The stark contrast created an unparalleled sense of irony.
A chain reaction began to unfold with unstoppable montum.
Alex Cortes’s campaign team was thrown into devastating chaos.
They initially tried to run damage control.
His campaign manager issued an ergency statent, claiming the paper was rely "an immature academic exploration" from Mr. Cortes’s college days and did not represent his current political position.
But this feeble defense seed utterly ridiculous in the face of the video evidence of him "blatantly lying."
His supporters, especially the idealistic young people drawn to his "purity" and "sincerity," felt deceived and betrayed.
On social dia, the popular hashtags that once supported him had now beco a carnival of rciless mockery.
Overnight, his campaign donation page was flooded with thousands of ssages demanding refunds.
His approval rating began to plumt at a precipitous rate.
And in the working-class communities of Pittsburgh, Frank Kovalsky was personally conducting a speaking tour of the major Union halls, copies of the thesis in hand.
He branded Cortes as "a Wall Street fraud who despises us workers to his very core."
The steelworkers, who had already been suspicious of Cortes’s elitist airs, had their anger utterly ignited.
The atmosphere in Representative Murphy’s campaign headquarters, however, was strangely eerie.
The latest poll numbers had just been printed out and placed on the desk of campaign manager Karen Miller.
The data showed that Representative Murphy’s approval rating had soared by fifteen percentage points overnight.
anwhile, his opponent Alex Cortes’s rating had plumted by twenty percentage points.
With this swing, Murphy was now ahead of Cortes by nearly thirty percentage points.
The party primary, once a dead heat, had lost all suspense overnight.
But no one in the office was happy.
Everyone stared in silence at the polling report, which could only be described as a miracle.
Karen Miller’s face was pale.
She handed the report to Murphy.
"John..." Her voice trembled slightly. "Wallace did this."
"These kinds of tactics..."
"He didn’t even give us a heads-up. He just detonated this bomb without any of us knowing."
Representative Murphy watched the television screen, where Alex Cortes was being sward by countless reporters, looking harried and utterly defeated.
A chill went down his spine.
He was, of course, happy about his impending victory.
But a much stronger emotion overshadowed it: fear.
It was fear of the political combat prowess Leo Wallace had displayed—a power he could neither comprehend nor control.
He realized he had recruited an aggressive political beast that could never be tad.
Representative Murphy picked up the phone and dialed Leo’s number himself.
After the call connected, he was silent for a long ti, unsure of what to say.
Finally, in a voice thick with complex emotions, he spoke.
"Leo... We won."
"But I have to admit, I’m a little scared of you."
Leo was in a prefab office at the construction site, discussing the next phase of blueprints with the engineers.
He replied calmly.
"Mr. Representative, you don’t need to be afraid of ."
"You only need to rember that we are allies."
"And I never disappoint my allies."
He hung up the phone.
Roosevelt’s voice, tinged with approval, echoed in his mind.
’Very good, my boy.’
’The essence of politics isn’t just about controlling resources. There’s another, equally important aspect: instilling awe.’
’Now, they are beginning to hold you in awe.’
’And in many cases, being held in awe is far more valuable than simply being liked.’
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