Blackstone Code-Chapter 421: No Way That Coincidental?

“Sir, hello, here’s my business card. Perhaps I could take a few minutes of your time…”

Lime, holding a glass, approached his first target—a middle-aged man accompanied by a young woman.

He used to look down on young women clinging to older men, seeing it as a sign of moral decay. Now, he thought differently. Everyone has the right to pursue their own happiness.

He actually admired this arrangement. It showed that men, wanting to prove their value in relationships, were more motivated about money. A young woman seeking an older man rarely did so for his looks—it was always about money.

Constantly projecting an attitude of I’m the wealthy one you can’t live without helped solidify such relationships.

That’s why stories often tell of old rich men lavishing gifts on their young wives, but rarely on their original spouses—because the latter’s relationships are based on love, not money, and expressed differently.

Even if the man wasn’t interested in Lime’s pitch, he would listen seriously. It seemed complicated but was actually simple.

The man took Lime’s card, slightly raised his head, his eyes scanning it with a hint of arrogance—an instinctive reaction. “Lime?” he read the name, then looked up to assess Lime’s appearance, glanced at his watch, and said, “You have sixty seconds. Starting now.”

Lime was momentarily stunned. He’d dealt with tougher clients, but recently everyone he met had been polite gentlemen. Suddenly facing someone so brusque was unusual.

Gentlemen listened patiently even if uninterested, then politely declined. Few were as blunt as this man, who gave only sixty seconds.

“Cutting the unnecessary fluff. Sir, are you interested in investing in railway construction?” Lime cut to the core, time pressing.

The man furrowed his brow. “Go on. You have fifty seconds left.”

Annoying attitude, but Lime remained unaffected—that was precisely why Lynch had spotted his potential.

In the financial world’s lower rungs, where stockbrokers survive by scams, harsh treatment was common—sometimes brutal, sometimes humiliating.

For example, a broker once kissed a female client’s backside to sell her worthless stocks.

Having experienced hell, Lime now stood in heaven. Even the worst here were kinder than the mildest in hell.

“Our firm has secured a major project. We plan to build at least three railways, each over a thousand kilometers long, spanning the entire region…”

The man interrupted, “Three railways over a thousand kilometers? Do you have the money? Do you know how much that costs?”

Lime showed neither anger nor joy, just a sincere smile. “That’s exactly why we’re here to talk. If you’re interested, we can discuss privately. Whether through shares or bonds, I believe the returns will be substantial.”

He glanced at the young woman beside the man, then quickly back at him. That small gesture was a subtle hint.

It basically said, Whether you invest or not, come talk—it lets you show off your wealth, which will appeal to the young lady.

Though it seemed trivial, skilled salespeople know the hardest part is not convincing the client but getting them to listen.

Lime had chosen a strong entry. If he could pull this man aside, even for a fake chat, he could present his ideas and pitches. Rejection was acceptable. 𝙧А𐌽őβΕṦ

Unexpectedly, the man refused. “I’m not interested. If I had that money, I’d invest in my own railway…” He checked his watch again, still holding his chin high, looking down on Lime. “Sixty seconds up. Sadly, you didn’t convince me, so…”

Lime put on a regretful expression and stepped aside. Watching the man and his companion leave, he shook his head, then recovered and moved on.

“Sir, hello, here’s my card. Perhaps I could take a few minutes…”

“That kind of event shouldn’t be entrusted to an ordinary person. Look at them, letting anyone in!” The man who gave Lime sixty seconds complained.

But it was just a complaint. He knew events like this were pilgrimages for speculators.

They’d do anything to get in. The fundraiser Lime was just with was one of them. If he had the qualifications and resources to build three thousand kilometers of railway, he wouldn’t resort to such pitches.

He’d just take the company public, and investors would throw their dwindling savings in.

The young woman beside the man soothed him. “Don’t be angry, Father. There’s nothing to be mad about. From another angle, they’re pitiful, aren’t they?”

The man looked at her. “I hate the way he looked at you. He thinks you’re my…” He cut himself off, which was the cause of his anger.

That damned young man actually thought his daughter was his mistress—that was despicable, terrifying, and disgusting.

The girl smiled and tried to comfort him but soon grew somber.

Her father noticed the change immediately. “Did that bastard upset you?”

She blinked, looked up at him. “Upset?”

“No, it’s not that. I just had some things happen today…”

A smile crept onto the man’s face. “I don’t know if you want to talk to an old man like me. You know, living long means you see a lot. Maybe I can help.”

The girl hesitated but eventually sighed under her father’s urging. “You don’t know—this year, a lot of recommended students came to school. One in ten. I’m unhappy with the school’s approach. I spoke to them, but…”

“They didn’t agree to your reasonable requests?” The man stopped walking. “Maybe I should talk to them.”

She sighed again. “No, it’s more than that. There are irresistible forces. I just told them all this morning, then…”

Before she could continue, someone interrupted their conversation.

“Am I disturbing you?” A familiar voice. The girl turned and saw Mr. Truman, who had just finished talking with others and walked over.

Anna’s father was named Patric Aginel, a name with special heritage. According to family lore, their ancestors were nobles exiled from the Madero Empire to this continent.

Well, exiled or not, they were still nobles. There was indeed an exiled count named Aginel in the old empire.

They claimed noble descent—initially laughed off, but after centuries, each generation insisted on it, and people gradually accepted it.

They called themselves the The Radiant Star of Capitalists. Patric was the current head of the family and a third-rank member of the Saint Harmony Society.

This reflected the Society’s power: even nobles had to follow their rules to thrive on this continent.

Interrupting the father and daughter’s conversation was Mr. Truman. As the head chosen by the East’s largest conglomerate, Stardream Butterfly, Patric held a solid position at the banquet where the division of Nagaryll’s interests was being negotiated, both because of his own status and his powerful financial backing.

They would also play important roles in upcoming dealings, so once Mr. Truman finished his previous conversation, he came over proactively—this was the very purpose of the reception.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Truman!” Patric finally lowered his chin, everyone aware of Truman’s significance.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Truman…” Anna followed suit with her greeting.

Mr. Truman nodded. He wasn’t quite used to their slightly curled pronunciation of good afternoon, said to be a mark of true nobility.

“I meant to come over earlier, but some matters weren’t settled. Now I’m free. Perfect timing—I want to introduce you to a very interesting young friend you’ll like.” Truman called out to Lynch, who was turned away, chatting with someone else.

Lynch glanced back, politely excused himself from the merchant he was speaking with, and walked over.

“I’d like to introduce you: this is Mr. Patric, Patric Aginel, and this is his daughter, Miss Anna…”