Chapter 134: Becoming a Person Who Fits In

In the current federal environment, the future’s direction—whether good or bad—has always been hotly debated.

Beneath optimism, people hide deep fear, despair, and pessimism about what lies ahead.

Perhaps the unprecedented prosperity in the financial market is the last effort by some to prove the future isn’t necessarily bleak. They have succeeded for many years, but ultimately failure is inevitable.

Whenever such topics arise, those who openly oppose the mainstream view attract crowds around them.

People aren’t drawn to Lynch because they believe his unpleasant words; they don’t truly believe the future will get worse, though they are prepared for it and acknowledge the possibility.

What they want is to find flaws in Lynch’s arguments to refute them, thus fooling themselves into believing their negative views don’t hold, and that the future will only improve.

Ferrell smiled, thinking Lynch had mastered the art of attracting attention. He didn’t push into the crowd but stood at the edge like others, watching Lynch speak confidently among them.

“I read today’s Trade Journal before coming. The federal industrial index hit another all-time high, and daily trading volume also set a record…”

Holding his glass, Lynch showed no sign of youthful nervousness—only calm and a demeanor that made others listen even when he rambled.

He sipped his drink. As he raised his glass, those around him suddenly breathed heavier; some whispered about Lynch’s words.

When he put down his glass, all fell silent, eyes fixed on him.

The feeling was exhilarating.

Speaking against the optimistic mainstream isn’t popular. When everyone clings to hopeful uncertainty, someone delivering a harsh reality check gets blame and resentment, not gratitude.

But Lynch had to do this. He was too young, with no powerful family backing. If he were an heir to a financial empire or a wealthy clan, he wouldn’t need this.

He had nothing—just a kid from an ordinary family with no capital to lean on—but he needed support and trust. The best way was to build a strong image: one always standing with truth.

Some may curse him now, but when disaster strikes, they will remember him first and seek from him some hope or solution.

“Gentlemen, many companies and factories around us are closing down. Many have stopped operating for a long time. Yet the financial market is booming—this is nature’s warning.”

“Something is deceiving our perception, developing against reason in ways we don’t understand. Disaster is inevitable!”

As said, many here listened not because they agreed, but to find flaws in his views.

A man in his forties cleared his throat; Lynch paused. People looked at him as he spoke, “Mr. Lynch, if you believe the financial boom is false, why are we all making money?”

“And…” he emphasized, pausing to collect his thoughts, “I’ve heard some call the market a game of passing the handkerchief. If disaster comes, only a few unlucky holders lose, not the whole federal market. What do you think?”

Passing the handkerchief was a traditional game in the Baylor Federation: people sit singing and pass a handkerchief; when the music stops, whoever holds it performs a talent.

Some thought the market risked danger but only for a few—stockholders.

If one in a hundred holds stocks, only that unlucky one loses if stocks collapse—not everyone.

This idea gained social approval and fueled rising trading volume—everyone believed they could pass the handkerchief before the music stopped and that even if one lost, the game would restart.

After a downturn, a new boom would follow quickly.

This misleading notion, pushed by some, became a reason many believed in sustained financial growth. But the real problem was far worse.

People weren’t passing a handkerchief—they were passing a bomb. A bomb doesn’t spare those outside the holder’s hands but harms all within its blast.

The process is complex; society’s complexity and human greed ensure the unlucky won’t be just one person but the entire economic backbone.

Lynch shook his head. “This view is common, but I think everyone overlooks one fact…” prepared for resistance, he continued, “Stocks and finance fundamentally reflect real industry value.”

“If the financial market ever collapses, the unlucky won’t be just investors but all of us!”

Someone couldn’t help but say, “Mr. Lynch, your words are exaggerated. Things unrelated to us shouldn’t affect us.”

“I don’t own their stocks or do business with them. Why should their fate impact me?” The speaker was clearly unhappy, voicing opposition.

“Also, a professor at Federal Central University said the recent closures aren’t tied to financial prosperity; they are natural competitive market outcomes.”

“Many firms fail, but many also flourish. The doom talk is alarmism. I believe we all here trust tomorrow will be better.”

Lynch didn’t argue further. He hadn’t come to make enemies over differing views. When faced with decisive opposition, he knew it was time to stop.

Continuing risked turning people with no economic ties into enemies.

“Maybe you’re right!” He raised his glass; others politely did the same, ending the uncomfortable topic. “To the Federation…”

The crowd dispersed, seeking other conversations or opportunities. Ferrell approached.

“Your views are unique, but it’s best not to say such things here.”

He nodded toward two men heavily surrounded—the core of the event. “They don’t like hearing it, nor want to see it come true.”

“Some truths you know but shouldn’t speak. If spoken and realized, they only make others look foolish.”

It was heartfelt advice. Lynch’s 5,000 wasn’t useless, and Ferrell made a good point.

In disaster, people avoid self-reflection, blaming others. When a financial storm hits and the federal order collapses, some will shout they predicted the doom, yet ignore solutions.

That might raise fame but earns hatred from those hurt by such words.

Lynch raised an eyebrow. “I think I understand…”

Ferrell nodded. “Everyone here came for the governor’s aide. You should go flatter him. You’re younger than the rest; he’ll remember you.”

Lynch thought it over—true. He patted Ferrell’s arm and moved to the crowd’s edge, pretending eager curiosity as he watched the governor’s aide chat.

He hadn’t spoken yet when the mayor suddenly saw him and approached.

“Lynch…”

Lynch turned with some surprise and bowed respectfully, “Mayor, sir…”

The two greeting each other caused the conversation within Lynch’s circle to pause. People stepped aside, clearing a path so their key figures could see the mayor and Lynch standing between them.

The mayor warmly patted Lynch’s shoulder, then looked at the governor’s aide with a smile. “This is the outstanding young man I mentioned in the last conference call—Lynch.”

Was Lynch flattered?

Perhaps a little, but mostly skeptical.

Lynch didn’t believe the mayor was praising him without a reason. He suspected a plan and remained very cautious inside, though his face showed the appropriate surprise and pleasure, as if it were genuine.