Chapter 486 - 228: The Alliance Meeting
Pittsburgh City Hall, Conference Room One.
The conference room had been expanded. Its original twelve-person oval table had been replaced with a massive circular one, large enough to seat thirty.
Because the Industrial Revival Alliance was expanding.
In addition to founding members like Ron Smith of Erie and Joe Byers of Scranton, several new faces were present today.
There was a mayor from the suburbs of Harrisburg, independent representatives from Philadelphia’s outer industrial belt, and even a few observers from small towns on the Ohio border.
They represented the forgotten islands of the Rust Belt, now bound together by interest and fear, all seated around this table.
An eerie silence filled the air.
Everyone was either looking down at their phones or pretending to sort through documents, their gazes shifting as they occasionally exchanged uneasy glances.
Just a week ago, Leo had met with them in private.
At the time, Leo had presented them with two shocking proposals: first, to establish a "Rust Belt Medical Mutual Aid Alliance," and second, to publicly support Luigi Randall, the man branded a terrorist.
Back then, the mayors’ reactions had been surprisingly uniform.
Silence.
They didn’t dare take a stance.
The Mutual Aid Alliance was an attack on the entire health insurance industry, while supporting Luigi was a direct challenge to Washington’s authority.
Either one of these things was enough to end their political careers.
That meeting had ended in silence and noncommittal responses.
But today, Leo had summoned them here again. Their hearts pounded in their chests, wondering what this young Alliance Leader was planning to pull now.
CLICK.
The conference room door was pushed open.
Leo Wallace walked in.
He wore a dark shirt with an open collar.
Leo walked to the head of the table, but he didn’t sit down.
He picked up the remote from the table and aimed it at the massive television screen on the wall, pressing a button.
BZZT—
The screen lit up, displaying the CNN news channel logo.
"Everyone, before we begin, I’d like you all to watch a news segment."
Leo’s voice was calm, betraying no emotion.
His calmness was unsettling to the politicians in the room, all of whom were adept at reading people.
They were used to judging an opponent’s intentions and tells from their tone of voice and facial expressions.
But right now, they could read nothing from Leo’s young face.
He was like a bottomless well.
"This will only take twenty minutes."
With that, he tossed the remote onto the table, pulled out his chair, and sat down.
He closed his eyes and folded his arms, looking as if he’d already fallen asleep.
The mayors looked at one another in confusion.
Ron Smith frowned, looking as if he wanted to ask something, but one glance at Leo’s unapproachable posture made him close his mouth.
Joe Byers shifted uncomfortably, and his chair let out a faint creak.
All eyes were forced to focus on the screen.
...
Philadelphia, the Saint Claude Family Foundation Building.
Today, the neoclassical building on Benjamin Franklin Avenue had become the focus of media attention from across Pennsylvania, and indeed, the entire nation.
Dozens of broadcast vans lined the street, their satellite dishes aimed at the sky, transmitting every image from the scene in real time to all corners of the world.
Reporters swarmed the base of the grand marble steps, their massive camera lenses forming an impenetrable wall.
Two o’clock in the afternoon, sharp.
The heavy bronze doors slowly swung open.
A figure emerged.
Evelyn Saint Cloud.
She wore a black dress with a minimalist cut, a matching overcoat draped over her shoulders.
She stood before a forest of microphones as camera shutters clicked in a continuous barrage, like a sudden downpour.
On the television, Evelyn raised a hand, signaling for quiet.
"Everyone."
Evelyn’s voice carried through the microphones.
"I am deeply saddened by the recent tragedy. Mr. Arthur Vance was an outstanding business leader, and his passing is a loss to the industry."
"Violence is never the answer to our problems. Of that, there is no doubt."
It seemed to be a standard condemnation.
Several of the mayors in the conference room breathed a sigh of relief.
’If it’s just a condemnation, that’s a relief,’ they thought. ’At least it means the corporate world is still trying to maintain order.’
Then, Evelyn paused, her gaze sweeping across the camera lenses.
"However, as a society governed by the rule of law, as citizens of the United States of America, we must uphold something more important than personal feelings."
Evelyn’s expression grew determined.
"And that is the sacred right granted to every individual by the Constitution."
"Even the most hated of suspects, even a killer already convicted by public opinion, possesses the right to a fair trial and to adequate legal aid, right up until the moment the gavel falls."
"This is the cornerstone of our civilization."
"If we allow our anger to strip a person of their right to a defense, then how are we any different from the brutes we condemn?"
Her words were powerful and resonant.
The reporters began to whisper among themselves.
Evelyn continued, "I have heard that the young man named Luigi Randall is, for financial reasons, unable to hire lawyers capable of handling federal-level charges."
Back in the conference room, Ron Smith’s brow furrowed when he heard that.
’Financial difficulties?’
’He clearly remembered Luigi being the son of a wealthy family.’
’He might not be able to afford the top lawyers in Washington, but there was no way he couldn’t even put together a decent defense team.’