"Why are you teaching me all this?"
Leo had noticed that Thomas's recent behavior had been strangely out of character—his guidance far exceeded the usual appreciation shown to a promising young man.
Thomas didn't answer directly. Instead, he said:
"Do you know the fastest way for someone of your background to join the Democratic Party?"
Leo sensed the deeper implication behind Thomas's gaze.
"Marry Evelyn. Then everything you're missing will naturally fall into place."
"Sir, I—"
Leo started to reply, but Thomas cut him off:
"Once this matter is over, you can tell me your decision. No rush."
The next morning, outside Leo's company building, a fleet of luxury cars lined the street.
The bubble house policy hadn't just affected Leo's business—many others had been hit hard.
After receiving various warnings and reminders from powerful insiders, representatives from dozens of firms gathered at Leo's office.
When Leo selflessly shared his suburban housing blueprint with everyone,
the young entrepreneur was unanimously elected president of the newly founded—albeit loosely organized—Richmond Real Estate Association.
The first collective decision of the group:
bundle all attending companies together and apply pressure to suppliers to extend payment deadlines.
After all, Leo wasn't the only one suffocating under cash flow problems.
They then reached additional consensus on pricing standards for suburban housing developments, including counter-strategies against the bubble houses.
But just like Thomas had warned that traitors existed even within small circles,
today's meeting had one too.
As they were finalizing agreements, a Jewish businessman named Tamar Dov suddenly interjected coldly:
"We've been talking excitedly here for hours, but the truth is—
that new bill was practically tailor-made for the bubble houses.
It passed the House of Representatives with a majority vote on the first round—
that's the first time that's ever happened in the House's history.
I don't see the Senate doing much differently.
So all of this? Just a waste of time."
Dov's words sowed doubt. Leo, spotting the disruption, subtly signaled to Face to take note.
This was war now.
If someone wanted to be a pawn in someone else's game, then they'd better be ready to pay the price.
Still, Dov's statement caused hesitation among the attendees.
Leo stepped forward to calm the storm:
"It's true, as Mr. Dov pointed out. But Senator Thomas and Governor Harry are actively fighting for us at this very moment in the Capitol."
He continued, "If we're feeling uncertain, why don't we just stay here and wait for the result together?"
Virginia State Capitol – Senate Chamber
"The third vote on the Virginia Housing Development Support Act has failed to reach a two-thirds majority.
We'll now take a 30-minute recess before the fourth vote,"
announced the Senate Speaker.
As the session paused, Governor Clinton quickly entered his private office, flanked by his inner circle and policy staff.
The moment the door shut, Clinton turned to Wallace, who was nervously waiting on the sofa, and snapped:
"Swear to God, right here and now, that your damn design has no flaws."
"I—I swear, sir,"
Wallace stammered, sweat pouring down his forehead under the governor's pressure.
"Good. Now go. Keep refining your design. Make sure it's perfect."
After Wallace left, Clinton took a report handed to him by a trusted aide.
"This is fresh," the aide explained.
"I conducted an in-depth survey of the bubble house community in Falls Town.
Satisfaction rate: 97%.
Ward was wrong—this isn't about quality or comfort. It's just another one of Thomas's smoke-and-mirror tactics."
The aide looked winded—clearly, he'd just returned from Falls Town.
Hearing this, Clinton's expression brightened.
This was more than just about money. As one of Virginia's veteran political figures,
Clinton had quickly recognized the massive political value of the bubble house.
Lightweight, cheap, fast—these were the kinds of words that resonated with all Americans.
If bubble houses became his signature policy, every person living in one would become his voter.
Why had Roosevelt ruled America like an emperor?
Because his voter base was the entire country.
Clinton had lived through that era—and he too dreamed of becoming another Roosevelt.
The bubble house, to him, was the perfect weapon.
The 30-minute break neared its end.
Lobbyists and aides flooded back into the Senate, bearing responses from key swing votes.
Some senators wanted new committee assignments.
Others wanted more lucrative roles.
Some just wanted cold hard cash.
This was American politics:
every swing vote had a price.
And every round, the price changed.
This was both the cost of democracy… and part of Thomas's own strategy.
Clinton reviewed what he had left to offer. Not much.
But the political potential was too great to back off now.
He remembered what his father once told him:
"Only those who bet in politics ever stand a chance to win."
Clenching his teeth, he ordered:
"Give them what they want.
And what about Thomas's side—any signs of new movement?
With our planted insiders, can they reach two-thirds?"
The aide glanced around at the returning staffers and replied:
"Gray hasn't come back yet.
But last round, he said three of his targeted swing votes were starting to waver.
He's still—"
Before he could finish, Gray burst into the room, panting, eyes wide:
"Ten votes! Not three—ten!
That's enough to push it past two-thirds!"
The room erupted in cheers—except for Clinton, who remained calm and checked his watch.
"Enough with the noise.
Tell me—what do they want?"
Gray responded:
"They want a simple change in the bill:
change the housing construction timeline from 20 days to 25 days,
and they'll vote yes."
Clinton immediately turned to his aide, who, understanding his look, replied:
"Our inside man told me that Leo—the guy making all the noise in Richmond—
has designed a house that can be built in 25 days.
But it's not that pretty.
I spoke to professionals—it's nowhere near as flashy as the bubble house."
Clinton didn't hesitate for a second.
"Agree to it," he said.
"As a chivalrous knight of justice,
we must always leave a noble path for our defeated enemies who survive the duel.
Let them keep the East Side and Monroe Park—as a token of my mercy."