Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt-Chapter 81 - 61: Thunder

Washington D.C., the Hart Senate Office Building.

Outside the window, a cold, ceaseless rain was falling. The gray sky pressed down on the dome of Capitol Hill.

In Daniel Sanders’s office, the old man sat behind a desk piled high with documents and books, holding a freshly printed brief in his hand.

His senior political advisor, Marcus Reynolds, stood before the desk, giving Sanders an update.

"What’s the word from Ethan?" Sanders asked without looking up, his eyes still fixed on the document in his hand.

"Wallace has ceased all activity," Marcus reported. "He tore up the legal letter Karen had prepared and canceled the press release Sarah had arranged. No public complaints, no sign of any attempt to blow things up in the media."

"He told his team to keep working in the office as if nothing happened."

Sanders turned a page, the corners of his mouth lifting into a slight smile.

"That kid has a political sense beyond his years." Sanders took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Most young people in this situation would immediately start screaming bloody murder or try to cover up their powerlessness with more noise. They think it’s courage, but it’s just stupidity."

"Wallace understands the situation. He knows this is trench warfare, not a street brawl. When the heavy artillery starts coming down, a smart soldier finds cover, preserves his strength, and waits for an opportunity to counterattack after the barrage."

Marcus nodded. "He’s certainly keeping his cool. Ethan said he’s even calming his team down, telling them this is a battle of titans."

"A battle of titans," Sanders repeated. "An interesting metaphor. Since he’s kicked the ball into our court and shown he knows the rules, we can’t let him down."

The old man stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the dome of the Congress Building in the rain.

A local bureaucrat of Carter Wright’s level was nothing but a clown in his eyes.

What truly disgusted him was the Washington Establishment Faction, the ones hiding behind the scenes, manipulating the rules, and trying to strangle any uncontrollable elements in the cradle.

This operation against Pittsburgh was a test for the Progressives, and a warning.

If he didn’t do something, the same drama would soon play out in Ohio, in Michigan, in Wisconsin.

"Marcus," Sanders said, turning around, his tone turning icy. "Notify our people in the House of Representatives. Tell them it’s time to begin."

...

The next afternoon, in the chamber of the House of Representatives.

The Speaker sat on the high rostrum, banging the gavel to advance the day’s agenda.

There was only one core item on the agenda for today: a vote on the third supplementary clause of the Regional Economic Recovery Bill.

This was a key piece of legislation drafted by the White House, with the full backing of the Democratic Party leadership in Congress.

The clause planned to allocate an additional five billion US Dollars in dedicated funding for transportation infrastructure to several key swing states, including Pennsylvania and Michigan.

The purpose was crystal clear: to pave the way for next year’s midterm elections and use cold, hard cash to shore up the Democratic Party’s precarious standing in the Rust Belt.

As far as anyone was concerned, this was just a routine vote.

The Republican Party would certainly vote against it unanimously, but that didn’t matter. The Democratic Party held a sufficient majority in the House of Representatives; as long as the party remained united, the bill would pass.

The voting began.

The numbers on the electronic scoreboard began to change.

The green numbers, representing "yea" votes, took an early lead, with the red "nay" numbers trailing close behind.

Standing in the aisle, the Whip, the number three Democrat in the House of Representatives, Kod Montoya, was joking casually with a colleague.

Three days before the vote, his team had already confirmed every representative’s intentions.

There were no problems.

However, with only two minutes left to vote, something went wrong.

The green number on the scoreboard suddenly stopped climbing, stuck in an awkward position—15 votes short of the 218 needed for a majority.

The smile vanished from Montoya’s face.

He quickly looked toward the seating area on the left side of the House chamber. A group of representatives sat there, bolt upright in their chairs, arms crossed, staring ahead with blank expressions.

Those were the core members of the Progressive caucus.

They hadn’t pressed the green "yea" button, nor had they pressed the red "nay" button.

They had pressed the yellow "present" button.

They abstained.

The seconds ticked by.

Montoya snatched up his phone and frantically dialed the numbers of the leading representatives, but no one answered.

"Voting is closed!"

With a bang of the Speaker’s gavel, the numbers on the scoreboard froze.

The bill failed to pass by a narrow margin.

The entire chamber instantly erupted.

Gleeful laughter and applause broke out from the Republican side of the chamber.

They never expected the Democratic Party to trip over its own feet on an issue like this.

The Democratic side, however, was in an uproar.

Representatives stared at each other, a mixture of anger, shock, and confusion spreading through the air.

This was a blatant betrayal, a mutiny without any warning.

Montoya stood in the middle of the aisle, the sheet of paper he’d been using to track the vote results now crumpled into a useless ball in his hand.

He glared at his colleagues who had abstained, his eyes burning with fury.

As the Party Whip, this was the most direct humiliation of his authority.

...

Half an hour later, in Montoya’s office.

The office was located on the first floor of the Congress Building, just a stone’s throw from the chamber.

At this moment, the office door was shut tight.

Montoya sat in his leather chair, forcefully suppressing the rage in his chest.

Sitting across from him were Senator Sanders, who had rushed over after hearing the news, and two of the Progressive Representatives who had led the abstention in the House just moments ago.

"Daniel, what the hell are you trying to do?"

Montoya’s voice was low and deep.

"At a critical juncture like this, right before the midterms, you people actually worked together to kill our own bill? Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for the White House? You’re handing the Republican Party a weapon!"

He slammed his hand on the desk, leaned forward, and stared daggers at Sanders.

"Was there a problem that couldn’t be resolved in the caucus meeting? Why resort to such an extreme method? I want an explanation!"

Sanders leaned back on the sofa, his expression perfectly composed.

"Kod, calm down," Sanders said deliberately. "We didn’t oppose the bill. We simply abstained."

"Is there a difference? The result is the bill didn’t pass!" Montoya roared.

"We just felt that this supplementary clause gave too many subsidies to large construction contractors and included too few wage protection provisions for frontline workers," Sanders began to explain. "Our constituents cannot accept this practice of stuffing taxpayer money directly into the pockets of big corporations. As Progressives, we must stand by our principles."

Montoya let out a cold laugh.

"Cut the crap, Daniel. We already discussed these disagreements over wage protection details last week, and you didn’t express such strong opposition then. If it was just about this, you could have proposed an amendment instead of launching a surprise attack."

He’d been in Washington for forty years; there wasn’t a political trick he hadn’t seen.

That kind of excuse might fool the public, but trying to pull it on him, the Party Whip, was an insult to his intelligence.

"Be straight with me," Montoya said, staring into Sanders’s eyes. "What do you want? A committee chairmanship? Or to stuff a specific project into the appropriations list? Name your price."

Sanders was silent for a moment.

He knew the time was right.