Chapter 519 - 240: Pittsburgh’s Firefighter
5:00 AM.
Ethan Hawke’s eyes shot open.
He wasn’t in his apartment bed, but curled up on a five-foot-long sofa in the outer room of the Mayor’s Office.
This was the seventh day in a row.
His neck was as stiff as a board, and his spine let out a series of cracks.
He sat up. The blanket slid to the floor, revealing a white shirt so wrinkled it was a lost cause.
Ethan grabbed the half-full cup of cold coffee from the coffee table and took a swig.
The bitter coldness flowed down his esophagus, waking his stomach and forcibly dragging his mind from its chaotic state back to reality.
He walked to the window and pulled open a corner of the blinds.
Outside, Pittsburgh was still shrouded in pre-dawn darkness, lit only by the streetlights and the searchlights from the distant Inland Port construction site.
The city looked quiet.
But Ethan knew that beneath this calm facade, the city was running a fever.
Leo Wallace had lit too many fires.
The Mutual Aid Alliance, Luigi’s trial, the public opinion assault against the State Government, and that massive Industrial Revival Alliance.
Every fire needed someone to add fuel, someone to control the blaze, and someone to keep it from burning them.
Leo was only responsible for lighting the match.
And Ethan was responsible for keeping the house from burning down.
「7:00 AM sharp.」
Marcus Thorne pushed open the office door right on time.
He had two massive dark circles under his eyes and was holding a tablet.
"Liquidity alert."
Marcus wasted no time, shoving the tablet in front of Ethan.
On the screen was a red curve—the real-time level of the trust’s fund pool.
"A few days ago, because of the Mayor’s media attacks on the Governor, plus the panic caused by the start of Luigi’s trial, three major suppliers tried to redeem large amounts of their notes for US Dollar cash."
Marcus’s finger slid across the screen.
"The fund pool’s level dropped by five percent. It’s still within the safe zone, but if this kind of run continues, the situation could get ugly."
"If we can’t make the payments, the Alliance Trust’s credit will collapse. Those mayors, contractors, and the workers using these notes to buy bread will tear City Hall apart."
"Even though we have Saint Claude Capital as a backstop, Leo said we can’t just let Saint Claude acquire our trust certificates whenever they want, so I need your authorization."
Ethan stared at the number.
’This isn’t just about money, it’s about crime.’
’They were issuing a de facto local currency, which in itself was wildly testing the limits of Federation law.’
’If it collapsed, it would be large-scale financial fraud.’
"We need to use the emergency reserve funds," Marcus said. "But I don’t have the authority. Leo has that money locked down. It can only be moved with the Mayor’s and your signatures."
"How much?" Ethan asked.
"Fifty million. We need to stabilize those suppliers first."
"The reason?"
"System maintenance compensation, or supply chain financing service fees. Whatever the label, as long as the money goes out."
Ethan picked up a stylus and signed his name on the electronic authorization form.
"Go do it," Ethan said. "Don’t let anyone know we’re plugging a hole."
Marcus nodded and hurried away with the tablet.
「9:00 AM.」
Sarah Jenkins burst in.
She was holding two phones, an earbud still in her ear as she listened to something.
"Ethan, the media is going crazy."
Sarah threw one of the phones onto the desk. It was on speaker, a reporter’s voice spilling out.
"...according to eyewitnesses at the scene, the protesters were chanting Leo Wallace’s name. Can the Mayor’s Office comment on whether it is orchestrating a riot against the State Government?"
Ethan reached out and, with extreme calm, ended the call.
"Ignore these leading questions," Ethan said to Sarah, his tone perfectly flat. "What’s our current line?"
"I’m saying it’s a spontaneous act by private citizens," Sarah said, speaking rapidly as she jotted notes in her notebook. "I’m saying we’re verifying the identities of the participants, and that there’s currently no evidence to suggest these actions were authorized by City Hall."
"That kind of answer is walking right into a trap."
Ethan shook his head and walked over to the window.
"The phrase ’spontaneous act’ is too vague, and it sounds like we’re shirking responsibility."
"An expression of civil rights."
Ethan stared at Sarah, his eyes radiating rationality.
"Remember this. This is the only logic we push to all media outlets."
"We need to reframe the nature of this event."
"Due to Governor Campbell’s hopelessly slow handling of the medical bill, he unilaterally cut off communication channels with his grassroots constituents, causing an existential anxiety among the city’s working class."
"When normal letters, phone calls, and petitions can’t penetrate the soundproof glass of the Governor’s office, the people are forced to adopt a more... tangible form of communication. That is an expression of their civil rights."
Ethan tapped on the whiteboard.
"We’re talking about a feedback loop caused by a communication breakdown."
"What the Governor should be reflecting on is why he made these people feel the fear of abandonment, not standing around counting how many panes of glass were broken."
Sarah froze for a second, then furiously recorded the ideas Ethan was throwing out.
"But... how do we explain the flags with Leo’s face on them?" Sarah pressed.
"It’s a symbolic spiritual anchor."
Ethan replied, his face expressionless. This kind of sophistry had already formed an automated program in his brain.
"In Pennsylvania, the name Leo Wallace is no longer just a specific individual. It’s a political symbol representing hope and revival."
"When citizens wave his flag, they’re expressing their desire for this way of life. It doesn’t mean Leo himself issued any orders."
"It’s like if someone robs a bank while wearing Nikes. You can’t sue Nike for planning the robbery."
"Tell the reporters that we regret the communication conflict that occurred in Harrisburg, but we are more concerned with when Governor Campbell will finally address the people’s demands for healthcare."
"We’re going to kick every single problem right back to the Governor’s feet."
Sarah’s eyes lit up. She quickly gathered her phone and notebook, then turned and bolted out of the office.
Ethan rubbed his temples.
He didn’t even know if Leo had actually orchestrated the riot in Harrisburg. Leo had never said a single word to him about it.
But based on his understanding of Leo’s style, Ethan was almost certain that even if Leo hadn’t lit the fire himself, he was definitely involved.
So, regardless of the truth, a standard PR response was necessary.
He had to translate Leo’s crazy political maneuvers into language people could accept.
「4:00 PM.」
Ethan had just returned to the office from fieldwork and hadn’t even had a sip of water.
The conference call began.
It was the mayors from the "Industrial Revival Alliance."
On the screen, everyone was complaining.
Ron Smith: "Ethan, where’s the steel you promised? My factory has been waiting for three days. Did your logistics chain break again?"
Joe Byers: "When are you going to fix the interface problem with the Alliance Trust? My citizens are asking why they still can’t use their cards."
Bennett: "The state is auditing my books. Where’s the legal aid you promised?"
Ethan sat there, a professional smile plastered on his face.
He began to placate them one by one, making one empty promise after another.
"Ron, the steel is on its way. It’s a railway dispatch issue. We’re coordinating now, and it will definitely arrive within two days."
"Joe, the system is being upgraded for better security. It will be back online next Monday, guaranteed."
"Bennett, don’t worry. The state’s investigation is just a scare tactic. Our legal team is already on its way. They’ll handle everything for you."
He lied, he stalled, he promised.
He used an almost acrobatic balancing act to keep this vast and fragile Alliance from collapsing.
「6:00 PM.」
The conference call ended.
Ethan collapsed into his chair, watching the sky gradually darken outside the window.
The day was finally, almost, over.
He was like a tireless gear, meshing with every loose joint to keep the machine roaring onward.
A throbbing pain pulsed in his temples. His stomach was empty, churning with nothing but a few cups of black coffee.
He stood up, his steps a little unsteady, and walked toward the restroom at the end of the hall.
The stream of cold water hit his face, washing away some of the exhaustion.
Ethan lifted his head and looked in the mirror.
The face in the mirror was a stranger’s.
Ethan braced his hands on the marble countertop. Water dripped from the ends of his hair, splashing in the white porcelain basin.
He stared at his reflection.
’Where was the elite, high-spirited member of the Harvard debate team, the one who wore sharp suits and had his hair combed perfectly in place?’
’Where was the idealist from Senator Sanders’s office, the one who pontificated over thick stacks of legislation, convinced that procedural justice could change the world?’
The man in the mirror was unshaven, with deep-set, hollow eyes.
The collar of his once-expensive shirt had yellowed, and the cuffs were smudged with toner from some photocopier.
Ethan lowered his head and splashed his face with cold water again.
The cold shock brought him to his senses, and also made him think back to Washington, three years ago.
He was striding through the halls of Capitol Hill, clutching a draft of a healthcare reform bill.
Back then, he had firmly believed that the law was sacred, that rules were the bedrock of the world.
He believed that as long as you followed procedure, convinced enough people at the hearings, and wrote the right clauses into the bill, justice would prevail.
’That was what he considered Harvard blue.’
’Rational, calm, full of order.’
But now, everything around him had turned to Pittsburgh gray.
This city was coarse, chaotic, and filled with coal smoke.
Here, the law wasn’t a sacred cornerstone; it was a brick on the side of the road.
If it was in your way, you kicked it aside. If you needed to defend yourself, you picked it up and smashed it over your enemy’s head.
Ethan turned off the faucet.
He looked in the mirror, his mind replaying the events of the past few weeks.
He saw how Leo had used the bait of five hundred million dollars to hijack the City Council.
How he had used an executive order to create a tsunami of lawsuits against his own government.
How he had pushed that young man, Luigi, onto the sacrificial altar of a trial, just to light the fuse on a powder keg of public opinion.
Every single one of these acts challenged the principles he had learned in law school.
"What am I doing?"
Ethan asked himself.
’Am I an accomplice?’
He’d originally thought he was coming here to be the brains of the operation, to help an idealistic mayor build a new order.
But now he felt more like a gangster’s consigliere, busy every day cleaning up the boss’s messes and laundering his dirty deals.
His phone vibrated.
Ethan looked at the flashing screen on the countertop.
Leo Wallace.
The sight of the name made Ethan’s temples ache again.
"Ethan, you done yet?"
Leo’s voice came through the phone.
"Coming."
Ethan pulled out a paper towel and hastily wiped his face.
He straightened his wrinkled tie, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open, walking out.