"In exchange."
Smith’s tone left no room for doubt.
"I will be the representative for our seven cities. At the negotiating table, when we carve up that five-hundred-million-US-Dollar cake, I will speak to Leo Wallace on behalf of all of us."
"That way, we’ll be a political force that can’t be ignored. Leo Wallace will have to respect us. He’ll have to treat us as equal allies, not as his underlings."
"This is a deal, gentlen. I’m gambling my political career in exchange for having a real say in this future alliance."
"Do you agree?"
The screen was dead silent.
It was an incredibly brilliant political speech. Smith had not only solved the problem of who would stick their neck out, but he had also deftly established his leadership among the mayors of these smaller cities.
At that mont, everyone was scrutinizing the man in the center of their screens, a man with an exceptionally resolute gaze.
Leadership was never sothing that could be granted by a letter of appointnt or a title.
It wasn’t the title of "Mayor" or "Chairman" printed on a business card. That was rely the cloak of power.
True leadership was the radiance emanating from the one person who dared to stand at the ship’s bow during a storm, facing the towering waves while everyone else scrambled for shelter, and shout, "Follow !"
It was a form of trust, almost superstitious in its intensity, built drop by drop in the hearts of others. It ca only after a person had weathered crisis after crisis, shouldering the pressure with their own body and proving through their actions that they could be relied upon.
When disaster strikes, when everyone is panicking and at a loss, there is a na they subconsciously want to call out.
That na belongs to a leader.
At this very mont, Ron Smith was undergoing his tamorphosis into such a leader.
He had willingly taken the Sword of Damocles that hung over all their heads and held it in his own hand. With this almost self-destructive courage, he was telling everyone present that if the sky fell, he would be the one to prop it up.
This power was intangible, a thing of spirit and will, yet it was so real it was impossible to resist.
It tapped into the deepest human desires: the craving for security and a sense of direction.
They were all intelligent n; it didn’t take them long to grasp the implications.
Letting him take the heat, letting him be the one to go head-to-head with the powerful Mayor of Pittsburgh, held nothing but advantages for them.
’If he wants to be the leader, then let him.’
"I agree," Byers said, the first to break the silence. The anxiety in his eyes had been replaced by a look of relief. "Ron, if you’re willing to step up, Scranton will follow your lead."
"I agree too."
"Count in."
"Ron, you’re our leader. It’s your call."
A chorus of agreent followed.
The seven faces on the screen had, in that instant, reached a true consensus.
Smith leaned back in his chair.
"Very good."
He exhaled a ring of smoke, his gaze cutting through the haze as if he could already see the storm brewing on the horizon.
"Since nobody has any objections, then it’s settled."
"But before that, I need to spin a tale."
A cunning light glinted in his eyes.
"I’m going to make everyone believe that I didn’t betray the Republican Party."
"It was the Republican Party that betrayed us."
"It was Warren who betrayed us."
"I’m going to paint myself as a tragic hero, forced to make a difficult choice for the very survival of my city."
Smith looked at the others on the screen.
"I’ll light the first match."
"I’ll create a story big enough, a crisis so significant, that no one can afford to ignore it."
"Once the fire is blazing, when Warren is scrambling to put it out."
"You must follow up imdiately."
Smith extended a finger, pointing at them through the screen.
"Don’t leave to burn in that pit alone."
"We need to create a wolf pack effect."
"If I’m the only one who turns, I’m a traitor. But if all seven of us turn together, it’s an uprising."
"When all the mayors in Western Pennsylvania stand up and point their fingers at Warren, the voters will start to wonder if Warren is the real problem."
The other six mayors on the screen looked at each other.
"Alright," Byers said, gritting his teeth. "You make the first move, and I’ll follow."
"I’m in," Mayor Johnston nodded.
"Count in," the Mayor of Newcastle chid in.
"Then, ten in the morning the day after tomorrow."
Smith stubbed out his second cigarette.
"I’ll be sending Warren a very special gift."
...
Mornings in Erie City are usually gray.
Even in August or September, the wind blowing off Lake Erie still carried a hint of a chill.
But today, the air in the City Hall plaza was scalding.
A heat born of fury.
Over a thousand citizens had surrounded City Hall, packing the plaza so tightly it was impassable.
They waved empty envelopes in the air—envelopes that should have held their pension checks, but now contained nothing more than a cold "Notice of Deferred Paynt."
"CROOKS!"
"GIVE US BACK OUR HARD-EARNED MONEY!"
"RON SMITH, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!"
The furious roars crashed against the doors of City Hall like a tsunami.
Mixed in with the retired seniors were large numbers of young, able-bodied workers.
They were dressed in work clothes, clutching wrenches and hard hats.
Just yesterday, citing a "fiscal crisis," Smith had signed an ergency executive order declaring an imdiate halt to all municipal projects. The wages of the affected workers were to be deferred indefinitely.
Riot police ford a two-deep human wall, struggling to hold the crumbling line.
CRASH!
A fist-sized brick sailed over the officers’ heads and smashed a ground-floor, floor-to-ceiling window of City Hall.
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