Blackstone Code-Chapter 703: Promotion and Raise

Is this the life he really wanted?

At this moment, Corman was contemplating a question he had never considered before—what kind of life did he truly want, and what did a real life even mean?

This clean-cut, healthy, and sunny young man was walking a path many had walked before. The person he loved the most definitely wasn’t Serra. His life was perhaps a bit better than others’, but still not good enough. He didn’t have much of a choice—just like now.

He needed to make a decision for his future.

Should he stay with Serra and continue playing the role he had always played—for the rest of his life?

If he chose this path, the second half of his life would be glamorous. He would be riding Lynch’s express train, racing toward a life of freedom.

Sure, he’d lose part of himself in the process, but isn’t that true for everything?

If you want money, you have to work or pay some other price. This was no different.

Or he could tell the truth and politely walk away. His life would remain unchanged, and he would still have control over his destiny.

Maybe in the future, he’d succeed, and today’s choice would prove to be the best one—success earned with his own hands would give him more autonomy.

But more likely, he would fail. A fitness coach who relied on ambiguous relationships to maintain clients hardly looked like someone destined to strike it rich.

In the end, he followed his heart.

“Mr. Lynch, I truly…”

“What are you two talking about?” Serra walked over with a bottle of juice and several glasses. Normally, this was something the servants would do, but with Lynch present, she wanted to handle it herself as a mother.

Corman stood up and walked over to help her carry the light load. He had decided to surrender to fate.

“We were just talking about the joint military exercise…”

After 8 p.m., Lynch stood up to leave. Sitting in the car, he lit a cigarette and reflected on everything that had happened that day, feeling a bit sentimental.

Money had improved life—and also made some things a thing of the past.

“Look into this Corman. I want everything on him…”

As the car passed the edge of downtown, Lynch suddenly told the sergeant to stop the car.

To his right was an open, abandoned construction site. Based on Sabin City’s development scale, this land was on the edge of the city center—a prime location.

The land alone was now worth over two million.

Yet it had been left derelict. The sight of it surprised Lynch.

This land had originally belonged to him. It was where his old club used to be before he relocated it to the outskirts for more space and development potential. He had traded this plot with Hart for a dozen lakefront villas.

The plan was to develop affordable housing to help people hit by the unemployment wave—those who couldn’t afford rent.

The government would cover part of the cost, the tenants would cover the rest. With very little money, people could have a home. The policy was good—but the project’s contractor turned out to be the problem.

Hart, under the guise of investment, sold the same units multiple times, pocketed the money, and vanished. Even the mayor got duped. To this day, the project remained at a standstill.

Now, it was a burden. The mayor in charge had already been reassigned, and Hart was still a fugitive. Anyone who touched this project would inherit millions in liabilities.

Even if city hall offered the land for free, no one would take it. Whoever did was doomed to lose money.

Lynch didn’t plan on stepping in either. This plot wouldn’t see any movement for five, ten, or more years.

Only when the land value exceeded the legal disputes tied to it would someone even try to resolve the mess. Until then, it would remain abandoned.

The restarted car disappeared into the night under the curious gazes of passersby. News of Lynch’s return to the Federation spread quickly.

Someone of his status and influence couldn’t return unnoticed. His entry alone was enough to tip people off—customs records.

The first to know was Mr. Truman. With many friends in the National Security Council and Military Intelligence Bureau, he was well-connected. Lynch wasn’t just a public figure with social influence—he was also a special advisor to the NSC.

Truman soon called Lynch.

“If you’re not in a hurry to leave, come to Eminence. Someone wants to talk to you…” Truman said with a mischievous tone. “Time to open your wallet!”

Lynch paused, then realized, “Is it donation time already?” He quickly added, “What month is it?”

“July. You’re eligible now. We’ll talk details when you get here.”

After a few more pleasantries, they hung up. Staring at the phone, Lynch shook his head. This was exactly why the Federation could never escape the grip of capital—politics always needed money.

In fact, many federal politicians envied the system in Gephra, where power had expanded without limit and capital was trapped like a bird in a cage.

Federal politicians dreamed of having that kind of power—power over capital, not the other way around.

But it was impossible. The bloated state of capital wouldn’t willingly go back into the cage. What amused the Federation’s elite most was that the Gephrans were trying to imitate the Federation’s system.

Did they not understand that once capital was completely unchained, their aristocratic structure would become useless?

Two days later, Lynch took the train to Eminence. Mr. Truman picked him up.

Sitting in the car, Truman boasted proudly, “My vacation ended recently—and I got promoted…”

Ever since the multinational joint military exercise officially launched, Truman, as head of the Office for International Affairs and Policy, had canceled his vacation. A global operation like this required someone experienced to lead.

The President wasn’t up to it. Neither were the diplomats. Only Truman, who had a good relationship with the military, was suitable.

Privately, the President told Truman that if he won the upcoming election, he would dissolve the Office for International Affairs and Policy and establish the Federal Department of International Affairs—shortened to the Department of State.

Truman would become the department’s first Secretary of State and also serve as Second Foreign Minister. The position of First Foreign Minister would remain vacant indefinitely.

This meant Truman would have full control over foreign affairs—a testament to the President’s deep trust in him.

There were still things Truman hadn’t told Lynch: the President also planned to dissolve the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, transferring all its powers to the new Department of State.

On one hand, this was something every new president did—criticize their predecessor’s setup of government institutions, then cut or restructure some of them to establish what the public sees as a more efficient new administration.

On the other hand, international diplomacy had become a key priority for the next phase of national development. The president didn’t trust anyone else with it. Many people in the current Ministry of Foreign Affairs weren’t from his inner circle.

If he completely purged the ministry, it would make people in other departments uneasy, and it would also create a negative public image.

No one likes a president who starts with a massive purge. It could even ruin his chances of reelection.

To avoid that, the president simply decided to scrap the Ministry of Foreign Affairs altogether. That way, aside from appointing Mr. Truman as the Second Foreign Minister, nothing else had to be changed.

This information was still confidential, which is why Truman hadn’t told Lynch. Until it was official, no one could predict how things would turn out.

To Lynch, Truman’s bragging came off differently.

“You’re not going to say anything?” Truman glanced at Lynch, who was smiling silently. “I thought you’d at least be interested—maybe even happy. We’re on the same team, after all!”

Lynch shrugged. “What is there to say?”

“Fine, your acting’s improved lately. Not only did the president forgive you, even the capitalists stopped targeting you…”

Truman’s expression briefly faltered. Then he slapped the steering wheel and muttered, “I knew I shouldn’t have let you speak. You always come at things from the strangest angles…”

Lynch’s comment deflated his excitement—because it was true.

At this stage, Truman still didn’t have enough influence to sway the president’s decisions on his own. If the capitalists had opposed his return, the president wouldn’t have reinstated him—no matter how much he trusted him.

In the end, it was because Truman had played his part perfectly—blending in with the capitalists so convincingly that everyone believed he was one of them. That’s what gave him this opportunity.

Not only had he been reinstated, he was even promoted.

The rest of the car ride was quiet. Lynch had ruined the mood but seemed completely at ease with it.

After about half an hour, the car stopped outside the presidential residence. After going through multiple layers of security, they met the president.

Unusually, the president stood in front of his desk to greet Lynch personally—an obvious signal. In the past, he’d usually stay seated, or at most rise casually when someone entered. But this time, he was standing in front of his desk, waiting.

A difference of just a few steps meant a great deal.

As soon as Lynch walked in, the president smiled warmly and extended his hand.

“Mr. Lynch, you’re finally here!”