Chapter 142: A Lavish Dinner

The deep red wine in the exquisite crystal goblets gleamed like blood, its enticing sweetness evident. Without bubbles, the glass was as clear and refined as high-end crystal—an expensive luxury only the upper class could afford.

For many, whether a glass has bubbles or is perfectly clear doesn’t affect whether it holds wine or another drink, but this is the biggest distinction between upper and lower society.

“I plan to establish a logistics company soon, creating about seventy to a hundred jobs…” Lynch began.

The mayor interrupted him directly, “I think a hundred is just right.”

Lynch didn’t argue. They locked eyes for a moment before he nodded. “Fine, a hundred jobs. Besides that, the club with its athletes and related organizations will create two or three hundred more jobs. Also, I’m planning to build a warehouse district. By the end of the year, I can provide you with at least eight hundred jobs, and that number will increase next year.”

The mayor shook his head. Even with those added, it wasn’t enough. He knew well Lynch couldn’t shoulder the entire group’s employment needs alone—it was impossible.

In fact, the mayor had a better plan. First, the businessmen who absorbed EverBright’s assets couldn’t just hold back; they acquired valuable assets at rock-bottom prices and had to prove their worth to the mayor, the governor, and society.

Second, if Liston truly left, a large asset and commercial void would remain. A political traitor couldn’t keep their interests here; those assets would be divided and those who acquired them would naturally bear social responsibility.

His remarks were meant to squeeze Lynch’s maximum potential—just like capitalists squeezing merchants. Politicians sometimes exploited businessmen, too.

If you don’t push, who knows if these businessmen are truthful? Besides, unexpected gains might appear.

Still, eight hundred jobs exceeded the mayor’s expectations. When Lynch previously claimed he could provide five hundred jobs by year-end, the mayor thought that was just an estimate.

Five hundred workers meant a monthly wage bill in the hundreds of thousands; eight hundred jobs meant nearly two hundred thousand in monthly wages.

According to profit margins on light industrial goods mentioned in the Trade Report, Lynch would need to sell over a million in goods monthly to cover wages. The mayor thought this unlikely.

Yet the mayor was satisfied with Lynch’s answer. Whether Lynch was biting his tongue or not, it showed Lynch valued his position with the mayor.

Suddenly, the door knocked. The restaurant manager entered, leading waiters pushing a food cart, followed by a chef.

This wasn’t a ceremonial meal—such meals typically serve one dish at a time, but that didn’t suit politicians and businessmen.

They preferred private rooms for whispered talks of confidential matters; interruptions by course-serving staff were disliked. Only those wanting to flaunt expensive meals indulged in such ceremony.

Without special requests, private dining usually didn’t serve dishes one by one.

The waiter introduced the food while placing it for the mayor and Lynch. When it was time for the main course, the chef pushed a cart to a safe distance about three meters from the table to avoid smoke or oil splatter.

He lifted a silver cloche, flames burst up with a sizzle, revealing two tender steaks beginning to brown rapidly.

These steaks had been prepped and were now being finished to look more expensive.

Flames, spices, and rich wine aroma filled the room—the chef used liquor to fuel the fire, so no greasy smell lingered, only a pleasant wine fragrance.

After about three minutes, the chef covered the steaks again, extinguishing the flames, then bowed respectfully to the mayor and Lynch.

When he lifted the cloche again, only fragrant steam rose, filling the room with a rich aroma.

“Seared veal loin…” The restaurant manager personally served the main course to the mayor and Lynch. After all bowed again, they left promptly.

The veal came from the far west, from a breed called Kurilik, artificially raised for high-end consumption.

It had more fine marbling than regular beef and was considered the finest. A 300-gram loin alone cost about 120 Sol raw.

Cooked and served with ambiance and service, the price was 199.99 Sol per serving.

Though this seemed expensive, Lynch only had to pay for two main courses—the veal loin and the wine.

Other dishes were side dishes made from scraps of the veal loin, so the cost wasn’t high. Dining in a high-end setting with the mayor, Lynch paid less than a thousand Sol, which many considered a bargain.

Even if the price rose tenfold, many would scramble to pay for a seat at the table.

Others quickly left and the door closed, restoring silence.

“This veal loin is delicious. You’ll love it,” the mayor said.

Lynch nodded slightly. He cut a small piece; the juices, a bit of blood, and melted butter created a delicate texture—tender but not mushy, unlike ordinary beef. The sauce, marinade, meat, and juices combined to reveal the purest beef flavor.

Lynch raised an eyebrow. “Very delicious.”

The mayor smiled, genuinely pleased Lynch liked it. Sharing something good with a friend was satisfying.

After a light meal, their pace slowed. Lynch deftly cut his food while saying something that caught the mayor off guard.

“I can actually create more jobs. I plan to acquire some factories, but two major problems remain unresolved…” He dipped a piece of beef in sauce and ate it, the changing flavors making eating a pleasure.

He then took a spoonful of rustic stew, its rich taste adding complex layers.

The stew wasn’t named to belittle the countryside, but for its character and ingredients.

White mushrooms, celery, potatoes, corn, beef, and chicken bits were sautéed then simmered with milk, flour, cream, and butter, thickened and briefly baked.

The stew had a distinct crust, whose scent was irresistible. The recipe was said to come from a rustic stew tradition.

Whether true or not was unclear, but the menu story and server’s tale convinced most it was.

Modern dining was tough—it required both skilled chefs and storytellers for dishes.

Lynch savored the meal. The mayor opposite him suddenly paused, frowning as he studied Lynch’s calm, content expression. He felt a bit perplexed by the young man.

Before, despite Lynch’s impressive performance, the mayor felt he could somewhat guess Lynch’s thoughts, but now he realized he might have been arrogant.

Everyone knew physical industries were dying fast, even big capital avoided sustained investment, shifting to finance.

At such a time, Lynch’s plan to buy factories sounded… far-fetched.

But Lynch was a miracle worker. The mayor knew Lynch was waiting here for him—with those two problems.

The delicious food before him suddenly seemed less appealing. Frowning, he paused before continuing to cut the steak. Casually, he asked, “If you have troubles, you might as well say them. Maybe I can offer some solutions.”

He didn’t propose any methods or promises—he wasn’t sure if Lynch’s troubles were the kind he understood.