Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt-Chapter 70 - 55: The Silent Giant Crocodile

"You’re right, you did mention it," Morganfield said with a nod. "But your proposal only told me how much we’d have to spend. It never told me where the money would come from."

"That young man, on the other hand, told me he can get the money from Washington. And that he can handle those troublesome port Unions."

Morganfield spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"Look, Martin. I’m a businessman. I have to answer to my shareholders and the tens of thousands of employees in my group."

"Right now, there’s an opportunity on the table that could double the Group’s profits over the next decade. For that, I have to make some compromises."

"The young man’s condition was that I remain neutral in this primary."

Carter Wright felt like his lungs were about to explode.

"So you believed him? A wet-behind-the-ears kid? He can handle Washington? He can handle the Union? He’s selling you a pipe dream! Douglas, have you gone senile?"

Morganfield’s eyes instantly went cold.

"Watch your tone, Martin."

"I’ve been in business for forty years, and my judgment has never failed me. That young man is far more complex, and far more dangerous, than you imagine."

"Besides, it’s not like I’m abandoning you."

Morganfield’s expression softened into one of grave sincerity.

"Martin, you need to have more confidence in yourself. You’re the incumbent Mayor. You control all of City Hall’s resources. You still have so many friends in the Establishment Faction."

"Even without my money, surely you can defeat a student with no political base?"

"If you need me to spoon-feed you this victory like a nanny, then you really don’t deserve to keep that seat."

The words were utterly devastating.

Carter Wright opened his mouth, but found he couldn’t say a word in rebuttal.

He understood.

Morganfield was interested in the port expansion plan Leo had brought to the table. That plan would certainly make the Group’s balance sheet look a lot better.

But that wasn’t the only reason he’d chosen to remain neutral, or even the main one.

The real reason was that for an oligarch as deeply entrenched in Pittsburgh as Douglas Morganfield, there was simply no need to gamble.

In his corner of Pittsburgh, he was the weather. He was gravity.

It didn’t matter who ultimately sat in the chair at City Hall.

Whether it was Carter Wright, with whom he’d shared whiskey for eight years, or that wet-behind-the-ears kid Leo out on some construction site, they would all have to rely on the Morganfield Family’s steel, logistics, and capital if they wanted to keep the city’s machinery running, if they didn’t want the fiscal reports to collapse.

When the house always wins, why rush to place a bet?

Besides, in Morganfield’s view, Carter Wright had gotten far too comfortable these past few years.

That comfort had made the Mayor dull, even fostering a ridiculous arrogance, as if the seat he occupied was his by birthright, as if he could truly stand shoulder-to-shoulder with a Morganfield.

That wouldn’t do.

Since this young wolf, Leo Wallace, wanted to charge in and take a bite, then let him.

Putting some pressure on the incumbent Mayor, letting him bleed a little, giving him a scare, even letting him be publicly humiliated—it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.

It would be a wake-up call for Carter Wright. It would make him remember the taste of fear, make him recall just how fragile he was in the brutal arena of politics without Morganfield having his back.

So, he didn’t mind doing Leo a small favor and maintaining his so-called "neutrality."

As for whether he’d completely alienate Carter Wright in the process?

Morganfield looked at the fuming Mayor before him and sneered inwardly.

’That wasn’t even a possibility.’

Even if Carter Wright actually managed to win re-election, the very next morning, the Mayor would be back in this cigar room, glass in hand, obediently begging for Morganfield’s forgiveness and thanking him for his "non-interference."

Because Morganfield knew full well that his Morganfield Industrial Group controlled forty percent of the building material supply in Pittsburgh and its surrounding areas.

If City Hall wanted to repair a single street or reinforce a single bridge over the river, the contracts would ultimately flow to his cement and steel plants.

He didn’t just control bricks and mortar; he controlled livelihoods.

His logistics parks, processing plants, and hospital system employed, directly or indirectly, over ten thousand people.

Whoever sat in the Mayor’s chair, if they wanted to fulfill their campaign promises, lower the unemployment rate, and keep the city’s lifeblood pumping, they would have to play by Morganfield’s rules.

Because in Pittsburgh, no one could survive without Morganfield.

Such was the confidence of capital.

Such was the power of a regional oligarch.

He didn’t need to be the Mayor, because he owned the city.

Carter Wright rose to his feet.

He snatched the glass from the table, downed the whiskey in one go, and slammed the empty glass back down.

"Fine," Carter Wright said through clenched teeth. "In that case, Mr. Morganfield, we’ll just see about that."

"I’ll prove to you that you backed the wrong horse."

"I’m going to tear that kid to shreds with my own two hands. When I do, don’t come crying to me."

With that, he spun around and strode out of the cigar room.

Behind him, Morganfield watched his furious retreat, simply shaking his head before taking another drag from his cigar.