Chapter 690 - 323: I Want to Be Vice President
"That’s when they’ll realize what kind of monster they’ve provoked."
...
Washington, the West Wing of the White House.
David Stern stared at the phone in his hand, the line dead. He stood frozen on the spot.
His face flushed crimson, and the veins on his neck bulged.
"Lunatic! An absolute lunatic!"
Stern slammed the phone down on the sofa.
"Thirty-five! That’s the Constitution! And he wants me to amend it?"
The senior advisors in the office exchanged glances, but no one dared to speak.
"He’s blackmailing the President!" Stern paced back and forth in the room, like a caged beast. "He knows we can’t afford to lose Pennsylvania. He knows we need that photo."
"But the price he’s demanding is too high!"
A legal advisor ventured cautiously, "Chief of Staff, actually... looking at certain ambiguous clauses in the Twelfth Amendment, there is some academic debate regarding the definition of eligibility..."
"Shut up!"
Stern roared.
"I don’t want to hear about any ’academic debates’! This is political suicide! If the President nominates someone under thirty-five to be Vice President, the Republicans will laugh their asses off, and the Supreme Court will shoot it down immediately!"
"But..."
the advisor murmured.
"If we don’t agree, he’ll announce his support for the Republicans next Monday."
"If he shows the scars from the shooting at that press conference, and then accuses the Democratic Party of abandoning the working class..."
Stern stopped pacing.
He pictured the scene.
It would be devastating.
Stern took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
He walked to the window and looked out at the lawn.
"This,"
Stern said, turning to face his advisors.
"Is beyond our authority to decide."
"Get the President."
"We need an emergency meeting. Immediately."
"Get everyone in here."
"That includes the campaign manager and legal counsel."
"We need to assess exactly what price we’re willing to pay to hold on to Pennsylvania."
"Even if that price is the Constitution itself."
...
Washington D.C., the West Wing of the White House.
The curtains in the Oval Office were drawn halfway, letting the afternoon sun spill across the century-old Resolute Desk.
But the atmosphere in the room was anything but relaxed; instead, it felt strangely tense.
The President sat behind his desk. Opposite him sat White House Chief of Staff David Stern, Campaign Manager Tom Blake, White House Counsel Richard Halt, and several core senior political advisors.
This was a top-level, closed-door strategy meeting about the re-election campaign.
"You’re saying..."
Blake broke the silence with a scoff of disbelief.
"That little Mayor of Pittsburgh wants the vice presidential nomination?"
Blake shook his head as if he’d just heard the biggest joke of his life.
"Who does he think he is? Napoleon? The second coming of Alexander the Great?"
"He doesn’t even meet the age requirement stipulated by the Constitution! And he expects us to amend the Constitution for him? Hahahaha!"
Blake doubled over, slapping his thigh as he howled with laughter.
"David, are you sure he didn’t get his brains scrambled? This is a psychotic delusion. We should be getting him a psychiatrist, not sitting here discussing this absurd proposal."
The other advisors joined in the laughter.
To these Washington elites, Leo’s demand wasn’t just outrageous—it was an insult to political common sense.
The Vice President is the second most powerful person in the country. How could the position be given to some local mayor with no real base, who does nothing but stir up populist sentiment?
"Are you done laughing?"
David Stern’s voice was ice-cold.
He wasn’t laughing.
He stood before the projector, remote in hand, his expression terrifyingly grim.
"If you’ve had your laugh, then take a look at this."
Stern pressed the button.
A complex electoral projection map appeared on the screen.
It was the latest model, fresh from the Democratic National Committee’s data center.
Red and blue intermingled on the map, but in several key swing states, the colors were shifting drastically.
"This is the projection for the general election if Leo Wallace announces his support for the Republicans—or even if he just announces he *won’t* support us."
Stern pointed to a shocking swath of red on the screen.
"Pennsylvania: a six-point loss."
"Michigan: a four-point loss."
"Wisconsin: a three-point loss."
"We’re even losing our edge in traditionally blue-collar states like Minnesota and Ohio."
"Projected electoral votes: 240 to 298."
"A crushing defeat."
"That’s the leverage he has."
Stern turned around.
"So, do you still find this funny?"
It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.
Blake’s smile froze on his face. He stared at the glaring patch of red on the screen, a faint, choked gurgle escaping his throat.
"David, there’s something wrong with this data. It has to be."
Blake shot to his feet, pointing at the Great Lakes Region on the screen.
"Leo Wallace is the Mayor of Pittsburgh, at best. The most he can influence is Pennsylvania and its 19 electoral votes."
"Even if he goes nuts and defects to the Republicans, we’d only lose one state. Why is the model showing the entire Midwest collapsing? It’s not logical."
Stern looked at him, his eyes filled with exhaustion.
"Logic? Tom, you’re talking to me about *logic*?"