Blackstone Code-Chapter 704: A Conversation

“Mr. President!”

Lynch greeted him with a smile and extended his hand for a handshake.

The President’s hand was soft, not dry as one might expect. He was in good health and well maintained, thanks to the top federal medical and personal care teams stationed at the presidential residence. He never had to worry about such matters to stay in peak condition.

After the handshake, the President invited Lynch to sit down on the nearby sofa. They sat very close to each other.

“I heard from Truman that you mentioned wanting to talk after you returned. As it happens, I was thinking the same. So I invited you over—hope I didn’t disrupt your schedule.”

The President spoke with great politeness, without any of the domineering tone one might expect from the leader of a powerful nation. In contrast to the Emperor of Gephra, it was like night and day.

Three years ago, Lynch had only seen this man on TV. Now, he was sitting in the President’s office, and the President was speaking with such consideration for his feelings. This was the power of money.

“No, don’t worry about that. I have plenty of time now, and I’m honored to have this conversation with you.” Lynch responded enthusiastically, putting both sides at ease.

“Good…” The President glanced at Truman. “If you don’t mind, could you get us something to drink? I always feel something’s missing when I have empty hands.”

He turned to Lynch. “Coffee or something stronger?”

“Coffee.”

Truman walked to the door, opened it, and summoned the secretary on duty to bring two cups of coffee. He poured himself a drink in the meantime.

“Drinking on the job—technically not allowed, but I’ll let it slide…” the President joked, subtly showing Lynch how close he and Truman were.

There’s a simple and accurate saying: A friend of a friend is a friend. That’s the message he wanted Lynch to take away—that since they shared a mutual friend, they were allies too.

It wasn’t the President flattering Lynch personally—it was the wealth in Lynch’s bank account he was courting.

When the secretary returned with coffee, the President stirred his cup casually as he started chatting.

“I’m very interested in your work in Nagaryll. Sometimes I receive information through very limited channels. I don’t even know if what I’m being told is true.”

“They think I’m old and only want to hear pleasant things. So I was hoping you could tell me a bit about the real situation over there.”

Lynch immediately understood the direction of the conversation. The President wasn’t going to bluntly say, The election’s coming and I’m short a few million in campaign funds—write me a check. Things like that required tact. Even if someone overheard, they wouldn’t find any direct evidence. This was about coded language and indirect implication.

Just like how mafia slang can’t be used as courtroom evidence—there’s too much ambiguity and subjective interpretation.

For example, turn off the lights is infamous mafia slang for silencing someone. But if you use that phrase in court as criminal evidence, it becomes a public farce—a joke showing how powerless the justice system is.

The President was using the same strategy with Lynch—subtle implications, not outright demands.

“Nagaryll is doing fairly well…” Lynch played along, earnestly detailing the region’s development.

The President didn’t show any impatience. He listened quietly and attentively to the possibly boring details.

Once Lynch had said enough, the President summarized, “The early stages of anything are always difficult. What you’ve shared doesn’t fully align with the reports I’ve received, which helps fill in some important gaps. It’ll be harder for them to deceive me going forward.”

He paused briefly, then slightly furrowed his brow. “Lynch, may I call you that?”

“Of course, Mr. President.”

The President smiled. “Lynch, do you think the Federation could play a role in helping address some of the issues you’ve mentioned?”

“I know how hard it is for you all working abroad. I heard you even helped us break into the market in Amellia—that’s quite an achievement, you know?”

“At least compared to those who only take and never give back. You’ve contributed to the country. The country should support you in return. Only then can our nation grow strong and become the ideal homeland people dream of.”

He looked at Lynch with sincerity. If this were a script and Lynch just some lucky, wealthy young man, he might’ve taken it all at face value.

But this was the essence of the transaction—

What kind of return do you want… in exchange for a donation?

It sounds wild, but that’s the reality.

From mayoral campaigns to presidential races, it all runs on this same system. Even the issues raised by candidates tend to sound alike.

Hope the government does something—that’s the go-to phrase. Polling firms often ask random citizens what they’d like from the government.

Regular people usually list big-picture issues like pension reform, education, or healthcare. Candidates turn these into campaign slogans—whether or not they follow through is another matter.

But people like Lynch, sitting face-to-face with a candidate, can propose specific ideas—and those ideas often get realized.

“I think immigration policy could use some changes…” Lynch began. “Right now we only have immigrants and non-immigrants, but I believe there should be a third category in between.”

“They wouldn’t be citizens, nor would they qualify for benefits like social security. But they could live here long-term, attend school, work, and lead normal lives.”

“Out there, we’ve found many people deeply eager to move to the Federation, but current immigration laws block them. Their hopes remain just that—hopes.”

“If we eased restrictions slightly, our work abroad would be much easier.”

“Also, I have some thoughts on tax policy…”

The Federation has three main immigration types: investment, skilled, and labor.

Labor immigration was introduced during the boom years, when factories couldn’t hire enough workers and had to shut down. That’s when the Federation brought in large numbers of low-income workers.

People like Asel arrived during that period.

But when the economy slowed, production outpaced demand, and factories stopped operating, citizens became resentful of immigrants stealing jobs.

That’s when labor immigration was virtually shut down, with fewer than a thousand approvals annually.

Yet ironically, this is one of the most powerful tools against Nagaryll. Once those who’ve studied in the Federation fall in love with its prosperity, they’ll do everything in their power to return—including willingly helping their bosses exploit them.

Scalp peeled and blood flowing?

If they could, they’d cut off their own heads and place them on their boss’s desk.

Aside from that, preferential tax exemptions were another commonly expected benefit. Typically, this formed part of a broader chain of interests—where the President, through targeted tax policies, would create opportunities for donors to profit.

It could be in a specific industry, a particular technology, or a patented innovation. There was always a way to present it as reasonable and acceptable to the public. Once everything was accounted under that project, “financial freedom” could be achieved.

The two of them had a pleasant and harmonious conversation.

At the very end, just as planned, the President suddenly asked, “I heard you have around forty to fifty thousand employees, both at home and abroad?”

Lynch corrected him, “In fact, I don’t have that many employees. Most are partners. Like the cottage industry model I set up in Sabin City—around six thousand households work for me there, covering over ten thousand people.”

“Logistics and other operations across regions are also handled through partnerships. I have over fifty thousand partners. We don’t have a direct employer-employee relationship, but there is one thing I must make clear.”

Lynch looked the President straight in the eyes. “Every one of us is a steadfast supporter of the Progressive Party. We are all willing to contribute to its cause.”

At first, the President didn’t show any particular reaction, though his eyes briefly shifted. But at that moment, his expression softened again. He patted Lynch’s arm and smiled at Mr. Truman. “Lynch may be young, but he’s very capable—and he carries a strong sense of responsibility.”