"And the reason? A ridiculous technical violation!"
Sanders’s piercing gaze swept across the senior mbers of the Democratic National Committee seated opposite him at the conference table.
"I know whose idea this was, and I know what you’re trying to do."
"You’re afraid he’ll win. You’re afraid a disobedient Progressive Mayor will destroy the web of interests you’ve so carefully woven in Pennsylvania."
"But let tell you sothing."
Sanders’s voice was heavy with nace.
"This isn’t just a personal attack on Mr. Wallace. This is an outright assault on the party’s democratic process!"
"If we start conducting this kind of purge during the primary stage, what right do we have to accuse the Republican Party of voter suppression?"
The chairman’s face darkened, and he tried to interrupt Sanders.
"Senator, this is a eting about resource allocation. We can discuss individual cases after..."
"This IS a resource allocation issue!" Sanders raised his voice, cutting off the chairman. "Data is the most critical resource!"
"Let make myself perfectly clear."
Sanders’s gaze swept the room as he delivered his ultimatum.
"If the Democratic National Committee cannot guarantee all of our candidates—whether they’re moderates or Progressives—a fair, just, and transparent primary environnt."
"If this farce in Pittsburgh isn’t corrected within twenty-four hours, and if the responsible parties don’t apologize to Mr. Wallace."
"Then, everyone."
Sanders paused for a mont.
"What happened in the House of Representatives, the failure of that vote, will be just the beginning."
"We will be forced to re-evaluate all our voting positions in the Senate."
"We will even consider calling on our supporters to boycott any candidates who erge from this unfair process in next year’s midterm elections."
"You want a civil war? Fine. We’ll give you a civil war."
With that, Sanders turned and walked out of the conference room.
He left behind a room full of party leaders, their faces ashen.
Montoya, sitting in the corner, watched Sanders’s retreating back and wearily rubbed his temples.
’There was no keeping a lid on this Pittsburgh ss anymore.’
’To derail Congress’s entire legislative agenda over a mayoral primary... the price was simply too high.’
’The Establishnt Faction had to back down.’
...
That closed-door eting of the Democratic National Committee’s "Rules and Bylaws Committee" ended in a suffocating silence.
After the crowd in the conference room dispersed, House Majority Whip Kod Montoya had his driver take him back to the Congress Building.
Montoya pushed open his office door and threw his rain-soaked trench coat on the sofa.
He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of bourbon, but he didn’t drink it, just stared blankly at the amber liquid.
As the number three Democrat in the House of Representatives, his position as Whip ca with only one core responsibility.
Counting votes. He had to ensure every mber of his flock was in the right pen at the right ti.
He had to ensure the Democratic Party’s agenda passed smoothly through the House of Representatives, and that party unity was maintained, at least on the surface.
But everything that had happened in the past few days was destroying the order he had maintained for years.
The failed vote in the House of Representatives on the andnt to the Regional Economic Recovery Bill wasn’t just a legislative setback. It was a dangerous signal.
It ant the political truce within the party had been broken.
Sanders and his Progressive allies weren’t just grumbling this ti; they were truly ready to flip the table.
Montoya had to figure out exactly where things had gone wrong.
Who, at this critical mont with the midterms looming, had lit the fuse on the powder keg that was Pittsburgh.
He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed an internal number.
"I want to see you in my office in half an hour."
His tone left no room for argunt.
The person on the other end of the line was the Vice Chair of the Democratic National Committee responsible for overseeing state party affairs, Harun Graves.
A typical creature of Washington, a career bureaucrat who had toiled in the party apparatus for thirty years, and a staunch gatekeeper for the Establishnt Faction.
「Thirty minutes later.」
Harun Graves arrived at Montoya’s office, right on ti.
He looked a bit disheveled; his tie was crooked, and a few drops of rain still clung to his forehead.
"Sit."
Montoya pointed to the chair across from his desk.
Graves sat, anxiously wringing his hands.
"Kod, it’s so late. Is there sothing urgent?"
Montoya didn’t answer. He simply slid a copy of the notice—the one about the Pittsburgh VAN System being blocked—across the desk to Graves.
"Explain this to , Harun."
Montoya’s voice was quiet.
"A mayoral primary in Pittsburgh, a local election that wouldn’t even make national news, how did it escalate to the point where Daniel Sanders is ready to turn on us in the House of Representatives?"
"How did it cause us to lose fifteen votes on a key bill?"
"How did it lead to us being called election-rigging liars to our faces in a Rules Committee eting?"
Graves glanced at the docunt, his eyes darting away.
"Kod, this is... this is a technical compliance issue."
He tried to fob him off with the usual official jargon.
"According to the latest data security regulations, we found that the data interface of that candidate in Pittsburgh posed a risk. This is just a routine review. You know, we have to ensure..."
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