FreeBooksOnline Chapter 322 - 158: Who Is Counting the Votes?
Chapter 322 - 158: Who Is Counting the Votes?
The ballot counters sat behind their tables, mechanically tearing open envelopes, removing the ballots, scanning them, and filing them away.
Across from each table stood two people in suits.
One was from Leo’s side, the other sent by Monroe’s.
Like two fighting cocks, they stared intently at every slip of paper in the counters’ hands.
"Stop!"
A sharp cry cut through the din of the gymnasium.
It was a lawyer sent by Monroe, a middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses.
He pointed at a ballot in the counter’s hand.
"This ballot is invalid!"
the man with the gold-rimmed glasses said loudly.
"Look here. The voter wrote last year’s date when filling this out. This ballot has an invalid date and must be thrown out."
It was a vote for Murphy.
The ballot counter hesitated, holding the ballot, unsure of what to do.
"Objection!"
Leo’s lawyer, a young but highly aggressive red-haired woman, immediately pushed back.
"That’s clearly a slip of the pen!"
The red-haired lawyer pointed to the other information on the ballot.
"The voter’s signature is real, the postmark date is valid, and the intent is clear. Are you going to disenfranchise him of his constitutional rights just because an old man got a little confused about the year?"
"We must respect voter intent! That’s a principle clearly established by the Pennsylvania Supreme Court in its case law!"
"Rules are rules!" The lawyer in gold-rimmed glasses wouldn’t yield an inch. "A wrong date means it’s a spoiled ballot. If you count this, what’s the point of having laws?"
"You’re suppressing voters!" the red-haired lawyer’s voice rose. "I’m appealing to the on-site judge!"
The two argued heatedly across the table, spittle flying.
The counter helplessly raised a hand, signaling for a pause.
The ballot was placed in a red box labeled "Disputed," awaiting a future ruling.
This was the new normal on the battlefield.
The fight for every single ballot was a miniature courtroom debate.
Meanwhile.
Three hundred miles away, at the Philadelphia Convention Center, the same scene was playing out.
"Objection! This ballot doesn’t have an inner envelope!"
Leo’s lawyer pointed to a newly unsealed ballot, one with Monroe’s name checked.
"This is a naked ballot! According to the state Supreme Court’s ruling, all naked ballots are invalid!"
The Philadelphia ballot counter was a Monroe supporter. He tried to argue, "But the ballot is clean, and the intent is very..."
"I don’t care about intent!"
Leo’s lawyer cut him off coldly.
"The law requires a secrecy envelope. It doesn’t have one, period. If you dare to scan it, I’ll sue you for malfeasance immediately!"
"And this one!"
The lawyer pointed to another ballot.
"Look at this signature. The signature on the registration form is a circle, but this one is a cross. Could this possibly be the same person? I demand a handwriting analysis!"
"He has Parkinson’s!" Monroe’s observer, red in the face, shot back. "His hand shakes!"
"Do you have a doctor’s note?" Leo’s lawyer asked, his face expressionless. "Without proof, the signatures don’t match. It’s invalid."
In Philadelphia, Leo’s people were wielding the blade of "procedural justice" to its absolute limit.
Like a pack of nitpicking robots, they scoured the heaps of ballots for the slightest flaw.
The counting speed in Philadelphia was severely bogged down.
The votes that were supposed to be counted in a day weren’t even a third of the way done.
A massive number of ballots were labeled "Disputed" and sealed away.
This was Leo’s strategy.
The seemingly insurmountable 1.2% gap was being chipped away, little by little, in this hand-to-hand combat.
...
「Noon.」
Pittsburgh Campaign Headquarters.
Leo stood before a large screen, watching the latest data summary.
Murphy sat on the sofa, holding his blood pressure medication.
"How are things looking?" Murphy’s voice trembled slightly.
"It’s a nail-biter."
Karen walked over with a report.
"We’ve salvaged about three thousand spoiled ballots in Allegheny County, eighty percent of which were votes for you. These were all ballots from workers that were originally going to be thrown out for being filled out incorrectly."
"Over in Philadelphia, our people successfully challenged five thousand of Monroe’s ballots, forcing them into the review process."
"The gap has narrowed to 0.8%."
"It’s not enough."
Leo stared at the screen.
"Philadelphia’s vote bank is too large. We can’t close the gap just by nitpicking."
Just then, the office door was pushed open.
Ethan rushed in.
"Leo, Monroe’s side is making a move."
Ethan turned on the TV.
A news channel was broadcasting live.
On the screen, Aston Monroe stood at the entrance of the Philadelphia vote counting center, surrounded by reporters.
The usually mild-mannered Vice Governor’s face was now twisted into a terrifying snarl.
He had dropped his elite demeanor.
"This is organized sabotage!"
Monroe roared at the cameras.
"Murphy’s legal team is engaged in malicious obstruction in Philadelphia! They are challenging every ballot, they are insulting our poll workers, and they are trying to disenfranchise the people of Philadelphia!"
"This is an attack on democracy!"
"I have already instructed my legal team to file an emergency lawsuit with the state Supreme Court to demand a stop to this malicious interference!"
Watching the fuming Monroe on TV, Roosevelt laughed aloud in Leo’s mind.
’He’s panicking,’
’When a respectable man starts cursing in the streets, it means he’s been backed into a corner.’
Leo turned off the TV.
"He wants to sue? Then let him sue."
Leo said coldly.
"The longer the lawsuit drags on, the better for us."
"But we can’t just play defense."
Leo turned to look at Frank.
"Frank, are your brothers still around?"
"They’re all here," Frank said, standing up.
"Good."
Leo pointed to the remote, deep-red counties on the map.
"The votes in Philadelphia and Pittsburgh are more or less set."
"What will decide the election are the mail-in ballots that haven’t arrived yet."
"The votes from the workers and farmers living in the hollows and on the farms."
"Those ballots are still on postal service trucks, or at township counting stations."
"I want your people to watch those places."
"Bring cameras. Bring lawyers."
"I’ve heard that in some places, Republican election officials are trying to secretly throw out votes for the Democratic Party."
"Go tell them that if a single vote goes missing, we’ll tear their offices down."
Frank grinned.
"Understood."
"I’ll show them what ’working-class oversight’ really means."
...
「3:00 PM.」
The war had reached a fever pitch.
It wasn’t just Pittsburgh and Philadelphia.
Fierce conflicts erupted in every county, at every counting station in Pennsylvania.
Lawyers were arguing, observers were shoving, and crowds of protestors were chanting slogans outside.
It was a brawl over every single slip of paper.
Leo sat in his office, watching the constantly fluctuating numbers.
0.7%.
0.6%.
0.5%.
The gap was closing, bit by bit.
Like a snail arduously crawling up a wall covered in thorns.
It didn’t know how far the finish line was, nor if it would fall to its death in the next second.
It knew only one thing.
It had to keep going.
As long as it moved, there was hope.
As long as it bled, it was alive.