The timing was a knife twist. He walked into Washington just as his own party voted to denounce the very word that defined his campaign. Cameras hunted for a crack, a stumble, a single softened phrase. Allies feared a quiet sellout; enemies prayed for a loud misstep. Every handshake felt like a test. Every briefing, an ambush. In that suffocating choreography of power, one question stalked him down every hallway: when “socialism” stops being a slogan and starts being a budget line, who will he really choos… Continues…