“It might not work. I might fail.”
“You might.” Melissa reached over and took her hand. “But you might not. And either way, at least you’ll have tried.”
June looked at her, something soft in her expression. “So you believe in it?”
“I believe in you.”
The floor vote was Tuesday at two o’clock.
Melissa spent the morning in the capitol building, making last-minute calls and checking in with allies. The count was close—seventeen confirmed yes votes, with three still undecided. She needed sixteen, but even with confirmed yeses, sometimes things happened, and Thornfield wasn’t backing down. If anything, they’d doubled their efforts in the final hours—she’d heard reports of their lobbyists cornering wavering senators in hallways, making promises and veiled threats in equal measure. Arnold Webb himself had been spotted outside Senator Moore’s office at eight in the morning.
At eleven, David appeared in her doorway, his expression grim.
“Morrison just got a call from Thornfield’s legal team. They’re threatening litigation if the bill passes—claiming the rural broadband provisions violate some obscure contract they have with three counties.”
“It’s baseless.”
“Of course it’s baseless. But it’s spooked him. He’s asking for a delay.”
“No.” Melissa stood, reaching for her jacket. “No more delays. Where is he?”
She found Morrison in his office, looking tired and uncertain. She closed the door behind her and didn’t sit down.
“Harold. I’ve known you for eight years. You co-sponsored this bill because you believed in it—because your constituents have been waiting a decade for reliable internet access. Are you really going to let Thornfield’s lawyers bully you out of that?”
“It’s not bullying, Melissa. It’s risk assessment.”
“It’s theater. They know they can’t win in court, so they’re trying to win in the hallway.” She leaned forward. “You told me once that you got into politics to help people. This bill helps people. Real people, in real towns, who’ve been forgotten by everyone except us.”
Morrison was quiet for a long moment. Then he sighed. “You’re a pain, Brandt. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Once or twice.”
“Fine. I’m in. But there will come a time when I need you, and I won’t hesitate to bring this up.”
“Done.”
She spent the next two hours in a blur of conversations—catching Senator Oyelaran between meetings, appealing to his commitment to educational equity, reminding Senator Foster of the veterans in her district who relied on telehealth services… Making the case, over and over, that this bill mattered more than Thornfield’s threats or the political convenience of delay.
By one-thirty, she had eighteen confirmed votes.
It wasn’t a comfortable margin. It was a razor’s edge.
But it was enough.
The vote was called at 2:17 p.m.
Melissa stood at her desk on the Senate floor as the roll call began. Each name felt like a held breath. Each “aye” loosened something in her chest; each “nay” tightened it again.
Thornfield’s allies voted no, as expected. The senators she’d spent months courting split unpredictably—some coming through, others folding under pressure she hadn’t anticipated. She kept a mental tally, her fingers pressed hard against her thighs.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
Morrison voted aye. Then Oyelaran. Then Foster.
Eighteen.
The final count came in at eighteen in favor, eleven opposed, one abstaining.
