Seven o'clock that evening, in the auditorium of the Carnegie Library.
The place was packed, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat.
Leo walked up to the podium.
From the audience, there was only a clamor of boos and hushed whispers.
He stood before the microphone, looking out at the faces in the crowd—some familiar, others strange.
A few college students sat in the front row, holding signs that read, "Give the Port Back to the People."
In the middle were several small business owners in jackets, each with their arms crossed, watching with cold indifference.
Only in a back corner sat some workers in orange vests. They were Frank's men, and they looked a little lost.
"Good evening, Pittsburgh."
Leo began to speak.
"I know why you're angry. I know that article about the port has left you feeling disappointed."
"Liar!" someone in the crowd shouted.
Leo paused for a moment but ignored the voice.
"But I'm not here today to make excuses."
