The year is 2025. Summer. Washington was sweltering not only with heat but rising tension. On Capitol Hill, politicians hurried as if time itself had become too expensive. The moratorium on 'Liberation Day tariffs' was hours from expiring. Among them was James Whitman, a trade advisor to the White House. He sat in a conference room surrounded by folders, screens, and tense faces. Charts of copper price hikes, Asian market bulletins, and a letter from Brussels warning of 'irreversible consequences' over new tariffs filled the screens. “If we don't protect chip and medicine production now, we'll pay triple tomorrow,” said the Trade Minister. “And lose trust. China is strengthening ties with Africa. The EU is on the brink of retaliation,” James replied, eyes fixed on a Reuters ticker. In a Peruvian copper mine, engineer Lucia Ponce eyed the price surge with irony. A plant on the brink of closure was suddenly valuable. But what of the workers? Risks remained — instability, speculation, politics. Her brother, who assembled pharmaceutical lines in India, messaged: “The US tariffs scramble everything. Our exports could collapse.” In Shenzhen, entrepreneur Zhang Wei scrambled to reroute logistics. His startup shipped thermal sensors for medical equipment to the US. Each chip now faced new duties. Hospital contracts in Ohio carried penalty clauses. In Kabul, where IMF consultations just concluded, the local economy minister read the news with unease. Any global trade shift meant fresh shocks to fragile inflation. James stood at the window staring at the Capitol dome. The decision had to be made. To sign — would escalate conflict. To delay — might appear weak. He recalled his father, a farmer in Ohio: “We pay the toll every time politics trumps reason.” He turned back to the table and said quietly: “We need one more month. Just one. We're not ready for another trade war.” The documents remained unsigned.