Chapter 132: The Reception

Bank money is a broad concept. Until an individual or organization withdraws funds in cash, all money held in a bank is considered the bank’s money.

This is one reason banks aren’t overly afraid of financial fraud. Sometimes they even actively participate, playing roles that might seem unsavory.

The reason is simple. For example, Lynch couldn’t carry such a large loan around or store it in an unsafe place.

The only option was to keep the loaned money in the bank. Thinking about it, this is somewhat ironic but also helps banks control risk.

Sometimes, banks sign supplementary agreements before lending. The loan amount is placed in a designated, monitored account.

If the bank deems the risk too high, it can freeze the funds until the risk lowers.

If a company borrows ten million Sol and keeps it in the bank, but suddenly goes bankrupt, what happens?

The bank incurs a bad debt of ten million Sol but controls an extra deposit and collects upfront interest.

There are many ways to mitigate risks, so banks are not as panicked about bad debts from bankruptcies as outsiders think.

Lynch’s answer left George amused. He thought Lynch was playing big, but Lynch saw it as small change, which eased George’s caution.

What was a huge sum to George was just a handful of beans to Lynch. Why hesitate?

George then approved a loan of 1.6 million Sol to Dyson Asset Management. As soon as he signed, the money was transferred into their account.

Looking at the calm young man, George felt a sense of twilight growing inside—he was getting old.

“Free tonight?” he asked casually. Lynch thought for a moment and nodded.

Lynch had no other plans. Most of his current work was in planning, and he lacked funds. He’d been drawing up schemes, now needing money to realize them.

Before the plans started, he had plenty of time.

George clapped his hands and decided, “Come to my house tonight. You should try my wife’s cooking. We can talk about upcoming work—I believe we’ll have much in common.”

He added, “And you can meet my family.”

George valued Lynch for two reasons. First, Lynch’s skills and mindset were far beyond his age—he was destined for more than an ordinary life.

Second, Lynch had a broad vision and clear strategic thinking, which was crucial.

Some people have strong execution but lack vision; even if they start faster or better, they rarely go far.

George believed Lynch could. Sometimes he suspected beneath Lynch’s youthful appearance lay a soul as old as his own.

Lynch’s actions were unlike those of a twenty-year-old—hard to believe.

Lynch accepted George’s goodwill. Before leaving Sabin City, maintaining good relations with a major bank’s loan manager would strongly benefit his career.

To grow quickly, Lynch knew the simplest, most effective method in a capital society: mergers and acquisitions.

That required large sums of money.

After leaving the bank, Lynch called Cook. Since their last meeting, Cook had been tasked with finding more truck drivers. Ten or so drivers weren’t enough to cover the entire state’s cities and towns.

These new hires would also fill part of the sixty job openings—perfect.

When they met, Lynch handed over the keys to Cook, instructing him to move the vehicles to the club’s vacant lot for temporary storage and to check and maintain them.

That evening, Lynch had dinner with George and his family. George wanted to deepen ties with Lynch and perhaps introduce his son.

Like all parents, he cared about his child’s future and hoped investing in Lynch would secure his son’s well-being.

In the following days, Lynch registered branches of his Interstellar Trading Company across all cities in the state and negotiated secondhand goods trading with local government offices.

With Sabin City’s municipal support and backing from the Progressive Party—whose territory this was—his plans proceeded smoothly, fueling his enthusiasm.

He hadn’t felt this way in years and couldn’t help but think: youth is wonderful.

On Friday evening, following Ferale’s tip, Lynch arrived punctually outside the third-floor hall of the Sabin Holiday Hotel.

Soon, Ferale, dressed formally, came out and joined him.

“Many important guests came today. The governor’s aide is here too. Though a Progressive Party member, he leans conservative. Watch your words…”

He lit a cigarette. “Smoke this one before we go in—I’m going crazy!” He shook his head wryly.

Around them, seven or eight people stood either alone or in small groups, smoking discreetly.

Everyone was careful not to smoke inside the hall, showing high etiquette or perhaps not wanting to lose face before prominent guests.

Tonight’s reception was a cold buffet organized by Progressives, held regularly for sharing experiences—what most imagine as high society socializing.

Lynch, recently active with a clear stance, had received a formal invitation from the mayor.

With the governor’s aide visiting, the mayor had Ferale notify Lynch to attend.

After a few minutes, Ferale explained some matters and led Lynch inside.

The hall was still sparse, some guests yet to arrive.

Most clustered around the mayor and the governor’s aide. These gentlemen, in tails, held wine glasses and spoke with cultured elegance, their reserved smiles making them appear kind and approachable.

Not a trace of their ruthless nature showed.

Upon entering, Lynch was greeted immediately—part of high society’s social standards.

Those with great value naturally draw attention; people revolve around them.

But not everyone shines—some are dimmer and circle the bright to catch some reflected light.

Opportunities never wait; only by actively pursuing can one seize them. This is their golden rule.

“You must be Mr. Lynch, right?” A well-groomed man in his late 30s approached, taking a wine glass from a passing waiter and offering it to Lynch.

“Glad to meet you. I’m Lunetto. You probably haven’t heard of me…”

Lynch hadn’t. In the Progressive Party’s domain, businessmen rooted here usually supported the party. Lunetto was no exception, regularly donating politically.

But he was obscure, insignificant compared to others—a small merchant and a staunch party supporter.

Small businessmen like him actively networked with everyone, which might make him seem humble, but once away from here and back in his own factory, he was the fiercest tyrant king, ruling everything brutally.

Lunetto ran a clothing and blanket factory, but business had been bad lately, leaving him overwhelmed. His factory was almost completely shut down.

In the current situation, small businessmen like him lacked strong risk resistance, which explained his humble demeanor.

He praised how exquisite his factory’s products were and how low their prices, while trying to find opportunities with Lynch.

“I know about your secondhand goods auction. It’s a great idea. Do you think there’s a chance for us to cooperate?”

His eyes fixed on Lynch, filled with hope, desire, and some readiness for disappointment.

He expected a disappointing answer. In less than fifteen minutes, he had already heard five similar refusals at the reception; Lynch’s might be the sixth.

But unexpectedly, Lynch gave a different reply.

“Why not?” Lynch asked in return.