Chapter 138: The Empathetic Lynch and His Capital

In the end, Neo managed to convince the board members with his eloquence and his plans—something that also aligned with Liston’s current circumstances.

These people weren’t going to blindly trust someone who had deceived them more than once. They would investigate Neo’s claims on their own before making a decision.

But the outcome likely wouldn’t change much—because this time, Neo wasn’t lying.

Still, these matters were far removed from the general public. A major economic pillar like this trying to pull out of a region, even with some level of agreement from local authorities, wasn’t something that could happen easily.

Just relocating the workers and employees who couldn’t move with Liston to another state would take a long time.

The next day—Saturday—interest began to rise around Lynch’s secondhand goods auction following the buzz from Friday night’s gathering.

At this auction, some attendees stood out sharply from the rest.

They were dressed in expensive formalwear, maintaining a dignified appearance even in the sweltering heat. Though they were sweating, they never appeared improper.

These individuals watched the entire auction and even actively participated. In reality, they were Lynch’s potential partners.

How to scale a business has always been a relentless pursuit for entrepreneurs.

Some believe in craftsmanship and dedication to product quality. Others put faith in integrity. But the fastest way to grow a business is through capital operations and strategy.

Perhaps it was the presence of these well-dressed individuals that stimulated spending. By 7 p.m., when the auction concluded, the total transaction volume was $20,000 higher than the previous week—a surprising increase that brought positive attention to the event.

As soon as the auction ended, a few businessmen approached Lynch to discuss potential collaborations.

Capitalism is never about kindness, mercy, or compassion.

In the sea of capitalism, plunder is the foundation of everything.

Under federal financial laws, once a company surpasses a market value of $10 million, it is required to accept investor participation. This polite phrasing hides a strict reality: a business of that size must have multiple shareholders and a board with over ten members to prevent financial crimes.

In other words, if Lynch’s Interstellar Trading Company exceeded $10 million in value, he could no longer refuse outside investment—otherwise, he risked investigation.

He could negotiate the price and percentage of shares, but he couldn’t reject investors outright.

And if the company exceeded a valuation of $100 million, it would be required to go public. Only after some time could it apply to delist.

Officially, this is to ensure companies contribute back to society and remain under public oversight—again, to prevent financial crimes.

But in reality, these laws serve to facilitate capital’s conquest of other capital. The market is a deep, dark ocean where everyone is both predator and prey. It’s a survival game.

Limitless gains and sudden losses are common. Staying in the position of predator and value-generator is the ultimate goal for every capitalist.

Unlike many entrepreneurs who are wary of investors, Lynch welcomed them. He even invited them to a hotel and reserved a business suite with a meeting room.

Sitting in the air-conditioned room after spending hours in the stuffy stadium, the guests finally relaxed.

After a short break, someone casually asked Lynch about his views on investment.

In truth, they had already exchanged ideas with Lynch at the previous night’s event. Today was just a field visit. If collaboration looked promising, they’d go for it. If not—but the profit margins were good—they’d consider directly competing.

They wouldn’t do so openly, but privately they’d register companies to mirror Lynch’s business. Even if they were part of the same circle, competition wouldn’t be avoided when money was involved.

“I don’t reject investment,” Lynch said. “In my view, making money alone isn’t as good as making money together…” That line had a unique allure, and soon Lynch had the whole room engaged.

He presented data showing the project’s profitability. “So far, each auction guarantees a profit of around 15% of the total transaction volume. After expenses, the net profit stabilizes around 8%.”

“If we add revenue from selling auction seats, that’s another steady income. Here in Sabin, that’s about $20,000 per week…”

That was already an extremely appealing number. An 8% net margin was more than many large corporations could guarantee.

And maintaining this profitability amid current economic conditions only added to its appeal. The businessmen in front of Lynch were clearly interested.

They weren’t necessarily interested in the business model itself—they were drawn to the auction’s political value and its ability to generate stable cash flow during economic downturns. That was what they truly needed.

Lynch continued, his tone tinged with excitement and reverence, as if sharing a sacred mission. “Since the third round of auctions, we’ve seen no drop in revenue. In fact, today’s auction saw a small increase. That tells us the potential is far from exhausted.”

“I’m actively preparing to expand auctions statewide. I’ve already received support from both the mayor and the governor. Soon, all 14 cities will host unified auctions with standardized prices, service, and quality.”

“And here’s a sneak peek of a new project—I’ll be launching a central hub for secondhand goods. Over time, we’ll phase out low-value items at auctions, replace them with high-end goods, and elevate the experience for our premium clients…”

“Based on my current projections, if auctions are successfully rolled out in every city, monthly net profits should exceed one million.”

The businessmen exchanged glances. None of them had expected such staggering profits from what seemed like a humble secondhand auction.

In fact, they estimated the actual profits could be even higher than Lynch admitted—especially when it came to the auction seats.

They had discovered that each seat brought Lynch about $5 in revenue. Sales agents, driven by the promise of bonuses for being top performers, were incentivized to buy into the system.

If a seller could get into the top three, earning over $10,000 a month, then every agent’s real competitor was their colleague—and their own greed.

For example, someone could plant a bidder at the auction, bid strategically, spend around $9,500, secure a top-three position, and still earn a $500 bonus.

In short, there was no need to worry about selling out seats. These people weren’t just Lynch’s partners—they were gamblers. And Lynch had simply provided a new kind of game.

With over a million Sol in monthly profit on the table, they were ready to play. They didn’t care what outsiders thought. The real value lay not just in profits, but also in all the additional opportunities this business model offered.

Things like putting ads on auction flyers, using raffles to promote products, or giving out vouchers and movie tickets—every detail was a chance to make money.

As long as there were people with spending power, capitalists would find a way to slaughter them like pigs. That, after all, was the original definition of traffic.

Someone finally asked the core question: “Mr. Lynch, how much do you think your Interstellar Trading Company is worth? How much would we need to invest to acquire shares?”

Lynch smiled slightly. “According to mainstream financial valuation methods, it’s reasonable to estimate a company’s short-term value at three to five times its annual net profit.” The others nodded—this was indeed the standard method used in the Baylor Federation.

“Based on my own rough estimate, starting in the second half of the year, monthly net profit will reach about $1.2 million, giving us an annual net profit of around $14 million.”

“Taking the middle ground and multiplying that by four, I believe Interstellar Trading Company is worth over $50 million.”

As Lynch reached this point, the people across the table suddenly realized something was off. Lynch’s income today was only around sixty thousand, yet he had boldly valued his company at fifty million.

That didn’t add up. If they wanted to invest, just one percent of the shares would cost five hundred thousand Federal Sols. Something about that felt wrong.

The room fell into a brief silence. Lynch didn’t speak, simply stared at them with a gaze like he was looking at gold bars—they were all money to him.