novelno Chapter 304 - 151: Who is Opposing "Made in America"?
Chapter 304 - 151: Who is Opposing "Made in America"?
Watching all of this, the guilt and struggle on Smith’s face rapidly faded, his expression growing numb.
He raised his hand and pressed his palm against the cold glass, feeling the chill from the world outside.
"Don’t hate me."
Smith’s voice was hoarse as he gazed down at the bustling, yet soon-to-be-dead district below.
"This is just how the world works. Big fish eat little fish. That’s the rule."
He pulled his hand away and adjusted the collar of his suit, looking at his own impeccably dressed reflection in the glass.
"If you have to blame someone, just blame your own bad luck at birth."
...
Erie City. United Steel Factory.
A massive overhead crane moved slowly across the factory ceiling. A bundle of freshly cooled H-beams hung from its hook.
The blinds in the manager’s office were drawn, shutting out the din of the workshop.
The factory manager, Jim Bell, sat behind his desk, his fingers digging into the edge of the table.
He had just hung up a call from the Mayor’s Office.
On the other end of the line, Ron Smith’s secretary had informed him in a rather stiff tone, "Regrettably, Mr. Bell, due to some unavoidable technical difficulties on Pittsburgh’s end, the advance payment for the steel that was due today has been frozen. The Mayor is doing his best to resolve the situation, but there is currently no definite timeline."
"Technical difficulties?"
Jim scoffed.
He had been in this business for decades. He knew all too well the subtext behind those two words.
It meant the money was gone. It meant someone was trying to welsh on a deal. It meant he’d been cast aside.
"Don’t feed me that crap!" Jim couldn’t hold back his anger and roared into the phone. "We signed a contract! It’s legally binding! My steel is already filling up the warehouse, my workers..."
"Mr. Bell."
The secretary coldly interrupted him.
"Please be clear on the situation. The problem isn’t in Erie. It’s in Pittsburgh."
"The Mayor asked me to pass on a message: it’s time to cut your losses."
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
She had hung up on him.
Jim stared blankly for a moment, then glanced at the production schedule on his desk.
To meet this Pittsburgh order, he hadn’t just turned down several smaller jobs from Cleveland; he had also bought a massive amount of raw materials and even put the workers on three shifts with overtime.
Now, the entire shipment was nothing but scrap metal, and the investment was a total loss.
Jim snatched up the phone and dialed an internal number.
"Get Jack to my office, now."
Two minutes later, Jack, the workshop foreman, pushed the door open and walked in.
He was wearing a hard hat, his face smudged with soot, and he held a freshly signed material requisition form in his hand, a look of excitement on his face.
"Boss, this batch of steel is fantastic! The guys in Pittsburgh are gonna be thrilled. When’s the next run scheduled? The men are raring to go."
Jim looked into Jack’s expectant eyes and said coldly, "Jack, shut down the line."
Jack froze. The requisition form slipped from his hand and fluttered to the floor.
"What did you say?"
"I said, shut down the machines on line three." Jim turned away, unable to look at Jack’s face. "And... tell the accounting department that this week’s pay... isn’t coming."
"Boss!"
Jack lunged forward, the smile on his face instantly replaced by horror.
"You can’t do this! You know it’s Friday! The men are counting on that money for rent, for baby formula! Besides, the order is finished! It’s sitting right there in the warehouse. How can there be no money?"
"What choice do I have?!"
Jim suddenly exploded. With a sweep of his arm, he sent all the papers on his desk flying to the floor.
"You think I want to do this? The money from Pittsburgh fell through! Not a single damn cent is coming our way!"
"Don’t ask me! Go ask the damn Mayor of Pittsburgh! Go ask Leo Wallace!"
Jim gasped for breath, pointing at the door.
"Now, get out. Tell everyone... there’s nothing I can do. I have my own bills to face at home."
Jack looked at the scattered papers on the floor, at his furious boss. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
He bent down, picked up the requisition form, folded it slowly, and tucked it into his pocket.
Then, he turned and walked out of the office.
The workshop was still filled with a deafening roar.
The men were hard at work, sweat soaking through their tank tops.
But they didn’t know that, in this very moment, their fates had just been put on hold.
Jack walked over to the whiteboard that read "Today’s Production Target."
A proud figure was written on it in red marker: 120%.
He picked up the eraser and wiped the number away.
Then, he picked up the red marker and fiercely drew a glaring X across the board.
...
Evening. 5:30 PM.
Erie City. A working-class neighborhood.
The sky was overcast. On the neighborhood streets, beat-up sedans and pickup trucks trickled in one by one.
The workers were coming home.
Ordinarily, at this time on a payday Friday, the bars and pizza shops lining the street would have been packed.
The men would be ordering beers to celebrate the end of a week of hard work. The women would be taking their kids to the supermarket to buy groceries for the week.
But today, the streets were silent.
The air in the apartment building hallways was stifling.
Hart, a young assembly worker, sat on the edge of his bed, clutching his phone tightly.
The screen was lit, displaying a text message he had just received.
"Dear customer: Your auto loan payment has failed. Please remit the balance due within 24 hours, or we will initiate vehicle repossession proceedings."
Hart’s hand was trembling.
That used Ford pickup was his only way to get to and from work. It was also his family’s most valuable asset.
If he lost the truck, he wouldn’t even be able to look for work in other cities.