Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

They were trying to rope him in out of sheer panic.

"David."

Leo spoke again, his tone now laced with a cold edge.

"I seem to recall you saying this was a mess I made myself."

Stern was clearly taken aback on the other end of the line.

"That... that was a misunderstanding, Leo."

"It was a misjudgment caused by a lack of information. We didn’t know the situation would get this bad. Things are different now. We’re allies in the same foxhole."

"Allies?"

Leo glanced at his heavily bandaged left arm.

"I’m still bleeding, Mr. Stern."

"They still haven’t gotten all the shrapnel out of my shoulder. The anesthetic just wore off, and it hurts so much I can barely catch my breath."

Leo’s voice grew cold.

"And you’re talking to me about campaign ads right now?"

"Do you think I’m in any mood to care about the President’s approval ratings?"

"Leo, you have to look at the bigger picture!"

Stern sounded panicked.

"This isn’t just about you! The Republican Party is having a field day with this. They’re spreading conspiracy theories, saying the gunman was driven crazy by Democratic Party radicals."

"If we don’t unify our message and play this card—you—quickly, they’ll steal the narrative!"

"You need to come out and make a statement before the buzz around that photo dies down. You need to tell voters that you support the President and the Democratic Party. This will help us clinch the victory!"

"You can rest. We don’t need you to make any big moves. All we need is a statement, a pledge!"

Leo closed his eyes.

He could hear the greed in Stern’s voice.

A greed for power and for votes that overrode all human decency.

"A pledge?"

Leo repeated softly.

"David, I’m exhausted."

"I want to sleep."

"I’m hanging up now."

"Leo! You can’t hang up! We have to settle this! If you don’t cooperate, there will be consequences—"

BEEP—

Leo had pressed the disconnect button.

The world fell silent.

The Special Service Bureau agent froze for a moment.

He had obviously never seen anyone dare to hang up on the White House Chief of Staff.

But he said nothing, silently stepping forward to retrieve the phone, close its case, and exit the room.

Ethan stood by the bed, looking at Leo.

"Boss, that was the White House," Ethan whispered. "Are we just going to refuse them like that? They’re trying to get us on their side."

"It’s not a refusal."

Leo opened his eyes.

"I’m making them sweat."

He looked at the ceiling.

"Ethan, something is only at its most valuable when it’s just out of reach."

"To them, I’m a rare commodity right now. That photo, the one of me covered in blood, is the campaign weapon of their dreams."

"If I agree now, I’ll just be a prop in their campaign ads—to be used and then thrown away."

"I’m going to let them sweat for a bit."

"Only when they realize they can’t live without me will they not dare to haggle over the price I name."

’Well done.’

Roosevelt’s voice echoed in his mind.

’In this world of power and prestige, silence is often more powerful than shouting.’

’Stern must be panicking in his office right now. He’s wondering if you’ve already struck some kind of deal with the Republican Party. He’s terrified you might turn around and bite them in the back.’

’That fear is your leverage.’

Roosevelt analyzed.

’You’re occupying the absolute moral high ground right now.’

’Maintain this air of mystery.’

’You need to make the White House think you could flip to the other side at any moment, or even strike out on your own.’

’Only then, when the phone rings next time,’

’the person on the other end might not be the Chief of Staff anymore.’

’It might be the President himself.’

Leo paused, his gaze shifting to the door of the hospital room.

A commotion arose from the hallway.

The sound of dress shoes clicking on the floor, the low shouts of bodyguards pushing people away, and the scent of an oddly out-of-place perfume wafted in from under the door.

The next second, the door to the hospital room was pushed open.

First, an absurdly large bouquet of flowers poked through the doorway.

It was a monstrous arrangement of over a hundred imported Ecuadorian roses, their petals still glistening with air-freighted dew.

Next, a pair of gleaming, custom-made Italian leather shoes stepped inside.

William Saint Cloud.

The current Governor of Pennsylvania.

Today, he was wearing a pale pink, double-breasted linen suit over a gaudy silk shirt, unbuttoned at the collar.

A pair of oversized sunglasses covered half his face, and his hair was coiffed like a model fresh off the runway.

The getup might have looked at home on a beach in Miami, but it was bizarrely out of place in Allegheny General Hospital, located in a Pittsburgh on lockdown after a shooting.

"Oh my God! Oh my God!"

William exclaimed theatrically.

He thrust the enormous bouquet of roses at Ethan, then took off his sunglasses to reveal a pair of eyes that looked incredibly sincere, yet held a glint of foolishness.

"Leo! My brother!"

William rushed to the bedside, about to give Leo a hug, but recoiled his hands as if electrocuted when he saw all the tubes and bandages.

"Look at you, look at the state you’re in."

William took out a silk handkerchief that smelled of cologne and dabbed at the nonexistent tears in the corners of his eyes.

"I heard you’d been shot. I was in the middle of choosing a color scheme for my yacht. Good heavens, I was so shocked I nearly spilled champagne all over the design plans."

William’s face was a mask of pure anguish.

"It’s just barbaric. How could something so barbaric happen in Pittsburgh? Someone actually used a gun? This is the 21st century! Don’t they know civilized people solve problems by having their lawyers send a letter?"