Chapter 114: Past, Present, and Future

“I have a piece of land, about fifty acres. You know that?” Lynch shifted his seat, took a drag of his cigarette, and looked at George across the desk.

George frowned slightly. Honestly, he didn’t know about this. Large-scale financial operations were rare in Sabin City, and the six major banks were in similar situations.

If any bank had a big deal recently, George would know immediately. The industry was like a transparent glass wall to insiders—there were few secrets.

Lynch said he owned fifty acres, which puzzled George. Before working with Lynch, he had investigated him and found Lynch didn’t qualify to buy such a large plot in Sabin City.

Buying land in the Baylor Federation was easy if you had the money, but it wasn’t simple. Most land transactions involved factors beyond money.

For example, the number of jobs provided. Land use regulations required minimum employment quotas depending on the land’s designated use.

Also, there could be strict economic value standards—most directly, annual output.

Especially for industrial land, it had to provide many jobs and meet possibly unreasonable annual output requirements to gain city hall approval.

Lynch clearly didn’t meet these qualifications. Not to mention the cost, just meeting the minimum of three to five jobs per acre would mean hundreds of jobs on fifty acres—something Lynch couldn’t provide yet, though he planned to.

Having a plan didn’t mean it was achievable. If bragging were enough, the federation would be in chaos. Government evaluations were stricter than banks’. Lynch basically couldn’t, nor qualified to, buy land even if he had enough money.

George shook his head. “Sorry, I haven’t been following this. Did I miss something?”

Lynch didn’t mind and briefly explained, “I acquired ownership of the Sabin football club. That land is mine now, and I plan to sell it.”

That clarified things for George. He pulled out a map and found the club’s land.

It wasn’t downtown but wasn’t remote either—a good location. At current prices, it was worth about two million. It could attract interest.

He nodded to show he understood Lynch and kept watching him as Lynch continued, “I lack some local high-level connections, but I believe you can help.”

“Anyone recently interested in such a plot and willing to pay generously?” Lynch smiled, a warmth that made people feel close. “You said we’re friends, you’re generous to me, I won’t be stingy to you. After all, we’re friends.”

“From a friend’s standpoint, I’ll try to find a buyer for you, nothing more,” George said, avoiding the second half of Lynch’s sentence—the real motivation behind his help.

Even a one-percent cut meant twenty thousand in income. Such legal income was always welcome. If the price rose, his benefit would increase.

As loan manager of Golden Exchange Bank, one of the six big banks in Sabin City, George might not know local dignitaries, but he knew plenty of wealthy people.

Lynch stood, shook George’s hand, and said, “I await your good news.”

George promised to contact suitable buyers quickly and personally saw Lynch out.

Watching Lynch’s car leave the bank, George smiled and returned to his office.

He had seen many young people but never one like Lynch—already managing multimillion-Sol plans while others wasted youth on partying.

Sometimes comparing yourself to others only makes you lose.

After some thought, George sighed. He had briefly hoped his son might learn from Lynch but gave up.

If that brat plunged into this circle, he’d likely get exploited rather than become a legend like Lynch.

Better to leave some legacy for his family than chase risky dreams.

With that, George contacted his good friends, promoting Lynch’s land.

News of Lynch’s plan to sell reached the mayor, who shook his head at his aides—no need to interfere.

The mayor had initially arranged to sell the Sabin Football Club to Lynch for one Sol, fully expecting Lynch to sell the land, especially after Lynch expressed plans to build a new club.

This was tacit approval—the land was Lynch’s compensation. Though it seemed Lynch made a fortune by getting a club and two million worth of land for one Sol, he hadn’t really profited.

Sports ventures are costly. Even an average club spends over five hundred thousand a year. The two million compensation would only cover minimal operations for four years.

After four years, if Lynch couldn’t turn a profit, he’d have to invest his own money.

He’d owe double what he took from the club. Without city hall and sports authority approval, no one would risk offending local powers and the biggest sports financiers by taking over the club.

Even if Lynch declared bankruptcy, local courts wouldn’t accept it until every penny was drained.

That was the worst case. If Lynch ran the business well, city hall and the sports authority wouldn’t watch him go bankrupt—it wouldn’t serve their interests.

This safeguard was why the mayor didn’t care about Lynch selling the land. Lynch couldn’t escape.

This was a discreet small meeting with core members of the Progressive Party in the state—social elites, capitalists, and politicians like the mayor.

They discussed one thing: dividing the pie.

The pie came from EverBright Group, a multinational. Before it showed signs of withdrawing funds from the Baylor Federation, both Progressives and Conservatives had benefited.

EverBright provided many jobs and paid substantial taxes annually, but the executives planned to move funds to rebuild war-torn countries.

Though short-term profits might be less stable than in developed countries, the political capital from rebuilding was far greater.

As countries stabilized, these businessmen would gain high political status and returns beyond expectations.

This process might take decades but was highly lucrative.

Therefore, EverBright had to fall. Using federation-earned money abroad hurt some interests and crossed a line.

They wanted both people and money to stay in the federation, especially in such a sensitive time.

Through careful maneuvers, EverBright was investigated for tax evasion and nearly lost all resistance. Their board had exhausted contacts with no results.

Even Conservative leaders made no comment. The Justice Minister declared last month that even multinationals must obey Baylor Federation laws on foreign funds.

Next was profit division. A billion-Sol group’s collapse could spawn over ten companies worth tens of millions each. How to divide and who would benefit required discussion.

The Progressive Party operated behind the scenes, so the distribution was a collective decision.

As the leader of the state’s fourth largest city, the mayor clearly had the right to participate in dividing this pie—and also served as a referee.

Everyone was asserting their interests, discussing future plans and what returns they could bring to the city. But all of this hinged on them taking control of EverBright Group’s local assets.

These normally well-mannered gentlemen now argued like street brawlers fighting over fifty cents, even resorting to veiled attacks against each other.

Watching the endless quarrel, the mayor tiredly knocked on the table. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him.

“I didn’t take a day off to watch you bicker. Your time is valuable, and so is mine.” He stood, rubbing his temples. “Take a break. Reach a decision quickly—I don’t want this dragging on forever.”