Chapter 140: How Can One Devour the Heavens Without Courage

At this moment, the men sitting across from Lynch had made their decision. They would invest in the business, but the approach would be different.

A small amount of cash, supplemented by other assets of equivalent value, would be used to acquire shares in the business.

This was, in fact, the formation of a financial consortium—like-minded businessmen beginning to form closer alliances. Eventually, these alliances would revolve around a core company or individual, forming an intricate web of shared interests. It would become the kind of powerful conglomerate that people admired, envied, and resented in equal measure.

Lynch already understood the deal was essentially done the moment they said they’d consider it. He flicked his cigarette, and a large piece of ash fell to the floor, breaking apart and scattering—eventually to be crushed under the casual step of Lynch’s shoe.

He put his leg down, stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, and stood up. The others followed suit. After shaking hands with Lynch, they left the room.

Standing outside the hotel, Lynch lit another cigarette. His head was slightly lowered, hands cupped around the flame. His face lit up briefly, then vanished into the dim glow of the ember.

From the beginning, he had known this business wouldn’t last long.

The second-hand goods trade peaks during the early stages of economic growth and the initial phases of recession—times when material demand remains high, but people’s financial capacity can’t keep up. That’s when the second-hand market booms.

But it never lasts. Once people accumulate some capital or no longer have discretionary income, the market begins to shrink.

Right now, it seemed like everyone still had money, but that would change soon. As more people faced business failure and empty pockets, even cheap second-hand goods would become unaffordable.

At that point, profits from the second-hand auctions would plummet. Given Lynch’s aggressive incentive model, losses were even possible.

But it didn’t matter. He would’ve already completed the initial phase of personal capital accumulation. These people would likely try to suppress the valuation of the Interstellar Trading Company, but Lynch wouldn’t let them.

In business, the simplest way to prove something is worth more than the price people assign to it is to introduce a competing buyer—like in an auction.

If there’s only one bidder, the item may seem worthless. But as long as there’s competition, the real value quickly emerges—and sometimes even exceeds expectations.

After finishing his cigarette outside the hotel, Lynch returned to the third floor. The celebration was still in full swing.

Richard had already brought in the girls. He even hired a crude, all-female band to provide entertainment.

With jobs becoming scarcer, especially for women, Richard—under Lynch’s influence—did what he could to help them.

As the boss, Lynch wouldn’t stay long, but he had to show up. Even in their moments of wild abandon, these people needed a clear reminder: he was the one in charge.

Richard, once again the day’s champion, noticed Lynch and immediately let go of the two girls chatting with him. With a reverent look, he approached Lynch and poured him a drink.

Then he turned, raised his own glass, and tapped a spoon against it.

The crisp sound cut through the haze of music and revelry, drawing everyone’s attention. The band fell silent. All eyes turned toward him. Richard, flushed with excitement, felt like he was standing at the peak of his life.

Holding his head high and raising his glass, he shouted, “To Lynch!”

Everyone—young men and women alike—raised their glasses. Lynch, seated at the center of the crowd, smiled, lifted his drink in return, and took a small sip.

Richard downed his wine, then hurled his glass at the wall. It shattered with a loud crack. “Keep the music going! Keep the party alive!”

His swagger sparked imitation. Others began throwing their glasses too, sending shards flying, as if that act alone made them feel more heroic.

Richard flopped onto the sofa beside Lynch, swaying slightly. “Boss, don’t you think we’re in heaven right now?”

Lynch took a sip, then sneered, his voice laced with contempt. “This? This is it?”

“Richard, your standards are far too low. To me, this place is nothing more than a village cesspool, a bunch of maggots writhing in shitwater.”

“Our stage won’t be this little city of Sabin. We’re going to the capital. We’ll book out the Imperial Hotel on Empire Avenue. And those celebrity starlets will be crawling on the floor, wagging their asses for you like cats and dogs.”

“This place?” He laughed. There was nothing more to say. His tone said it all—he didn’t think any of this was worth a damn.

Richard swallowed hard, the vision of Lynch’s dream overwhelming him. He pictured the glamorous movie stars—once unreachable on screens—prostrating themselves before him. The blood rushed to his head.

His face flushed with excitement. “Boss, will you take me with you?”

Lynch nodded. “Of course. You’re my most reliable partner. I’ll take you.”

He wasn’t lying. Since arriving in this world, no one had fulfilled the role of operations manager better than Richard.

Richard was clever—undeniably. But clever people are common. What was rare was someone who was clever, shameless, devoid of morals, and utterly lacking a sense of justice.

Lynch believed that if he told Richard his shoes were dirty, Richard would drop to his knees and clean them with his sleeve—even if those shoes were already spotless.

A scoundrel. A dangerous scoundrel. But a useful one.

Not far away, a man who clearly didn’t belong was quietly observing everything. His eyes locked on Lynch and Richard, then turned to Wood, who stood awkwardly beside him.

“You and Lynch aren’t close enough. You need to step it up. This is the last operation I’ll participate in. From here on, it’s all on you.”

“Don’t lose yourself in money, alcohol, and women. When temptation hits, remember the weight on your shoulders…”

Wood was ashamed—not just by the reprimand, but also by how easily his superior had seen through the celebration’s nature.

“Young people today are crazy. You’re a good kid—I know this must be tearing you apart inside. But this is a trial from God.”

“Go blend in. Don’t stand out. Only by becoming one of them can you gain their trust and destroy them from within.”

“I’m leaving now. Whenever you feel lost, ask yourself: What do you really want? What do you owe this world, this society?”

The middle-aged man’s departure gave Lynch a moment’s pause, but not much more. Some people, like Richard, would sell their souls for wealth. Others clung stubbornly to their principles.

Lynch respected those who stood by their convictions. But he wouldn’t follow them. If happiness was within reach, why choose pain—just to prove you were different?

After finishing his conversation with Richard, Lynch also left. He was young too—but he was their boss. Since he’d arrived, the party’s energy had noticeably dropped.

And as someone in power, he had to maintain authority. This idea of “blending in with subordinates” was nothing more than self-deceiving nonsense from people who’d failed and were now preaching about past glory.

True leaders never stoop to be equals with those beneath them.

The next day, Lynch registered several more companies. Thanks to streamlined procedures at the Social Services Bureau, he completed it all in a single morning.

In the afternoon, he had his law firm handle registrations in other cities—and took a stroll through the streets.

Some say the best way to truly experience the essence of an era is to visit both the city center and the slums—to witness the lifestyles of the richest and the poorest. That contrast reveals the true state of society.

Lynch didn’t even need to visit the slums to feel an atmosphere once exclusive to them. On the driver’s advice, he gave up the idea of going to the lower district. It was said to have become a haven for crime—so dangerous that even mounted and foot patrols refused to enter unless in numbers, especially the slums.

The situation was grim. And in such grim times, Lynch was scheduled to have dinner that evening with the mayor.

In an elegant setting, the luxurious décor made the power of wealth immediately tangible. Just a few walls away, the world was full of despair, but here, even the air was sweet.

As soon as they sat down, the mayor smiled and said, “I heard your company is valued at seventy million?” He casually placed a pack of cigarettes on the table. “Do you accept individual investors?”

Lynch nodded silently, without offering any praise for the prospective investors.