Chapter 532 - 247: William Saint Cloud
Harrisburg. The Lieutenant Governor’s Office.
The click of the phone hanging up was exceptionally sharp.
Aston Monroe’s hand was still gripping the receiver.
His fingers trembled. After a few seconds of dead silence, he suddenly burst out laughing.
"Ha! Hahahaha!"
The laughter held no joy, only a hysteria born from utter absurdity.
Paul Turner stood on the other side of the desk, staring at his boss in astonishment.
"Boss? What happened? What did Wallace say?"
Monroe was laughing so hard he was nearly in tears. As he pulled a tissue from its box to wipe his eyes, he pointed at the phone.
"That madman," Monroe said. "Leo Wallace has completely lost his mind."
He stood up, walked over to the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a glass of whiskey. His hand was still unsteady, and a few drops of the liquor splashed onto the desktop.
"Do you know what he just told me?" Monroe turned, holding his glass aloft. "He told me to prepare a congratulatory speech. He said that after the regular Senate session next week, we’ll be welcoming a new president pro tempore."
Turner froze for a second, then his brow furrowed.
"A new president pro tempore? Who does he want to replace? The current one is Kaufman."
"That’s right, Kaufman." Monroe took a large gulp of the whiskey, the burning liquid calming him slightly. "Wallace wants to drag him out of that chair and prop up that mascot, William Saint Cloud."
"William?!" Turner’s eyes widened. "That rich kid who can’t even read a bill’s title straight? How is that possible?"
Monroe walked over to a large seating chart of the Pennsylvania State Senate.
The chart clearly marked the distribution of the fifty senators’ seats in red and blue.
Red was the dominant color by far.
"Look at these numbers, Paul."
Monroe extended a finger, jabbing forcefully at the red blocks.
"Republicans, twenty-eight seats. Democrats, twenty-two."
"To win, they need at least four Republican senators to defect on the spot and vote to oust their own leader."
Monroe turned to face Turner.
"Four Republicans? In today’s hyper-polarized political climate?"
"It’s a complete fantasy."
"Not even God himself could come down and make four Republicans commit political suicide in public."
Turner nodded. He agreed it wasn’t just crazy—it was idiotic.
"Then what’s Wallace’s plan? Does he have a secret weapon?"
"He didn’t say."
Monroe shrugged, a mocking smile on his face.
"He only gave me one instruction."
"He said, ’Believe it or not, Aston. Next week, tell your Democratic senators to stay in their seats and do nothing. When someone rises to a question of privilege, just vote aye.’"
"A question of privilege?"
Turner knew this was the nuclear option of parliamentary procedure, a move that could instantly interrupt the regular agenda to force a vote on the honor or security of the Senate itself.
"He’s planning a surprise attack?"
"Yes, a sneak attack."
Monroe walked back behind his desk and settled into his chair.
"Does he think this is Pittsburgh? Does he think he can pull this off with the same rabble-rousing tricks he uses on the streets?"
"This is Harrisburg. This is the State Senate."
"Here, it’s all about seniority, pecking order, and quid pro quo."
Monroe shook his head, disappointed by Leo’s political acumen.
He had thought the young man was a top-tier operator worth collaborating with. Now, it seemed he was just a gambler whose luck was off the charts.
And a gambler’s luck always runs out eventually.
"So, what do we do?" Turner asked. "Do we play along with him?"
"We play along."
Monroe answered without a moment’s hesitation.
"Why not?"
"After all, I’m not the one making the move. All I have to do is sit on the dais and watch."
"And if, on the off chance..." Monroe paused, though he didn’t believe for a second it would happen. "On the off chance that God really is blind and lets him win, I become a beneficiary of the new order."
"It’s a no-risk, high-reward proposition."
Monroe lifted his glass, watching the liquor swirl inside.
"Besides, I’m rather interested to see this arrogant young man run headfirst into the brick wall of reality."
"He’s had it too easy."
"In Pittsburgh, he beat Moretti and he beat Morganfield. Now he thinks he’s invincible."
"But he doesn’t know that the waters in Harrisburg run much deeper than the Monongahela River."
"He can incite workers and delude students, I won’t deny that. But does he think those populist theatrics are enough to handle the State Senate? Enough to turn Republicans against their own?"
Monroe let out a scornful laugh.
"Of course, if he actually pulls it off... if he really has a way to make the Republicans defect."
Monroe’s eyes narrowed, a sharp glint flashing within them.
"Then I would have to completely re-evaluate him."
"A man who can reach across party lines and directly manipulate the legislature is more than just a problem."
Monroe downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp.
"Go inform the Senate Minority Leader. Tell him there might be a good show to watch next week."
"Tell everyone not to be absent."
"I want to witness the end of this farce with my own eyes."
...
Philadelphia International Airport, private jet tarmac.
The sky was a brooding, grayish blue, and the wind blowing off the Delaware River carried a damp chill.
A sleek Gulfstream G650 jet broke through the clouds. Its landing gear slammed onto the runway, and the tires let out a piercing shriek against the tarmac as a plume of white smoke billowed up instantly.