"I've died once already, son. The world doesn't need a second Roosevelt. It needs you."
"If I were to step in now and help you crush Carter Wright, you might win this election, but you might lose yourself. You'd become a politician who depends on others, not an independent leader."
"While I may be your campaign manager now, your own thoughts are just as important."
Leo was stunned.
He thought back over the past few months.
Yes, he had grown more and more reliant on this voice. He'd started to mimic Roosevelt's tone, to imitate his way of thinking.
He'd gotten used to asking, "Mr. President?" whenever a problem arose.
But then he looked at the real world—at the mountain of fines piled on his desk, at the workers outside waiting for their paychecks in the cold wind.
Leo took a deep breath.
He stood up straight in the conscious space, looking directly at the giant in the wheelchair.
"Mr. President, you're wrong."
Leo's voice turned unnaturally calm.
