"Sixty percent!"
"In a Swing State like this, even presidential elections are decided by a razor-thin margin, let alone a party primary. Expecting this kind of lopsided vote share at the last minute is just a fool’s dream."
"This is the power of the Establishnt Faction."
Murphy let out a bitter laugh, his eyes losing focus.
"This margin isn’t even small enough to trigger a recount."
"Philadelphia’s population base is what it is, and Monroe’s base there has sealed his victory. Even though we gave it our all in the rural areas, even though we dragged every last miner to the polls, we still couldn’t fill the massive hole that is Philadelphia."
He turned his head and looked at Leo.
"Leo, we’ve lost."
"I was too naive, thinking we could turn the tables with five hundred million US Dollars in bonds."
"We were just caught up in our own hype."
Murphy put down the bottle and covered his face with his hands.
"Karen."
He called out.
Karen Miller was standing in front of a table piled high with data reports. Her face was pale, but she maintained the composure of a professional manager.
"I’m here, boss."
"Get it ready."
Murphy’s voice was tinged with a weary resignation.
"Prepare the concession speech."
"Make it dignified. We have to congratulate Vice Governor Monroe, call for party unity, thank our supporters for their efforts... You know how to write it, all that damn boilerplate."
"I don’t want to wait until the very last vote is counted to go up there and embarrass myself."
"Let’s concede now, while the margin still looks sowhat respectable."
Karen pursed her lips.
She glanced at the big screen, then back at Murphy.
As a rational data analyst, she knew the probability of a coback was, statistically speaking, close to zero.
Ninety-four percent of the votes counted, a one-point-two percent gap.
Once a trend like this is established, it’s like a boulder rolling downhill—very difficult to reverse.
"Okay, boss."
Karen sighed, sat back down at her computer, and opened a new docunt.
The sound of keyboard clicks echoed in the quiet room.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
Leo Wallace stood in the shadows of the data screen, a glass of ice water in his hand.
The ice cubes clinked faintly against the side of the glass.
’Mr. President.’
Leo thought to himself.
’Is this really the end?’
’Did Philadelphia’s machine crush Pittsburgh’s steel? Did the elites defeat the workers?’
Though these were his thoughts, the fire in his eyes hadn’t been extinguished.
He refused to accept it.
Leo gritted his teeth. "We still have a chance, right?"
Roosevelt’s voice echoed in his mind.
"Of course there’s still a chance, my boy."
"Look at Murphy’s dejected state. This is why I chose you—because you have a heart that refuses to admit defeat."
"Only ninety-four percent of the votes have been counted," Roosevelt said. "That ans six percent of the ballots haven’t been tallied yet."
Leo frowned. "But based on what Murphy just said, the remaining ballots should follow the current trend. Philadelphia’s votes will keep Monroe in the lead, and our votes won’t be enough to close the gap. Statistics don’t lie."
"Statistics are lifeless."
Roosevelt scoffed.
"On election night, only one thing is alive."
"And that’s the outlier."
"Think about it. Why are these six percent of ballots left over?"
"Why weren’t they scanned and counted imdiately like the others?"
Roosevelt lowered his voice.
"Because there’s sothing wrong with them."
"They’re provisional ballots, mail-in ballots, and ballots from overseas military personnel."
"These are the ballots that were rejected by the machines because of blurry signatures, unclear postmarks, or minor discrepancies in voter registration information. They’ve been piled in a corner at the board of elections, waiting for manual review."
"And where in Pennsylvania do you find the highest concentration of these kinds of ballots?"
Leo’s mind raced.
He rembered the past few months, how they had mobilized a huge number of working-class people who had never voted before—poor residents who didn’t even have driver’s licenses, and truck drivers who spent their lives on the road.
Many of these people were registering to vote for the first ti.
Many of them couldn’t vote in person on election day due to their jobs, so they had to vote by mail.
And because they weren’t used to filling out forms, their ballots were likely to be classified as "problem ballots."
"They’re our people."
Leo realized with a jolt.
"A large portion of that six percent... they’re our voters."
"Exactly,"
Roosevelt said approvingly.
"Those well-educated, middle-class voters in Philadelphia? They fill out every form properly. Their votes were counted long ago."
"The ones left over, the ones set aside, are often the working class, the ones the system overlooks."
"This six percent isn’t trash."
"It’s a gold mine."
"These uncounted ballots are the key to victory or defeat."
"As long as we can dig up these votes, as long as we can prove they’re legitimate..."
"A fifteen-thousand-vote gap?"
Roosevelt snorted with contempt.
"That’s nothing more than a paper-thin barrier."
Leo tightened his grip on the glass.
"Karen!"
His sharp shout shattered the silence in the room.
Karen, who had been typing, jumped, her fingers hovering in midair.
She turned her head to look at Leo.
Murphy also looked up, his drunken eyes hazy as he stared at the young man who had suddenly spoken out.
"What is it?" Karen asked. "I was writing the conclusion..."
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