truce.
The battle was still far from over.