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Healthy Federal People, a private equity foundation aimed at improving the physical well-being of citizens in the Federation.

In Bupayne, such foundations were as common as grains of sand on a beach. With so many members of Congress, even if each one was associated with only two foundations, there would still be hundreds, if not thousands, scattered across the city. But to say that any member of Congress was tied to just two? That would be laughable—an insult to their influence. Many held stakes in over a dozen foundations. Two was a joke.

The situation was undeniably complex, but Truman hadn't thought it would stump him. After all, he had the current President backing him, support from the military, and strong personal ties with some of the wealthiest capitalists in the country.

But he underestimated this particular foundation—and the people connected to it. His arrogance blinded him.

It was a harsh slap in the face for his growing pride and overconfidence these past months. By late afternoon, calls began flooding in, probing into his investigation of Healthy Federal People. They weren't just asking about his intentions; they wanted to dig deeper.

At first, Truman assumed it was merely Wales' knee-jerk reaction to sensing danger. He was wrong.

For years, the Federation's medical conglomerates had been pushing for the commercialization of health insurance. They championed private health plans as more effective than social security, misleading the public about the role of pharmaceuticals—especially synthetically produced drugs. Cheap medicine, they claimed, equaled poor quality. If a drug was inexpensive, it must lack value or efficacy. Only expensive medications, outside the scope of government-subsidized programs, could truly heal patients.

They argued that the government deliberately kept life-saving drugs off the approved list to avoid inflating insurance costs, unwilling to shoulder the burden of healthcare expenses. Their most famous slogan? "No one cares more about you than yourself—not even the federal government."

Through television ads, newspapers, activists—they used every tool at their disposal to push for privatizing health insurance. And slowly, step by step, they were succeeding.

Though Congress hadn't yet passed the reform proposal, attitudes had shifted dramatically. Where once lawmakers firmly opposed it, now many softened, shifting from an outright "never" to a tentative "maybe." Some had outright sided with the medical giants.

This shift wasn't accidental—it was fueled by lobbying groups and under-the-table deals. No one knew exactly how much money changed hands, but one thing was certain: most lobbyists and middlemen in Bupayne had grown fat off this gravy train.

Among Healthy Federal People's shareholders, besides Wales, were several other members of Congress—all either being courted by or already aligned with the medical conglomerates. Truman's probe into the foundation had rattled them. Fear rippled through their ranks.

If those illicit transactions came to light, years of effort would crumble overnight. Public outrage could force the federal government to launch a full investigation. For men accustomed to buying silence, exposing their schemes meant disaster.

Calls poured in, pressuring Truman to abandon his investigation. Powerful voices warned him this wasn't like anything he'd faced before—not something even the President's Chief of Staff could handle alone. When the Minister of Scientific Development called personally, Truman realized he needed to clarify his position—or face escalating consequences.

This wasn't just a storm; it was a hurricane. The interests at stake here dwarfed anything he'd imagined—billions, perhaps tens of billions, in annual profits. Enough to make anyone desperate.

And then… the President himself called.

"I debated whether I should call you," the President said, his tone unchanged, though a faint note of weariness crept into his voice. Between Wales' political maneuvering and today's chaos, his head was spinning.

He chuckled bitterly. "I wish I could play the hero, Truman. Tell you to go ahead, that no challenge is insurmountable…"

"But I'm no hero."

"I'm just a failed president. Today proved we can't act freely, even as leaders. It's disheartening."

"Still, I'll pull myself together. I hope you do too. This setback shows us how weak we still are, how far we have to go before we're ready to take them on."

"One day, we'll stand tall. We'll confront them like true heroes and bring them down."

"…"

"I'm sorry. I let the pressure get to me."

Truman stayed silent for what felt like eternity—four minutes, five, maybe longer. Neither spoke, the sound of breathing faintly audible through the receiver.

Finally, Truman broke the silence. His voice rasped. "I owe you an apology, Mr. President. My arrogance made me overlook critical details."

"My mistakes put us in a difficult spot. We could've handled this better."

"But today also revealed something new. Our enemies aren't just external—they're within, hiding where we never expected."

"They slipped up, though. They drew attention to themselves. This retreat is temporary. We have time. Victory will be ours."

---

Early the next morning, Truman submitted his resignation as head of the Office of International Policy and Affairs in the Presidential Cabinet. He cited his inability to meet the demands of such a crucial role. The President refused to accept it.

Shortly afterward, a mid-level official from the National Security Council was arrested for "negligence." Simultaneously, the investigation into Healthy Federal People concluded—with glowing results. Every transaction complied with federal laws. All operations were legal. Every beneficiary legitimate. Case closed.

Not a single news outlet reported it. Progressives, conservatives, socialists—all parties avoided the topic like the plague. Another great victory for the capitalists, forcing even the President to bow.

Truman was granted three days' leave to regroup. Upon returning home, he found a delivery truck parked outside. Instinctively, his hand moved toward his chest holster. Circling the vehicle, he saw his wife and children signing papers with two workers in blue overalls.

The economic downturn wasn't without its silver linings. Delivery services had become more customer-focused, requiring signatures and feedback forms. Gone were the days when drivers dumped packages without notice. Now, a single bad review could cost them income—or their jobs.

Progress, however small, amidst recession.

"What's all this?" Truman asked.

His wife beamed. "New things! Didn't you arrange this? What a wonderful surprise!" She mistook the delivery for a gift from her husband, unaware of the dread creeping over him.

Before Truman could respond, the phone inside rang. He glanced at it, patted his wife's hand, and stepped indoors.

Picking up the receiver, a vaguely familiar voice greeted him. Someone he'd spoken to yesterday—but with so many calls, names blurred.

"I apologize, Mr. Truman. I've learned more details since our last conversation. Please forgive our earlier overreaction. Consider this my gesture of goodwill. I hope you'll accept it."

Truman frowned. "And if I don't?"

The caller laughed—a confident, almost casual chuckle. "You'd best accept."

No explicit threat, yet the implication hung heavy in the air. Turning to see his family bidding farewell to the deliverymen, Truman asked, "Your name?"

The voice replied coolly, "When the time comes, we'll meet. You'll know who I am."

"But not now…"

As the line went dead, Truman gripped the phone tightly, his knuckles whitening. A wave of anger surged through him, quickly crystallizing into steely resolve. One thing was painfully clear: he had another adversary to face.

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