Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

Chapter 252 - 128: Reagan Democrats 5

Leo looked at Murphy.

"John, tonight, your focus is solely on Warren."

"When the moderator asks you about Monroe, don’t attack, don’t debate."

"Be magnanimous."

Murphy took a deep breath. He understood.

It was more vicious than an attack.

It was contempt.

"Are you ready?" the director shouted from the doorway. "One-minute countdown."

Murphy straightened his back and adjusted the hem of his suit jacket.

"Let’s go," Murphy said.

Inside the studio, the lights were bright.

Aston Monroe was already standing behind his podium.

He looked flawless. His hair was perfectly styled, his smile was impeccable, and he exuded the kind of confidence unique to the elite.

Seeing Murphy walk up, he gave a polite nod, but his eyes held a hint of arrogance.

In his view, this was just a formality.

This was Philadelphia, and the audience was filled with his supporters.

The debate began.

For the first twenty minutes, Monroe was on the offensive.

He cited data and expounded on his political achievements in Philadelphia, while subtly insinuating that Murphy’s "Rust Belt New Deal" was a fiscal risk and unrealistic populism.

Murphy’s response was steady.

He didn’t get provoked, nor did he get bogged down in a battle of details.

Until the moderator tossed out the most critical question.

"Representative Murphy, Vice Governor Monroe just mentioned that your plan lacks fiscal sustainability and is too radical. As rivals within the same party, what do you believe is the biggest difference between you and Vice Governor Monroe? Why should voters choose you instead of the experienced Vice Governor?"

The entire room fell silent.

Monroe turned to the side to look at Murphy, a "let the show begin" kind of smile on his face.

He had a mountain of rebuttals prepared. The moment Murphy dared to attack him, he would immediately strike back.

Murphy leaned on the podium, a gentle smile appearing on his face.

He didn’t even spare Monroe a glance.

"That’s an excellent question."

Murphy’s voice was rich and carried the air of an elder statesman.

"First, I want to make one thing clear. Aston is a good man. Really, he’s a very fine young man."

The smile on Monroe’s face stiffened for a moment.

’Young man?’

"We’ve worked together a few times in Harrisburg," Murphy continued, his tone utterly sincere. "He’s an exceptional administrator. His files are impeccably organized, and I was impressed by his familiarity with office procedures."

"I believe that in the future Pennsylvania government, regardless of who is elected, a position should be saved for Aston."

"He would be a perfect fit to manage the archives in the state government office, or perhaps to serve as the director of the ’Committee on Administrative Efficiency.’"

"He would do an outstanding job."

A stir went through the crowd.

Someone couldn’t hold it in and let out a soft chuckle.

The assessment sounded like nothing but praise, but every word was like evaluating a competent secretary, not a future Senator.

As an experienced politician, Monroe’s emotional control was exceptional.

Even in such a public setting, faced with such blatant humiliation, his expression only showed the faintest, most minute flicker of unease at the corners of his mouth and eyes.

But he quickly recovered, once again putting on that proper, elite smile.

He couldn’t lose his composure. He couldn’t become hysterical. He couldn’t let his middle-class supporters in the audience see even the slightest hint of panic.

Because he represented decorum, order, the effortless composure of the elite class.

Any loss of control would cause his entire persona to crumble.

"But."

Murphy’s expression instantly turned serious and grave.

He looked directly at the camera.

"We are not standing here today to elect an excellent file clerk."

"We are here to elect a warrior who can go to Washington, to a Capitol Hill filled with crocodiles and wolves, and fight to get the livelihoods of Pennsylvania’s thirteen million people back."

"Our opponents are not each other."

"Our opponent is Russell Warren."

Murphy’s voice rose, filled with fighting passion.

"When Senator Warren is in Congress, one hand waving a Bible, the other resting on the Constitution’s Second Amendment, talking endlessly about God, guns, and abortion—what is he *really* doing?"

"He’s voting to cut your food stamps! He’s voting against extending unemployment benefits! He’s voting to let insurance companies deny coverage for your children’s pre-existing conditions!"

"He numbs you with culture war slogans, then turns around and signs a tax bill that hands hundreds of billions in tax cuts to Wall Street, all while telling you there’s no money to fix the roads!"

"When he sacrifices our children’s health for his big-energy donors, when he vetoes our infrastructure funding."

"We need someone who will stand up, point a finger in his face, and tell him, ’You’re fired!’"

"That is the difference."

"I brought half a billion US dollars in investment. I brought thousands of jobs. I brought the hope of revival."

"I am ready to fight Warren."

"As for the rest..."

Murphy shrugged, as if the topic of Monroe was now completely insignificant.

"Let’s leave the administrative work to the administrators."

Monroe took a deep breath.

He was, after all, the political golden boy meticulously groomed by Philadelphia. He forcibly suppressed the twitch at the corner of his mouth, adjusted his microphone, and tried to reclaim the floor.

"Representative Murphy, that is precisely what makes you dangerous."