When familiar people haven’t seen each other for a while, there’s always a lot to talk about.

How much they talk depends on how much energy they have.

By evening, Lynch and Jania arrived at a vacant hall temporarily allocated to the Gephran delegation. Whether used for meetings, receptions, or other events, the hotel wouldn’t interfere.

The hall was already bustling. Cultural exchanges differ from business visits—in simpler terms, cultural exchanges are closer to the general public.

Compared to vast wealth or regional authority, culture is more accessible and easily integrates into everyday society.

The delegation had invited several local cultural figures from Eminence to attend the reception, aiming to build mutual understanding and explore potential collaborations.

It was a reception, not a buffet, because Gephra had provided the alcohol—supplied by Gephran wineries that were also partially funding the delegation’s visit to the Federation.

In return, the delegation would serve their products at official events.

Though Gephran capitalists were constrained by authority, they weren’t fools.

Lynch and Jania’s appearance created a small stir. Reporters frantically snapped photos, and the flashes lit up the entrance like daylight.

“What do you think they’ll say about us tomorrow?” Jania asked quietly, naturally linking arms with Lynch and posing for the cameras.

Back when Lynch appeared in Gephra with Jania in public, the Gephrans practically lost their minds. They described it with wild exaggeration—A once-in-a-century prodigy falls for the princess.

They praised Lynch as a rare genius businessman, barely over twenty and already worth billions.

They didn’t just praise his wealth. His appearance, demeanor, and grace were celebrated. He was portrayed as a born nobleman, the epitome of elegance, and every woman’s dream.

And yet, such a flawless young man had fallen for Jania. This gave the Gephrans an odd sense of national pride.

Now it was the Federation’s turn.

For the sake of national pride and public sentiment, the media would spin the story to match what people wanted to see.

Facing the reporters and flashes, Lynch’s lips moved slightly. “Imperial princess smitten with Lynch, crosses the sea to find love in the Federation…”

Jania almost burst out laughing. She pinched the skin on the back of Lynch’s hand. “Is that the official press release?”

“My guess.”

The camera flashes continued for several more seconds until a staff member approached and led them further inside the hall.

Though the photo op seemed like a formality, it was actually the core of the entire event.

Both the Federation and Gephra needed photos of influential attendees in the newspapers. The more prominent the guest, the stronger the message: this visit matters. It showed that relations weren’t as tense as international news suggested and helped soothe any anxiety among the lower classes.

Inside the hall, someone was already waiting. Although Jania wasn’t the delegation leader or even a key member, her royal status carried weight. As the emperor’s sister, her presence alone represented much.

“Mr. Lynch…” The deputy head of the delegation, an elderly man in his sixties with graying hair and neatly groomed beard, had a scholarly air about him.

He glanced at Lynch, then at Jania. From his subtle look, Lynch instantly understood.

“Of course…”

He let go of her hand, and Jania naturally pulled hers back. The deputy thanked them, apologized, and led Jania to the side to discuss something.

Lynch took a drink from a passing waiter’s tray and had barely walked a few steps before spotting Fox Jr. approaching.

He looked more mature than before. Though he was in his thirties, he’d always seemed a bit naïve—lacking steadiness.

Now, he looked like a real adult.

This transformation was thanks to Fox’s imprisonment and the board’s pressure. Smooth sailing only breeds complacency—adversity is what truly shapes people.

“Lynch…” He raised his glass, and they clinked lightly before each taking a sip.

“Not bad,” Lynch said, glancing at the glass. Near the base was a label—custom-made for the reception.

Fox Jr. nodded absentmindedly, then added, “Thanks.”

Lynch looked at him, and he sighed. “The board— I know you intervened. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have let me off so easily. I really appreciate your help. Without you, I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

Capital is never kind, gentle, merciful, or considerate.

Its essence is plunder. It may wear lavish disguises or mask itself as charity, but at its core—it is plunder.

When Fox was arrested, a usually silent bloc of board members suddenly united and demanded Fox Jr. resign, claiming the scandal would damage the company’s image and put it at risk.

If Fox Pictures landed on the Federal Tax Bureau’s watchlist, its future would suffer greatly. The only way to protect it was to distance the company from the Fox family—starting by forcing Fox Jr. to resign as CEO.

Their plan was simple: push him out as CEO, then make him give up part of his shares as compensation to the other directors.

Because the father and son had caused the trouble, they should pay for it.

Once Fox Jr. lost enough shares to lose his voting power, they would hold a shareholder meeting and kick him off the board entirely.

And after that?

They had plenty of ways to seize the rest of his shares. If he cooperated, he’d get a little money. If not, they’d restructure and strip him of everything.

Luckily, Lynch stepped in. He didn’t even need to do much—just mentioned his relationship with the Fox family. That was enough to make the board members, who were ready to carve up the company, stop cold.

Lynch still held 30% of the shares. If he sided with Fox Jr., the rest of the board—even united—wouldn’t stand a chance. And they’d risk offending Lynch. Why bother?

So, Fox Jr. held onto his position. Not only did he remain CEO, but he also regained influence on the board.

He owed Lynch his thanks—and had come to understand just how ruthless and cold capital could be.

The same people who played golf and partied with him days ago had, in a heartbeat, turned to destroy him.

It was sobering—and he had grown from it.

Lynch patted Fox Jr. on the arm. “Don’t overthink it. Any new filming projects at the company lately?”

“There is!” Fox Jr. nodded, glanced around, and waved someone over.

A disheveled man in his forties appeared, surprisingly accompanied by a young woman in her twenties who was clinging tightly to his arm. She was fairly attractive.

From the subtle expressions on their faces, Lynch could tell both were nervous. His own smile grew warmer.

It was instinct—smiles can ease tension, anxiety, and insecurity. A simple smile often helps calm things down.

“This is our screenwriting team’s new writer, Shawn. And this is his…”

Before Fox Jr. could finish, Shawn stepped in. “Wife.”

The young woman looked even more nervous. She gave a strained smile, as if trying to hide something.

Lynch had no interest in prying. He introduced himself and shook Shawn’s hand.

Encouraged by Fox Jr., Shawn began explaining the new project. “I wrote a script called A Bright Future. It’s about a middle-class man on the brink of bankruptcy. His wife and child leave him, and he’s buried in debt.”

“To survive, he’s forced to start his own business. After a series of artistic failures, he finally catches a break, achieves success, and finds new love and a new family.”

As he spoke, Shawn gently squeezed the hand of the young woman beside him—his supposed wife, who looked about twenty years younger.

They seemed close—not like a writer and an actress.

Actresses are curious creatures. They can quickly partner up with anyone: investors, producers, directors, writers, cameramen—even lighting technicians.

Even more remarkable is their ability to seize opportunities. Sometimes, these partnerships lead to roles—maybe a lead, maybe just a background extra.

But these two seemed different. At least, that’s what Lynch thought. He had a good instinct for these things.