Blackstone Code-Chapter 652: Hope Makes One Weak

Life is… strange like that.

Former Director Johnson never imagined that, just as he was approaching retirement, he would suddenly have a new child—a baby boy.

He had assumed he wouldn’t feel much for the boy. After all, he was getting old, no longer fit to be a proper father, and had seen too much of the world’s harshness. He didn’t expect to form any real emotional bond.

But when he saw the baby grasping his finger, looking up at him, something inside him stirred.

He wasn’t a tough man, nor was he rough. In fact, people used to say behind his back that he was… perhaps soft. That he wasn’t firm enough—meaning he was weak?

He had a delicate side. And at that moment, a spark long extinguished was reignited in him by this new life.

That fire, missing for decades, burned again. He went home and came clean to his wife. Now, the two are separated.

His wife and other children still live in Sabin City. They’ve been there for years. Their lives, jobs, family, friends—everything is there. Given the circumstances, they didn’t come with him.

Now, in the capital, it’s just Johnson, Michael’s wife, and the baby.

As morning light pierced the thick atmosphere and bathed the world in golden hues, Johnson slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he did was go check on his son in the nursery.

Seeing the baby sleeping soundly brought a smile to his face. He gently touched the baby’s cheek with his coarse fingertip.

At first, he couldn’t even feel anything—he was too old, nerves dulled by time. But now, thanks to some peculiar force, he could feel it. That soft, cloud-like little cheek pressed ever so slightly under his touch.

“You’re an angel,” he whispered, pulling his hand back, afraid of hurting the child, his eyes brimming with affection.

His movement woke the woman beside him. She stood at the doorway, looking at Johnson and the baby. Her feelings were mixed—complicated, subtle—but at least she and her eldest son could now live something like a normal life again.

You can’t expect a young woman with no skills or social experience, who’s already had a child, to find work—especially not now.

Aside from selling her body for survival, there was little else she could do.

Fortunately, there was Johnson.

Little Michael had transferred to a private school in the capital. Thanks to Johnson’s position as a consultant at the state tax bureau, the school gave Michael a full scholarship, covering all his expenses.

A fresh environment, the psychologist said, would help him rebuild his personality.

Speaking of the psychologist, she was especially grateful to Johnson. Power and wealth in this world were like a universal passport. Under the care of a new therapist, Michael had slowly begun to open up again—though he sometimes still sat in front of her vanity, staring blankly.

Maybe it was Johnson’s touch that woke the baby, or perhaps the clear morning light. Whatever the reason, the baby started crying.

The woman quickly went over, unashamedly loosened her robe, and offered him breakfast. She held and soothed him gently.

Watching the mother and child, and feeling the pulse of this family born from new life, Johnson smiled again.

It would’ve been perfect—if not for the doorbell.

“I’ll see who it is…” He gently closed the nursery door behind him and headed to the entrance.

This was a mid-range neighborhood, home to middle-class and government workers. Security was tight, facilities good. He wasn’t worried about troublemakers—the riffraff couldn’t even get through the gates.

But the moment he opened the door, his face froze—just slightly—and then relaxed.

“Looks like I’m not too welcome,” Lynch said, his smile as warm and golden as the morning sun. “Mr. Johnson, you seem displeased with my visit?”

“Displeased?”

“No, not at all. We’re good friends, remember? You said so yourself,” Johnson took a deep breath and stepped forward, positioning himself squarely in the doorway.

The gesture clearly meant Lynch wasn’t welcome inside. “Shall we take a walk?” he offered.

Lynch glanced into the house—he already knew what was there: a woman, a baby.

In the Federation, money could get you almost anything, including secrets.

He didn’t press the issue. With a nod, the two men began strolling through the neighborhood.

“Gentlemen, good morning…”

A passing woman paused briefly to glance at Lynch before greeting them. Both men responded politely.

A cheerful boy rode past on a bike, delivering newspapers. An old man scolded his playful dog while trimming the lawn. Nearby, a middle-aged homeowner watered flowers in his yard, chatting with a neighbor.

Bathed in morning light, the neighborhood seemed like paradise—no worries, no sadness. Everyone was polite, composed, and gracious.

Lynch’s gaze returned from the scenery. He looked toward the end of the street, walking casually. “Fox was taken by the state tax bureau yesterday. Did you hear?”

Johnson hesitated mid-step, falling behind by half a pace before catching up. “I rarely go to the tax bureau. I don’t have any real duties—just respond to requests or calls. Otherwise, I only go when it’s payday. So I don’t know much about what you’re talking about.”

Everyone in Sabin City knew Fox was Lynch’s associate. His arrest wasn’t some secret.

Hearing that name, Johnson immediately thought of the old case—one that had reached even the Federal Tax Authority and the Cabinet. It had been under his jurisdiction then. He couldn’t forget.

At the time, public pressure had forced a truce. But Lynch had indeed embarrassed the tax bureau. Some might forget, but others wouldn’t.

Now someone was settling old scores. As a current consultant, Johnson didn’t even find that surprising.

The tax bureau—one of the Federation’s most unusual departments—was known to hold grudges.

Feeling a ripple of unease, Johnson spoke before Lynch could, “I’d love to help you, but look at me now—I have nothing. I don’t even have a voice anymore.”

“So I’m sorry. I really can’t do anything for you in this matter.”

He had distanced himself early on, not wanting to be caught in the storm.

Now, for Johnson, the greatest joy in life was watching his youngest son grow day by day, feeling the vitality of new life.

He was also about to receive a monthly pension of $750—enough for his family to live on here. He didn’t want to make any mistakes he would regret.

Lynch had a faint smile on his face. He turned slightly and glanced sideways at the older man, who stood half a head shorter than him. “No—you can help me. I only need you to do two things.”

Johnson frowned and repeated, “Listen, I—”

Lynch stopped walking and looked at him. The smile faded from his face, revealing a serious, almost intimidating expression. “Director Johnson, I respect you, but I also expect you to respect me. Don’t interrupt me before I finish speaking. Is that alright?”

He stared into Johnson’s eyes. Johnson, who was about to object again, felt a different kind of pressure. After a few seconds of silence, he averted his gaze and nodded. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted.”

Lynch’s smile returned. He resumed walking, and Johnson followed close behind.

“I want you to do two things for me.”

“First, find out who’s behind all this—who’s orchestrating things here, who’s running the show. That might end up being two things, but I believe once you find one answer, the other will follow.”

“Second, pass on a message to Fox. Tell him I’ve never forgotten our friendship—and long live our friendship.”

Lynch spread his hands. “See? Two very simple things. Would you refuse me?”

Even though Lynch wasn’t looking directly at Johnson, Johnson still felt uneasy, as if a gaze was locked on him.

For a moment, he felt like a rabbit on a hillside—everything around looked peaceful and beautiful, yet his heart pounded with unease.

For a rabbit, danger comes from the sky.

For him, danger was standing right beside him.

After seventeen or eighteen, maybe twenty seconds, Johnson said hoarsely, “I’ll try…”