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Chapter 25: Welcome to the Ruins (2 in 1)
As Roosevelt’s voice faded, an organizational chart of Pittsburgh’s municipal government appeared in Leo’s mind.
It was an incredibly complex network, composed of dozens of departments and committees, densely interconnected and intertwined.
"Now, let us analyze this map," Roosevelt's voice said calmly, helping Leo calm down despite the overwhelming complexity of the chart.
"The Treasury Department, Police Department, and City Planning Committee—these are the core pillars of Mayor Cartwright’s power structure. They control the city’s purse strings, its guns, and its land-use decisions. None of these core departments will be handed over to you. Don’t even think about it."
Leo scanned the names of those departments.
"What about the non-core departments? Like the Parks and Recreation Department or the Public Library Committee?"
"Those positions may seem nice, but they’re nothing more than decorative roles with no real power," Roosevelt quickly dismissed. "Placing you there would be like putting you in a gilded cage. You’d spend your days attending ribbon-cutting ceremonies and community book clubs, slowly turning into a harmless mascot under the media spotlight."
"What we need is a place they’ve completely ignored, a place they consider worthless but where we can produce gold."
Roosevelt’s consciousness guided Leo’s gaze across the intricate organizational chart.
It finally settled on a name tucked away in the most obscure corner of the diagram.
Pittsburgh’s "Urban Revival Commission."
"What is this place?" Leo asked, unfamiliar with the name.
"A forgotten zombie agency," Roosevelt replied.
He began explaining the history of this commission.
The Urban Revival Commission was established in the 1980s when Pittsburgh’s steel industry collapsed, plunging the city into severe decline. Its original purpose was to plan and coordinate the city’s rebuilding efforts, revitalizing neighborhoods devastated by factory closures.
In its early years, the commission wielded significant power and had a substantial budget. But as Pittsburgh’s economy shifted toward healthcare and education, with development focusing on downtown and university districts, the commission was gradually marginalized.
The old industrial neighborhoods in the Rust Belt were abandoned by city planners.
The Urban Revival Commission became a moribund department, existing in name only. While it still nominally handled urban revival projects, it had no funding or real authority since the city stopped allocating resources to it.
Of its twelve seats, most remained vacant year after year. The commission now consisted of just a few employees nearing retirement, who spent their days drinking coffee, reading newspapers, and keeping the office minimally operational.
"A zombie agency?" Leo sounded disappointed. "What use is a place like that? Even if we go there, we won’t be able to do anything."
"On the contrary, child," Roosevelt’s voice carried a hint of excitement. "That’s precisely its greatest value."
"First, because it’s a zombie agency, Cartwright will throw it at you without hesitation. For him, it’s a perfect solution. It places you—a troublesome figure—into a powerless backwater where you can’t cause any trouble, while allowing him to appear magnanimous and forgiving to the public."
"Second, and most importantly," Roosevelt’s tone grew serious, "although this commission is now a zombie, its legal mandate remains intact—and vast."
"According to the municipal ordinance that created this commission, its jurisdiction covers nearly every aspect of urban revival: from infrastructure upgrades in old neighborhoods to retraining programs for unemployed workers, to environmental remediation and redevelopment of abandoned industrial sites."
"It’s like a Swiss Army knife forgotten in a warehouse—dusty but fully functional."
"And it holds a special power that even Mayor Cartwright might have forgotten."
Roosevelt’s consciousness retrieved the original text of the municipal ordinance in Leo’s mind.
He highlighted a specific clause for Leo to see:
"The Urban Revival Commission has the authority, on behalf of the City of Pittsburgh, to directly apply to federal agencies for ‘urban development and revival’ funds without needing approval from the Pennsylvania state government."
"Do you understand what this means, Leo?"
Leo’s heart began racing. "This means we have a chance to bypass Cartwright and his allies’ iron grip on the city and state budgets, and directly secure funding from Washington."
"Exactly right," Roosevelt confirmed. "It’s like a small backdoor in their power structure. And through this backdoor, we’ll bring in the resources we need."
The target was set.
Now, they needed to devise a specific negotiation strategy.
Roosevelt crafted a flawless script for Leo.
"Call Jennings back immediately," Roosevelt instructed. "Be proactive, act as though you’ve already eagerly made your decision."
"When the call connects, sincerely thank the mayor for his offer, but humbly decline the position of Deputy Director of Community Relations."
"Tell him that after careful consideration, you believe you’re not suited for the complex coordination work required in government. Present yourself as an inexperienced idealist."
"Then, play up your naivety." Roosevelt’s tone turned mischievous.
"Tell him your sole interest lies in doing tangible work for Pittsburgh’s declining neighborhoods. You don’t care about titles or salaries."
"Next, casually mention that you’ve heard of a place called the Urban Revival Commission. Add that although it seems useless and undesirable now, you—Leo Wallace—are willing to take it. You don’t care about fame, status, or pay. You’re even willing to volunteer, serving the community out of pure dedication."
Leo almost laughed at Roosevelt’s clever design.
"What will they think?" Leo asked.
Roosevelt chuckled.
"They’ll think you’re a fool driven by passion, completely clueless about how power works."
"They’ll toss you, a troublesome threat, into what they see as a garbage dump, leaving you to rot forever with no hope of rising again."
"They’ll eagerly grant your seemingly foolish request."
"And amidst their mockery, we’ll secure our first base of operations."
Leo picked up the phone and dialed Mark Jennings’ number.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed the call button.
The phone connected quickly.
Mark Jennings’ voice came through the receiver, tinged with anticipation.
"Mr. Wallace, have you made your decision?"
Leo followed Roosevelt’s script.
"Mr. Jennings, I must once again thank the mayor for his kindness and recognition," Leo said earnestly. "It’s an excellent position, one that anyone would find appealing."
"But," he shifted tone, "after careful thought, I realize I’m not suited for such important coordination work within the bureaucracy. I’m just a student, inexperienced and not particularly skilled at navigating complex relationships."
Jennings fell silent for a moment.
"So, you mean you’re rejecting the mayor’s offer?" His voice betrayed surprise.
"Yes," Leo replied. "But please don’t misunderstand me. My rejection isn’t due to any issue with the city government—it’s because I know my own limitations."
"My sole interest is doing tangible work for Pittsburgh’s declining neighborhoods. I don’t care about rank or salary. I just want to find a place where I can contribute my knowledge and skills to the city’s revival."
He paused, then casually dropped the real target.
"I’ve heard there’s a department called the Urban Revival Commission. I looked into it, and its responsibilities align perfectly with the community issues I care about. I know it’s not a popular place, and there’s no budget."
"But if possible, I’d like to work there. I don’t care about fame, status, or pay. I’m even willing to volunteer, serving the community purely out of dedication. As long as I get the chance to work for those forgotten neighborhoods, I’ll be satisfied."
After Leo finished speaking, a long silence stretched on the other end of the line.
He could almost picture Jennings suppressing laughter, his face turning red.
After a while, Jennings finally spoke again.
His voice dripped with condescension and barely concealed amusement.
"Mr. Wallace, I must say, your spirit of selfless dedication deeply impresses me," Jennings said. "You’re a true idealist, a model for young people in this era."
"Rest assured, I’ll report your idea to the mayor immediately. I’m sure he’ll support a young person with such ambition."
The outcome unfolded exactly as Roosevelt predicted. Jennings readily agreed to Leo’s request.
A week later, an inconspicuous appointment notice appeared on the city government’s official website.
Community activist and history graduate student Leo Wallace was appointed as an executive member of Pittsburgh’s Urban Revival Commission.
The appointment took effect immediately.
Leo’s annual salary wasn’t $80,000, but it was ultimately set at $33,500.
This appointment caused no ripples in Pittsburgh’s political or public opinion circles.
The Pittsburgh Chronicle even published a brief editorial piece in their commentary section.
The author wrote in a mocking tone:
"The radical young man who once shone at the hearing has ultimately bowed to reality, accepting the city government’s recruitment. Only now, he’s been exiled to an obscure corner. His political career hasn’t even begun, and it’s already over."
Leo tossed the newspaper into the trash.
He put on his secondhand suit and, for the first time as a municipal employee, headed toward City Hall.
Descending the stairs to the basement level of City Hall, he entered a dimly lit area filled with the musty smell of old paper and dust.
At the end of the corridor, a peeling wooden door bore a small brass plaque:
"Urban Revival Commission."
Leo pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The office was cluttered with outdated filing cabinets and stacks of reports tied together with string.
The single window was small and high, allowing little sunlight to filter in.
The only occupant was a Black female secretary in her blue dress, her gray hair framing a slightly plump figure, leisurely painting her nails bright red.
Hearing the door open, she glanced up lazily.
"You’re the new commissioner?"
"Yes, I’m Leo Wallace."
The secretary nodded, pulling a key from her drawer and tossing it onto the desk.
"I’m Gloria," she said. "Welcome to the commission, kid."
"That desk in the corner is yours. Inside the filing cabinet are all the abandoned urban revival reports we’ve written over the past decade. You can use them as pillows."
"The restroom is down the hall to the left. The coffee machine broke a month ago, and no one’s fixed it, so don’t expect any coffee."
With that, she returned her focus to her nail polish, ignoring Leo entirely.
Leo picked up the key and walked to his assigned desk.
A thin layer of dust coated its surface.
Looking around this office, utterly forgotten by power, Leo felt neither disappointment nor despair. Instead, his eyes burned with an unprecedented fire.
He knew this ruin of an office was his New York State Capitol, his Navy Department, the starting point for everything he would achieve.
It was a blank canvas abandoned by everyone.
And his brush was ready.
Roosevelt’s voice echoed in his mind, brimming with the fervor of a new era about to begin.
"Good, child. Our base of operations has been established."
"Now, let’s make the first stroke."
"It’s time to ask the bureaucrats in Washington for money—and use federal funds to undermine our dear mayor’s stronghold."
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