Blackstone Code-Chapter 420: The Gathering

Lynch’s admission interview and enrollment process went smoothly and quickly.

Though he was not yet a major figure, for his age and achievements, he was among the few outstanding peers. The school didn’t treat him as an ordinary student. When Lynch mentioned he might frequently miss classes, the principal and board members expressed understanding.

To thank them for their openness, Lynch promised to donate a sum to the school upon graduation as a gesture of gratitude.

After finishing the formalities, Lynch left in a hurry—he truly had important matters to attend to that afternoon.

Following the negotiation teams and the Nagaryll delegation finalizing a series of aid agreements—more like disguised capital exploitation contracts—capitalists had grown clever, hiding their ambitions and packaging themselves as benefactors.

With the cake in the capitalists’ hands, it was time to divide it. This also marked a chance for those about to assist Nagaryll in realizing the Federation dream to gather, talk, and exchange ideas.

For a long time, these people would form a special cooperative relationship—not openly, as competition might persist on the surface, but fundamentally they stood united.

This was the president and Truman’s directive: they could allow the capitalists to take some profits, divide the cake, but only on the premise that national interests were protected.

Thus, a salon-style cocktail reception was necessary. Lynch, as a key player and beneficiary of Nagaryll’s large-scale development, was invited.

Many hoped to learn from him some insight on how to disguise their intentions.

Capital and capitalists had long been part of human history, evolving with society. Stripping away deception, the core of capital remained unchanged: cunning and ruthless acquisition. Different eras required capital to mask itself according to prevailing values—Lynch’s remarkable disguise skill was highly valued.

This reflected the greed of capitalists—they wanted not only money but also good reputation.

The event was held at a golf course outside Eminence, chosen for its spaciousness to set up cocktail tables for over a hundred guests to mingle freely.

Given the large number of attendees, many would want private conversations, and the venue allowed people to move apart as needed. Some could also play golf while conducting business.

The golf course owner willingly hosted the event—an expensive affair costing tens of thousands, but a worthwhile investment. Inviting so many social elites was far more effective than advertising.

At 2:30 p.m., Lynch arrived punctually. About a hundred meters from the gate, the once two-lane single driveway was congested.

Luxury and limited-edition cars filled his view. A group of eager reporters swarmed the gate, treating the event like the social highlight of the year.

This was natural; such a gathering of elites had far more influence than any celebrity.

“I’m a bit nervous, boss,” said Lime, sitting beside Lynch, fidgeting as he adjusted his bow tie in the rearview mirror.

The successful strike against Gephra currency was impressive, and many in Eminence’s financial circles profited.

Losses in copper ore were negligible compared to forex gains.

Unbeknownst to most, Lynch’s copper futures trades were profitable, not loss-making.

People praised Lynch’s financial acumen and sharp instincts, and Lime, managing Lynch’s accounts, gained attention as well.

This newfound respect was a drastic change. Formerly untouchable figures, like Lime’s ex-boss at a brokerage firm, now addressed him respectfully as Mr. Lime instead of kid. 𝑅άＮổᛒËS

Former female colleagues who had never given him a chance now frequently invited him out.

Lynch once told Lime he had seen Eminence’s darkest nights and promised that seeing its brightest days wouldn’t be hard.

Lime once doubted this, knowing rising in Eminence was difficult, but Lynch gave him a dream. Despite doubts, Lime pursued it, and now understood Lynch hadn’t lied.

In this city, rising to the top depended on controlling huge sums of money—even if those funds weren’t yours, you could still become a top player.

People idolized Lynch and Lime as having the magic to turn stone into gold, though most didn’t realize Lynch’s profits came not from instinct or superior algorithms, but from manufacturing his own opportunities.

Many like him existed, embedded across industries—those well-informed insiders who exploited private information to make vast profits.

Lynch was no different, except he framed his insider info as support for the resistance against Gephra’s tyranny.

This was why sociologists said capital’s core never changed: capitalists’ sole aim was more money, with all other actions serving that goal.

For Lime, the cocktail reception was eagerly anticipated; for Lynch, it was just a process of dividing territory and resources.

After more than ten minutes of slow progress, their car stopped outside the golf course gate. A red carpet laid out felt awkward to Lynch, but since others paid for the event, he had no right to complain.

Under a barrage of camera flashes, Lynch and Lime quickly crossed the carpet and entered the course, where the owner greeted them.

Normally, hosts would stay further inside, but the golf course owner’s status wasn’t high enough here, so he personally welcomed guests—a key reason he hosted the event: to expand contacts and elevate his social standing. There were no true philanthropists.

“Mr. Lynch, welcome…” The owner appeared around 35-38 years old, upright and tidy, hair slicked with wax, wearing a warm smile. He showed no disrespect despite Lynch’s youth.

His warm, firm handshake left a good impression.

After brief greetings, Lynch moved inside, followed by Lime, who politely introduced himself to the owner.

“Don’t be nervous. Treat this like the exhibition we met at. Everyone here is a potential client,” Lynch said, taking two wine glasses from a waiter’s tray and handing one to Lime. “Find your opportunity. I won’t pay you this time, but you can take five percent commission from any funds you secure.”

Lime paused, surprised. His gaze quickly shifted from hesitant to aggressive. Such was the power of money.

All the vast sums Lime handled belonged to Lynch. Everything Lime had was an illusion—once Lynch discarded him, he would be worthless.

But now, Lime had a chance—a real opportunity to own his own life.

After watching Lime go off to secure funding partners, Lynch scanned the venue and immediately spotted Mr. Truman surrounded by people near the cocktail table.

As the lead negotiator for this diplomatic meeting, Truman was regarded by Federation capitalists almost like a deity—half god, half money.

They caught each other’s eye, raised their glasses in a silent toast, and Lynch took a sip before turning and melting into the crowd.