Chapter 193: The Script, the Actors, and the Best Actor

In the presidential palace of Morton District, some distance from Lynch and his group, the president sat awkwardly by the conference table.

He had torn off his tie and ripped open his collar, leaving it wide open, revealing some chest hair beneath.

His left arm rested on the table, sleeve rolled up high. His head leaned on his hairy forearm, brows furrowed in worry. The cigarette in his other hand was nearly burnt out, ash hanging long.

He had held this posture for a long time, feeling his mind turn to mush, incapable of clear thought.

Around the table sat his aides, including some cabinet members.

Suddenly, the nearly sleeping president jolted. He looked at his right hand as a cigarette butt slowly rolled off the table to the floor, sparking. He had burned his hand.

The pain snapped him awake. Wiping his face, he looked at the others. “Gentlemen, our situation is very dangerous. Congress has accepted the impeachment. What do we do next?”

When rumors of an impeachment started spreading, the process had already begun; such rumors were a warning to the president—someone was against him.

Secret messages only leak when actions are underway and momentum is needed.

According to Congress sources, the Progressive Party and the Socialist Party had joined forces, pulling many House members to their side.

Vote-buying between the two chambers was common, and people were used to it. This made the situation uncertain since even some conservatives might side with the Progressives.

The reason was simple: if impeaching the president could secure a positive image for the conservatives with the public, they wouldn’t hesitate to abandon the sitting president and side with the opposition.

It sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. Presidents come and go, but states and votes remain fixed. Losing one vote means the opponent gains two, and the gap widens. There’s no need to cling to one president.

The president’s aides were also discouraged. Their policies had worked internationally; even defeated nations sided with them against the shameless acts of the victors.

This had achieved some results, at least giving the federation a voice internationally. The next steps required more effort.

But the Progressives wouldn’t give them that chance. They launched the impeachment motion, aiming to disgrace the president and force him out.

Silence continued until the president suddenly picked up a cup and threw it hard aside.

The cup bounced on the thick carpet, spilling its drink but not breaking. He was angry and felt wronged.

The chief of staff knew it was time to speak. As the group’s core, he had to take a stand.

Looking at the expressionless faces around him, he cleared his throat. “Sir, we must act immediately. We need more supporters…”

Before he finished, the president interrupted with a mocking tone, “Do we even have any supporters left?”

The room fell silent again. Everyone knew the answer: they had none.

All political allies and capitalists had abandoned them.

Politically, isolationism might have value at certain times, but overall it caused huge harm. Clinging to the president now was foolish, not even speculative.

He had already lost; the outcome was clear.

Economically, unprecedented financial disaster had cost many supporters heavily; they wouldn’t continue backing him.

They didn’t donate money to go bankrupt but to gain returns. The president could no longer offer that, so they wouldn’t waste another cent on him.

Maybe a few citizens still supported the president, but as impeachment advanced, public opinion would overwhelm them. They would join many others on the streets, protesting against the president.

They were isolated, just like the policies they enacted.

This was predictable. If they couldn’t quickly change the federation’s state, they were doomed to be abandoned.

The president sighed, waved everyone away, leaving only the chief of staff.

When the door closed, the president grabbed his glass and drank deeply. It was the first time in years he indulged himself. “Would it be more dignified to resign to Congress?”

Being forced out was humiliating; resigning voluntarily might earn some sympathy and preserve part of his political legacy. Resignation seemed the better choice.

At that moment, the chief of staff understood the president’s meaning. He could leave without resistance, even actively. But he wanted to exchange his departure for some value—that’s politics.

The next day, the chief of staff visited the Progressive Party chairman’s farm.

Everyone has hobbies. Some play golf on the lawn, though their ball never goes in the hole.

Others prefer farming or raising livestock in the countryside.

The Progressive chairman was such a man—an old politician who came from farming.

Standing by the cattle shed, watching the man in his sixties—nearly at the peak of his political power—holding a pile of dry hay and stepping on cow dung to feed the cattle, the chief of staff nearly vomited.

Cow dung wasn’t as foul as human waste, nor pleasant, but still dung. The old man seemed unfazed by stepping in it, the soft feel making the chief of staff queasy.

After working for over ten minutes, the old man rinsed his rubber overalls and led the chief of staff into a small, old farmhouse by the farm.

“If you helped out, we’d get to business faster!” The old man mocked the chief of staff’s lack of respect for elders. Some just speak sarcastically, without real malice.

The chief of staff smiled, “I’m allergic to cow dung.”

The man froze, pointing at him. “That’s a poor excuse. It’s ridiculous.”

The chief of staff said nothing more. The old man asked, “So, what do you want from me?”

“The president is willing to resign voluntarily.”

The blunt statement didn’t surprise the old man. Such things had happened countless times in history. As Progressive Party chairman, his rank was second only to the party leader—often even above him, since leaders come and go but there is only one chairman.

He showed no expression, looking at the chief of staff. “You haven’t experienced struggle. You’ll never know how moving and precious the hard-won success is.

It can unite people, erase divisions. Do you understand what I mean?”

The chief of staff nodded, “I understand what you mean…”

Before he could finish, the old man interrupted, “If you truly understand, then you should tell him he can only choose one—dignity or benefits—not both.”

“The federation now faces unprecedented trouble, but it’s also a great opportunity. He may become a villain now, but years later, people will recognize some of his achievements.”

The old man’s words gave the chief of staff a sudden clarity, like clearing clouds to see the bright moon.

Success feels precious because it’s so hard to achieve, often marked by many failures, which makes people cherish it.

For the federation to be reborn, the simplest way is to create an enemy, then unite everyone to defeat it, giving a clear reason and excuse.

If the president wants benefits, he can’t resign; he must keep fighting the Progressives and opposition. The fiercer the fight, the more united the federation becomes, making future revival easier.

But if he chooses dignity, he’ll get nothing and might become the biggest stain and scandal in history.

The chief of staff’s quick understanding didn’t surprise the old man—they both lived in this world. “If you understand, then go tell that guy. Don’t waste time here!”

That night, after a long talk with the president, the president issued a late-night executive order to deploy the National Security Council to arrest some rumor makers. The federation was thrown into uproar.

Some thought the president had gone mad—just because of impeachment rumors, he deployed the security forces. It was persecution.

It was political terror.

The security council’s secret police moved overnight; many were secretly arrested. The federation was gripped by fear.

That same night, the president’s son, a relatively unknown conservative, was sent abroad as a diplomat.

Everything unfolded according to script, and the audience was fully engaged.