Chapter 682 - 321: Gods Don’t Bleed
Washington D.C., 1789 Restaurant in Georgetown.
The moment he saw the news, Vance’s pupils constricted.
Sterling froze as well, phone in hand, his mouth slightly agape.
They both tapped open the news story at the same time.
"...This is the CNN Breaking News Center."
"Just ten minutes ago, Mayor of Pittsburgh Leo Wallace was attacked by a gunman while inspecting a community pharmacy that had just reopened in the Brooklyn District. According to eyewitnesses at the scene, the gunman fired two shots at close range. The Mayor collapsed, and his condition is unknown. The gunman is now dead..."
The broadcast cut to the scene.
Police tape had been set up, patrol lights flashing.
A large, ghastly pool of blood stained the ground, and several paramedics were rushing by with a gurney.
Vance whipped his head around to glare at Sterling.
"Was this you?"
Vance’s voice trembled. He lunged forward, grabbing Sterling by the collar and shoving him against the wall.
"You goddamn liar! What are you people trying to pull? Are you trying to use someone else to do your dirty work? Pin the blame on us? You want Washington to come after us?"
Sterling shoved Vance off him.
"Bullshit!"
Sterling roared, straightening his crumpled collar.
"We had no reason to! Our power plants and investments are still over there! What good would killing him do me? We’re businessmen, not terrorists!"
Then Sterling glared back at Vance, his eyes turning vicious.
"What about you, George? Was it the people behind you? Did a few members of your board go over your head? Did they decide it was better to just solve the problem directly instead of negotiating? The Oswald solution—that was your people’s idea!"
"Impossible!" Vance retorted. "The board already authorized me to negotiate! No one would make a move at a time like this!"
They stared at each other.
Fear hung in the air.
’If it wasn’t them...’
’Then who was it?’
If it was a third party, or some kind of uncontrollable accident, the consequences could be even more terrifying than if they had planned the assassination themselves.
Because it meant the situation had spun completely out of their control.
Sterling pointed at his phone.
"Let’s see who the shooter is."
On the video feed, the anchor was reporting the latest developments.
"...Police have confirmed the shooter’s identity. Arthur Miller, forty-five, a Pittsburgh local and former steelworker, currently unemployed."
An ID photo appeared on the screen.
He had the typical look of a white, blue-collar man from the Rust Belt—haggard face, sullen eyes.
"He doesn’t look like a professional killer," Vance muttered. "More like a regular guy."
The anchor’s voice continued.
"According to the preliminary investigation results just released by the police, as well as a suicide note found on his person, the attack appears to stem from a family tragedy."
"Arthur Miller’s seven-year-old son suffered from severe asthma. Over the past week, due to the temporary restrictions on the pharmaceutical supply chain in the Pittsburgh area, he was unable to find a rescue inhaler at any pharmacy he went to."
"Late two nights ago, his son suffered complications from an asthma attack and tragically passed away on the way to the hospital."
Vance’s heart sank.
He was all too familiar with this scenario.
Supply cuts, medicine shortages, death.
This was a crisis of their own making.
A week ago, this would have been the perfect ammunition for their PR team.
They would have gotten this tragic father’s story onto the front page of every newspaper, paired with a sensational headline like "Leo Wallace’s Policies Are Killing Children."
In a way, Vance was a little surprised it had taken this long for something like this to happen.
That young mayor of Pittsburgh, using every channel and stopgap measure he could find, had single-handedly staved off the city’s collapse until now.
Vance had to admire him for it.
The problem was, the situation had changed.
They didn’t want Leo dead anymore.
Once they realized this was an opening skirmish in the Republican Party’s campaign against the Democratic Party ahead of the general election, killing Leo had lost all tactical value.
And yet, right at this very moment, a shot had been fired.
Now, all fingers were pointing at the pharmaceutical giants.
Under normal circumstances, they could have easily handled such an accusation.
Hire a few top lawyers, release some carefully worded statements, donate a little money to the victim’s family, and the whole thing would blow over.
But this was an election year.
The ruling Democratic Party was already in dire straits.
Faced with a heinous incident like this—one that could spark national outrage—would the White House choose to cut its losses to hold on to moderate voters and avoid being labeled a corporate stooge?
Would they throw Pfizer and Johnson & Johnson to the wolves as scapegoats to appease public anger?
And the Republican Party?
Would the power brokers secretly pulling the strings seize this opportunity to kick them while they were down?
Would they use this incident to further weaken the pharmaceutical industry’s influence, to gain more leverage over them in future policymaking?
That’s how politics worked. Fall one step behind, and you’ll be behind at every step.
Looking back, how did things get to this point?
Was it because the pharmaceutical industry lacked political awareness? Quite the opposite—they were too aware.
Over the past few years, in order to survive healthcare reform and secure fast-track FDA approvals, the pharmaceutical giants had indeed leaned more and more toward the Democratic Party with their political donations.
In their eyes, it was just a normal business investment, a balancing act to hedge their bets.
But on the political spectrum, there is no absolute middle ground.
When you take one step to the left, in the eyes of those on the right, you’ve already betrayed your camp.