Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

Chapter 348 - 167: Food Chain

He had transformed every municipal agency—originally created to serve the public and maintain order—into a deadly weapon for attacking his enemies.

This was the taste of power, and also its terror.

Previously, the directors of these departments had taken their orders from Morganfield, meekly submitting to the oligarch.

But now, through his recent purges, reorganizations, and the establishment of the "Pittsburgh Revitalization Executive Bureau," Leo had seized firm control of these administrative powers.

"This will cause a huge backlash." Ethan closed his notebook, his tone filled with worry. "Morganfield’s legal team will pounce like a pack of mad dogs."

"Let them."

Leo adjusted his collar and sat back down in his chair.

"In the Pittsburgh of today, my word still counts for something."

Ethan nodded and said no more.

He could feel Leo’s resolve—that ruthless drive to draw blood from his opponent, no matter the cost.

He turned and strode out of the office to oversee the execution of these directives.

The office door closed.

Leo was well aware that this was merely the first wave of the attack.

Douglas Morganfield was an old alligator who had been entrenched in Pittsburgh for decades. His hide was thick, and his teeth were sharp.

This administrative harassment could make him hurt, make him bleed, and even cause him heavy losses, but it would be difficult to land a fatal blow.

Morganfield would certainly be ready to strike back.

He would file for court injunctions, use his state-level connections to apply pressure, and mobilize the media he controlled to accuse Leo of "political persecution" and of destroying the business environment.

This was going to be a war of attrition, a brutal fight in the mud.

Leo was prepared for a long, drawn-out fight.

Across Pittsburgh, the administrative machine roared to life with a deafening screech.

「North Shore, Morganfield Logistics Park.」

Several red fire trucks came roaring up and parked sideways across the main gate, blocking all traffic in and out.

A dozen or so uniformed fire inspectors jumped out, holding official seals and body cameras.

The park manager, a bald, middle-aged man, was used to this sort of thing.

He plastered on a smile and approached them, deftly pulling a pack of expensive cigarettes from his pocket.

"Well now, if it isn’t Captain Williams?" the manager said, trying to offer him a cigarette. "What brings you here? You could have given me a heads-up, I would’ve arranged for..."

"Step back!"

Captain Williams coldly brushed the pack of cigarettes aside.

"We’ve received a tip-off about a major fire hazard on these premises."

"All personnel, evacuate now! We’re conducting a full lockdown inspection!"

The manager froze.

He had never seen the captain—a man he often drank with—look so stern.

He tried to grab the captain’s sleeve, intending to slip him an envelope he had prepared in advance.

"Captain, come on. We’re old friends. This is just a small..."

"Don’t touch me!"

Williams snapped, his eyes glinting with an unprecedented resolve.

"Who said we’re friends? This is official business!"

"If you dare obstruct this investigation, I’ll have the police arrest you!"

The manager’s hand froze in mid-air. As he looked at their cold, impassive faces, he suddenly realized that this time, the old rules no longer applied.

A similar scene was playing out in the employee cafeteria of the Morganfield headquarters building.

Health Department inspectors swarmed the place like a pack of hounds, turning everything upside down and leaving no corner unchecked.

"This beef’s inspection stamp is blurry. Mark it down!"

"The walk-in freezer is half a degree too warm. That’s a violation. Write it up for correction!"

"This chef’s nails are too long. Revoke his health certificate!"

Minor issues that were normally overlooked were now being blown completely out of proportion.

The cafeteria manager tried to explain, but his only answer was a stack of fines and a glaring red seal that read: "SHUT DOWN FOR RECTIFICATION."

At the entrance and exit of every Morganfield logistics center, traffic police were pulling over every single truck bearing the Morganfield logo.

The drivers, stuck in long lines, laid on their horns in frustration.

But the traffic police were unmoved.

They used calipers to measure tire treads and flashlights to inspect the undercarriage; they even got down on the ground to check if every single bolt was tight.

"Crack in the left rear mudflap. Impound the truck!"

"Brake light brightness is insufficient. Issue a fine!"

"Suspected driver fatigue. Take him in for questioning!"

It was a siege without a single shot fired.

Driven by Leo’s will, the vast machine of administrative power bared its fangs.

Morganfield was bleeding.

Time ticked by, second by second.

「Three o’clock in the afternoon.」

Sunlight slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, falling across the desk.

On it lay the first shutdown report, just sent over by the fire department.

The report stated that Morganfield’s Warehouse Number Three on the North Shore had been sealed and ordered to shut down for two weeks of rectification, citing "obstructed fire access routes" and "insufficient pressure in several fire extinguishers."

It was a good start.

Leo picked up his pen and signed the report.

He wondered when Morganfield’s first counterattack would come.

Perhaps a court summons in the morning, or a major headline tonight.

BANG!

The office door was suddenly slammed open.

Sarah rushed in.

She was holding up a tablet, an incredulous look on her face.

"Leo! Ethan! You have to see this!"

Sarah’s voice was sharp, laced with utter shock.

She placed the tablet on the desk, her trembling fingers turning up the volume.