Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1667 - 759: God Is Rolling the Dice…_3
Capítulo 1667: Chapter 759: God Is Rolling the Dice…_3
This is clearly a self-directed “political coma”!
To avoid taking office, they even used the self-harm trick, and chose a restroom as the scene. It was as if they stomped on political decency and flushed it away.
“F***! Those cowards! One resigns, another faints in the restroom! Is the top power structure of the United States made of paper?!” An angry roar and the sound of shattering porcelain came from a senator’s office.
The constitutional chain is broken!
The Vice President “conveniently” collapsed, so what next? The Speaker of the House? The President pro tempore of the Senate? That long list of succession now looks less like a power ladder and more like a death notice stating “whoever takes the job is doomed.”
The nation cannot be leaderless for a single day, especially in a state of war.
The lights of Capitol Hill stayed on throughout the night. The top figures of both parties and the representatives of political dynasties entrenched in Washington for decades or even centuries must swiftly come up with a plan.
An emergency meeting was called in a windowless room deep within Capitol Hill.
“Gentlemen, let’s skip the nonsense; time is of the essence.” The speaker was a Senate leader from a prominent East Coast political family, a family that has produced more than one President and Supreme Court Justice. “We need a name, someone who can sit in that position, at least to maintain appearances.”
“Maintain appearances? That’s easy for you to say! That position is a damn powder keg! Victor’s troops are eyeing Indiana, those Kentucky hicks have formed some ridiculous alliance, and NATO forces are about to start shooting on our soil! Whoever steps in will be a historic villain.” Another heavyweight senator from a major Southern state grumbled, his family controlling vast agricultural and military interests.
“So what? Shall we leave a power vacuum? Let the world laugh at us? Let those governors and generals run completely out of control?” said a man with impeccably styled hair, representing Wall Street. “Someone must stand up, even if it’s just a symbol.”
“A symbol? Who’s willing to be that symbol? You, John?”
The named Senator John waved his hand like he’d been burned: “Are you kidding? I’m old, my heart’s not good.”
“My family’s base in California has suffered heavy losses this time, I need time to rebuild…”
“I just won re-election and have many local commitments…”
Excuses, silence, shifty eyes.
Those who normally deliver eloquent speeches on TV as if the fate of the nation rests on their shoulders now look like children afraid of taking a hot potato. In the face of immense risk, so-called political ambition and sense of responsibility appear so weak and powerless.
Just as the meeting was about to reach an impasse, the elder from the East Coast family suddenly thumped his crystal whiskey glass on the table, making a crisp sound that drew everyone’s attention.
He took a deep breath of his cigar, slowly exhaled a smoke ring, with a faint, almost absurd tired smile on his face: “Gentlemen, since the democratic process has encountered ‘a bit’ of an obstacle under the current special circumstances, and we are all… uh… overly modest, perhaps we can resort to an older, fairer way.”
He paused, glancing around the room, and said word by word: “We draw lots.”
“What?!”
“Draw lots?!”
“Are you crazy, Alexander?! This is deciding the President of the United States! Not deciding the weekend golf game grouping!”
The room exploded instantly.
The proposal was too shocking, almost a huge satire to this group who prided themselves as elites among the elites.
“Then what do you suggest?!” Senator Alexander raised his voice, “Voting? Who votes for whom? Who’s willing to be voted for? Or should we just wait here until Mexican tanks roll down Pennsylvania Avenue or some general stages a coup?”
The room fell silent once more.
Absurd? Yes.
But on second thought, in this completely unsolvable situation, it seemed like the only quick and “fair” way to find a scapegoat, allowing all families to avoid directly shouldering the responsibility of endorsing a failure.
“God rolls the dice…” Someone muttered, unsure if it was self-mockery or resignation.
After another round of intense yet hushed arguments, this outrageous mechanism in U.S. political history was reluctantly passed.
The rules were simple: write the names of candidates who meet constitutional requirements, born as U.S. citizens, at least thirty-five years old, having resided in the United States for at least fourteen years, and holding leadership positions in Congress with sufficient political family backing, on identical pieces of paper, and place them in an age-old pure silver inkwell, once used to sign a significant treaty.
The oldest senator present, Mr. Segood, 83 from Vermont, whose hands were slightly trembling, was to draw.
The whole process was filled with ceremonious absurdity.
Cigar clippers substituted for a paper cutter, the finest sheepskin paper was torn into small strips, and those names that usually shone brilliantly on television were tremblingly written with a slightly dated Parker gold pen, then crumpled into balls and tossed into the silver inkwell that symbolized national solemnity.
Mr. Segood’s cloudy eyes scanned everyone present, and his liver-spotted hand slowly yet steadily reached into the inkwell, stirring it a few times, as if stirring the fate of America.
