The donor's name was anonymous.
But he left a simple message behind.
"My father was once a worker at the Homestead Factory. After he lost his job, he received training in electrical skills at that community center. That new job gave our family a chance to start over. Now, it's my turn."
Leo looked at the message, at the donation total still ticking up on the backend screen, and at all the words of support and encouragement.
For the first time, he truly felt the power of the words "fame" and "the people."
It was a power more precious than money, more solid than authority.
Roosevelt's voice echoed in his mind.
"See? We have the money and the people."
"Now, we can take all this to next week's community hearing and give the Mayor and his friends a big surprise."
He paused, his voice filled with anticipation.
"Remember, Leo, fame itself is meaningless. But when you learn how to turn it into cannonballs to fire at your enemies, it becomes very, very meaningful."
...
Pittsburgh City Hall was a stately building.
Granite walls, towering columns, and the city's motto engraved above the main entrance.
Everything about it declared the majesty and order of power to all who entered.
The community hearing was about to begin.
Leo Wallace, wearing a suit that wasn't too old, led Margaret, Frank, and a dozen or so community representatives up the steps of City Hall.
He had bought the suit from a thrift store with a small portion of the community donations.
It didn't fit perfectly, but at least it kept him from looking like a student who had just run out of the university library.
This was their first time stepping out of the protesting streets and into this hall of power.
The residents' faces showed a mixture of nervousness and awe.
They were used to dealing with machines on the factory floor and chatting with neighbors on community streets, but they had never imagined that one day they would walk into the very place where the city's fate was decided.
The hearing was held in a small conference room on the third floor.
The room's layout was simple: a massive horseshoe-shaped conference table and a few rows of chairs for the public audience.
When Leo and the others walked in, a few people were already seated on one side of the conference table.
The man leading them was in his forties, dressed in a well-tailored, dark gray suit and wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses.
His hair was impeccably combed, and he wore a polite smile, but his eyes were like a scalpel—cold, sharp, and devoid of any emotion.
When he saw Leo and his group enter, he even stood up proactively, smiled, and gave a slight nod.
"Be careful of that snake in a suit, Leo," Roosevelt's voice said. "He's our real opponent today. He won't debate right and wrong with you. He'll just use countless rules and procedures you've never even heard of to constrict the life out of you."
Leo committed the warning to memory.
He and the residents took their seats in the public gallery.
Soon, the moderator of the meeting, a bald man named Robert Jennings who was the chairman of the City Planning Commission, announced the start of the hearing.
His tone was flat and bureaucratic.
According to procedure, the community representatives, as the interested party, could make their statement first.
Leo stood up and walked to the speaker's lectern.
He took out a carefully prepared written statement. He was ready to tell the commission members about the community center's history, about what it meant to the unemployed workers and the elderly, and about how a city's conscience should not be bought with money.
He cleared his throat and began to speak.
"Mr. Chairman, members of the commission. We are here today to discuss an issue more important than property taxes—the very soul of our city..."
He had only said a few words.
Just then, the man in the suit raised his hand.
"Objection," he said, cutting Leo off. "The speaker's statement is not relevant to the topic of this hearing."
Chairman Jennings immediately turned to Leo.
"Mr. Wallace, please be advised that the sole topic of this hearing is the review of the municipal auction procedure for the Steel Worker Community Center property. Please confine your remarks to the topic at hand."
Leo froze.
The weapon he had prepared was disarmed in the first second.
Roosevelt's voice chimed in.
"Welcome to their world, kid. In here, 'soul' and 'conscience' are invalid terms. You have to talk to them about rules. Beat them in their own language."
Leo took a deep breath and put away his written statement.
He began to try and raise his objections from the perspective of legal procedure.
"Very well, Mr. Chairman. Then let's talk about procedure."
"According to Pittsburgh Municipal Code, Section 112, Subsection 3, regarding applications for tax exemptions for non-profit organizations, the municipal tax department must provide a written response stating specific reasons within thirty business days. To our knowledge, the community center never received any formal written response."
After he finished speaking, he looked at the man in the suit.
The man still wore a smile.
He waited until Leo was finished before slowly getting to his feet.
"My name is Allen Wexler," he said, introducing himself first. Then he turned to Chairman Jennings. "My client, Peak Development Group, is a legal bidder in this auction."