It’ll keep rising tomorrow. chapter 1

There’s a small village in the United States where votes are as volatile as stocks in big cities. One can only hope that such a strange thing only happens in stories…

A piece of news spread like wildfire through the quiet and remote village of River North. The planned construction of a highway was about to turn this once – sleepy place into a hotbed of political activity. Overnight, six or seven people announced their candidacy for the position of village mayor, which also came with the lucrative role of deputy supervisor for the River North section of the highway. It was a position that promised wealth and influence, and everyone wanted a piece of the action.

After a series of public recommendations and democratic evaluations, the county government announced the names of two candidates: Tom and Jack. This decision was made to maintain a balance between the two major families in the village. There were only three families in the village. The Smith family had six households, the Johnson family also had six, and the Brown family had only one.

Despite its poverty, the village was tightly knit along family lines. Members of the Smith family would never vote for a Johnson, and vice versa. It was an unwritten rule that had governed village politics for generations.

As the election deadline approached, Tom and Jack were well – aware of the situation. There were a total of forty – six eligible voters in the village. The Smith family had twenty votes, and the Johnson family had twenty as well. It was a dead heat, and the outcome of the election would depend on the six votes held by old Mr. Brown. Without these six votes, neither candidate could secure a majority.

Mr. Brown, a sixty – three – year – old man, ran a small grocery store in the village. He had a thin face with small, beady eyes that were constantly blinking. The villagers said that every blink of his eyes meant he was hatching a new plan.

Mr. Brown knew the power of his six votes. He held the key to the mayoral position. If he voted for Tom, Tom would be the mayor; if he voted for Jack, Jack would take the office.

He was certain that both Tom and Jack would come to him in the next few days.

Three days before the election, in the evening, Mr. Brown finished his dinner early and told his wife to prepare some snacks for guests.

After everything was ready, he lit a cigarette, leaned back in his reclining chair in front of the counter, crossed his legs, and stared intently at the door. The old – fashioned radio on the shelf played a scratchy song: “It’s a great day today…”

As the sky darkened, Tom slipped into the store like a ghost.

“Come on, have a drink,” Mr. Brown said, rising slightly from his chair. He knew Tom was a heavy drinker and pulled him to sit across from him.

After a few drinks, Tom got to the point. “Uncle Brown, I’m counting on your support in this election,” he said.

“Sure, sure,” Mr. Brown nodded, but he was in no hurry. He continued to drink, relying on his years of business experience. The rarer the commodity, the more patience one needed.

Tom couldn’t wait any longer. He knew Mr. Brown was a shrewd man and would never name a price first. He wiped his mouth, took out an envelope from his pocket, and pushed it in front of Mr. Brown. Then he held up five fingers in front of Mr. Brown’s face. “Five hundred dollars, how about that?”

“Let’s talk,” Mr. Brown replied vaguely, blinking his beady eyes. His face showed a hint of dissatisfaction, clearly indicating that he thought the price was too low.

Tom noticed the change in Mr. Brown’s expression. He knew Mr. Brown was just testing the waters. He then held up three more fingers. “Add another three hundred. Eight hundred dollars. It’s a lucky number for both of us. What do you say?” He took out three one – hundred – dollar bills from his pocket, clearly well – prepared.

“Let’s talk,” Mr. Brown pushed the money back to Tom and drawled, “I’ve watched you grow up. You can trust me. I’ll vote for you. As for the money, we’ll discuss it later…”

Mr. Brown knew Jack would come to negotiate as well. He wanted to get rid of Tom quickly. He understood that competition would drive up the price, and he was eager to see how much Jack was willing to pay.

Tom was satisfied with Mr. Brown’s response. He thought to himself that there were still two days left. After the election, those six votes would be worthless outside the village. As long as he offered the right price, Mr. Brown would surely vote for him. So he said goodbye and left.

Just as Tom left, Jack walked in, as if they had coordinated their visits in advance.

Without much small talk, Jack got straight to the point. “I’ve never asked you for anything, Uncle Brown. I need your help this time.” Jack, in his early thirties, had returned from the city to run for mayor. He had owned a restaurant in the city for three years. When he heard about the highway project and the power that came with the mayoral position, he was encouraged by his friends to come back and join the race.

“Let’s talk,” Mr. Brown gave his usual evasive answer, his eyes narrowing to slits like two caterpillars on his face.

“Name your price!” Jack said in the style of a city slicker, “Be straightforward. There’s no need to be shy.”

“Good, young man, you’re direct!” Mr. Brown was a bit annoyed by Jack’s show – off, but he appreciated his straightforwardness. Based on his experience, dealing with such people often led to a better deal. Since Jack wanted him to name a price, he decided to go all out. He stood up, held out his large, rough hands, and flipped them six times in front of Jack.

Three thousand dollars! Jack was slightly shocked, but he knew that a bigger investment meant a bigger return. As the deputy supervisor of the highway project, the kickbacks from the contract would be worth tens of thousands of dollars.

“Three thousand, fine!” Jack didn’t haggle. He took out a stack of brand – new bills, counted them like he was flipping through a book, and slapped them down in front of Mr. Brown.