Chapter 162
: Portraying Himself as a Hero
Chapter 162: Portraying Himself as a Hero
"The second option. At the 10 o'clock hearing, you stand on the podium and announce in front of all the state's legislators and reporters that you have discovered serious loopholes in the Farm Asset Restructuring Act, which could be exploited by speculative capital from out of state and harm the fundamental interests of Indiana farmers."
"So, as the majority leader, you not only have to withdraw this bill, but you also have to introduce a new motion on the spot, the Indiana Farmers Debt Deferral Act."
"You proclaim to the entire state: You, Jim Caldwell, are the hero who defended the land of Indiana."
Caldwell looked up abruptly, a look of disbelief flashing in his eyes.
"You—you want me to betray the Mellon Corporation in public?"
Caldwell's voice was filled with fear.
"They won't let me get away with this! They have all sorts of ways to make me disappear in Chicago!"
Arthur said calmly, "They won't touch you. Because they're businessmen. Businessmen know best how to cut their losses."
He paused, then continued, "Think about it, why would the Mellon Group pay to buy you? Because you have power, and you can do things for them."
"Once you publicly reverse your position at the hearing, or get targeted by the FBI, you're essentially useless. What good will it do them to keep getting involved with you, except to create trouble for themselves?"
"Businessmen are much more pragmatic than politicians. Politicians still have some sense of decency and loyalty. Businessmen only look at the books. If the books show you have negative assets, they'll sell you off immediately without even blinking an eye."
"As for targeting you, that's even less necessary. Plotting against a state senator is too costly and risky. They'll just pretend to think, 'Who is Jim Caldwell? It's like they've never dealt with you before.'"
Arthur stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to Caldwell.
"What Wall Street gives you is just one-time dirty money. You can never put it on your asset declaration, you can never use it for your campaign, and you'll always have to worry about it being exposed one day. But what I'm giving you now is a path to a higher position."
Arthur turned around and looked at Caldwell, who was slumped on the sofa.
"Next year, Congress will pass a federal emergency agricultural relief bill. At that time, tens of millions of dollars in federal relief funds will be allocated to the Midwestern states."
"How much will each county in Indiana receive? How will it be distributed? And to whom will it be distributed? The answers to these questions will be decided by the state legislature."
"If you're on the right side today, you're a hero in the eyes of the farmers. When the relief funds arrive, Russell Harrison will hand over the distribution coordination authority within the state to you."
Caldwell's pupils contracted sharply.
He certainly understood what this meant. Tens of millions of dollars in federal funds—even if he only took one percent as an "administrative coordination fee," that would still be hundreds of thousands of dollars in legitimate income.
More importantly, controlling the distribution of relief funds is tantamount to controlling the voting lifeline of the entire agricultural county in Indiana.
Bankrupt farmers and smallholders driven to desperation by banks will line up at polling stations on election day to vote for the person who gave them money.
He recalled the farmers he had seen during his inspection tour of the countryside.
Those people were skin and bones, wearing clothes covered in patches, and their eyes were as empty as those of the dead.
Their land was taken away by the bank, their house was auctioned off by the court, and the family was crammed into a tent set up by the roadside, surviving by scavenging garbage and receiving relief porridge.
If those people knew who helped them get the relief funds, they would treat him like a living saint.
This is worth ten thousand times more than the dirty money Wall Street promised.
"You—you can guarantee that?" Caldwell's voice was still trembling, but there was already a wavering in his eyes.
"I guarantee it, as long as your performance today is good enough."
Arthur picked up the draft of the investigation initiation letter from the coffee table and waved it in front of Caldwell.
"This will be locked away in Russell's safe forever. It's insurance, not a judgment. As long as you stay on our side from now on, it will never see the light of day."
Caldwell stared at the document, his mind racing.
His father was a small farmer who spent his whole life growing corn in southern Indiana.
The old man had hardly any formal education, but he taught him one thing:
In this world, only two kinds of people can live well: those who are ruthless and those who are intelligent. Ruthless people can trample others down, while intelligent people can ensure they always stand on the winning side.
If his father were still alive, he would definitely ask him: Are you a smart enough person now?
Caldwell closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Fear and ambition clashed fiercely in his mind.
On one side lies the abyss of disgrace and imprisonment; on the other, a meteoric rise in political prospects.
Ultimately, ambition triumphed over fear.
"I—I need a promise from you. After today is over, you and Harrison must publicly support me. That way they won't kill me."
"That's easy. After the hearing, I will write a special article for the Vanguard newspaper to show our support for you."
"By the way, I'll portray you as a positive figure who was misled by Wall Street but eventually saw the error of his ways. This will only benefit your political reputation."
Caldwell nodded repeatedly, as if grasping at a last straw.
He had already begun planning the next steps in his mind.
How can I write a speech that will convince the reporters that I am being sincere?
The first paragraph describes how miserable the farmers he saw during his research trip were.
Then, it is necessary to announce the withdrawal of that bill and propose a new motion.
The final paragraph should express a determination to make Indiana's agriculture great again.
Before he could finish his internal monologue, Arthur walked toward the door and said without turning back, "Forty minutes until the hearing, Senator. Go wash your face and rewrite your speech. Make sure every reporter here believes you are genuinely on the side of the Indiana farmers."
The door opened and then closed.
Caldwell sat alone in the cigar room, drenched in cold sweat. He stared at the documents on the coffee table, at the hole burned by the cigar, and at his still trembling hands.
He had just completed a deal, a deal that could send him to heaven or hell.
But he had no choice.
He stood up, went into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and splashed his face with cold water.
He wiped his face, walked out of the bathroom, went to his desk, picked up a pen, and began to write on a blank sheet of paper.
He wanted to portray himself as a hero.