Chapter 141: There’s Always More Solutions Than Problems!

How do you turn something potentially worthless into something valuable?

Most ordinary people, including new entrepreneurs, tend to use practical means—turning the item into a commodity and then increasing its perceived value.

The most common method is adding value through attachments—making the item seem expensive by association.

For example, prehistoric fossils inlaid with gold and precious stones. These fossils are widely distributed across the world, almost everywhere.

The first to discover them did sell them at good prices, but as people realized they could dig them up with a shovel and some luck, prices plummeted.

What was once praised as a memory of history became a page of history, and then historical trash. The transition didn’t take long.

Yet some went against the trend. They chose intact and aesthetically pleasing fossils, embellished them with jewels, gold, or other valuable decorations.

The result sparkled—creating an immediate association with wealth. Add a wildly fabricated backstory, and these fossils sold at high prices based purely on their added value.

Many people choose this approach: to make a worthless item valuable, let the added value do the work. Even semi-official organizations use it as an example in so-called success studies—though results vary.

But for capitalists, making something worthless valuable only requires hyping a nonexistent conceptual value. The only prerequisite: it must appear rare.

Here, rare doesn’t mean truly scarce, unique, or uncommon—it’s just a concept.

A successful capitalist can pick one rare item from a million mass-produced goods—maybe due to a slight color variation, a small flaw, or some subtle difference—then hype it.

The product quickly appears in newspapers and public discourse, each mention inflating its value further.

For commodities, auctions are ideal. They generate demand. And then they wait—for the final sucker to take the bait.

The same is happening now. These merchants, preparing to invest in Lynch’s company, Interstellar Trading Company, have already started promoting it before even becoming official shareholders.

Lynch gave them a valuation of 50 million. So how do they ensure they don’t lose money after investing?

Simple—make the company appear to be worth 500 million or even a billion. Then any investment seems like a bargain.

But that takes time. And that’s exactly what many idealistic entrepreneurs hate—how capital operations destroy their dreams. Because playing with numbers and concepts is far more enjoyable than chasing dreams.

In just one day, Interstellar Trading Company’s market potential and valuation jumped from Lynch’s unsupported 50 million to 70 million. With large-scale construction coming, that number could keep rising.

Some people know the company isn’t worth that much. But as seasoned businessmen or speculators, they don’t mind joining the game—just like in modern finance, not every player is blind to what’s really going on.

Others, unaware of what’s happening, might wait, thinking themselves clever, to observe and confirm its legitimacy and potential before entering.

But by the time they decide to act, it’s usually already too late.

Even the mayor was tempted. He hadn’t expected Lynch’s small company to be valued so highly. If he’d known sooner, he might’ve made more profit.

Of course, Baylor Federation law doesn’t strictly prohibit politicians from investing. It just imposes stricter scrutiny. Most officials use proxies instead of investing directly.

“I have a nephew—he’s very interested in your company,” the mayor said with a smile. “Young people, always full of energy, unaware of what lies ahead.”

It sounded like a casual remark, but the real message was clear. A seasoned man like Lynch wouldn’t miss it.

He unfolded his napkin, laid it over his lap, and said casually, “Does he have contact info? Maybe we young people will find common ground.” Then, looking the mayor in the eyes, “Of course, we still need guidance and experience from our elders. After all, we’re young…”

They locked eyes for three to five seconds, confirming mutual understanding. The mayor placed a black business card on the table and slid it over.

Then he abruptly shifted the topic.

“Have you heard any rumors about the Liston Group lately?” the mayor asked casually. Lynch nodded.

These days, who hasn’t? Lynch even thought the mayor and governor had been too direct. There were subtler ways to deal with the situation—but they didn’t take them.

Seeing Lynch nod, the mayor’s expression grew a little resigned. He sighed. “The reality’s not optimistic. Neo has been contacting the Conservatives. You know…” He twirled his finger beside his temple. “There’s communication between us.”

He meant there was information exchange between the Federal Progressive Party and the Federal Conservative Party—which was normal. The Baylor Federation is ruled by three parties. Even if the Social Party often seems invisible, they still exist.

This exchange is vital for political stability. These are no longer imperial times. People have moved past the era of feudal ignorance and won’t repeat history’s mistakes.

Neo contacting the Conservatives meant leaks were inevitable. Even the terms they offered Neo to switch sides had reached both the mayor and governor.

That’s why the governor sent people to support the mayor—it wasn’t baseless.

“I don’t care whether Neo and the Liston Group stay in Sabin,” said the mayor. “I’ve never cared about that. What I care about is how many people in this city are jobless, struggling, hungry.”

“Shameful Neo and his company are using those people as bargaining chips in negotiations with the government. I won’t compromise—for the sake of my citizens!”

If a stirring, tragic symphony had played right then, Mayor Landon might have had a shot at the Augustin Film Awards—at least a Best Actor nomination.

“What worries me most,” he continued, eyes fixed on Lynch, “is if they really leave… how will we fill those ten thousand job openings?”

When he heard at lunch that Lynch’s company was valued at 70 million, he saw it as leverage. That kind of valuation requires real value creation. It can’t be conjured from nothing, or it wouldn’t survive scrutiny.

If Lynch, worth under a million, could already create 500 jobs for the mayor—then with a valuation over 70 million, couldn’t he do much more?

Not seventy groups of 500 jobs… at least thirty-five? For his nephew’s sake, at least twenty?

Lynch didn’t answer. There wasn’t a good way to respond. He was excellent at painting grand visions, but the mayor had gone straight to demanding tangible results.

One thousand employees would cost 200,000 a month. With 5,000, payroll alone would be a million a month. Even with a billion-Sol valuation, that couldn’t be sustained for long.

Lynch’s silence made the mayor realize he couldn’t treat Lynch like an inexperienced youth. If Lynch said he couldn’t do it, or could only do part of it, those statements could be used against him.

But silence… that was tricky. You couldn’t say he refused—he hadn’t said anything. You couldn’t say he agreed—he hadn’t nodded.

After a few seconds, the mayor shifted his tone. “You’re businessmen. Maybe you understand better why they’re doing this. What kind of difficulties have you personally faced in your entrepreneurial journey?”

Lynch raised an eyebrow and smiled—a smile that quickly turned radiant. “I’ve faced many difficulties. But as a businessman with a sense of social responsibility, there are things I can solve—and things I can’t. Perhaps you could offer me some constructive advice?”

The mayor didn’t respond immediately. He appeared thoughtful and said, “We can discuss it.”