Chapter 145: Only the Happy Know

Before Lynch arrived, the card game he saw was actually Mr. Fox deliberately losing to pass the time. Simply put, he used losing money as a way to bond with some ordinary old men around him.

Some might see this as loneliness and pity Mr. Fox for having no real friends.

But from another perspective, at least he still has money.

Lynch saw right through it. A man who deals with money all day and isn’t exactly a good person wouldn’t normally lose until he had barely any chips left.

He didn’t pity Mr. Fox. Maybe in Mr. Fox’s mind, the poor ones were those who spent their most valuable time for a trivial amount of money.

People say money can’t buy happiness, but Lynch thought Mr. Fox was quite happy just now—the kind of joy from sitting behind the scenes, letting those old men think they found an honest man while they were the ones caught.

The two laughed and sat on rattan chairs. The open-air platform was weather-beaten; leather or fabric sofas wouldn’t last half a year here. Rattan chairs lasted longer and added a cultured feel, fitting for this spot.

People generally, once their basic financial needs are met, seek spiritual fulfillment, and cultural pursuits are a popular way to do so.

“I heard you’ve found a script,” Lynch said, sipping the coffee brought by a servant. Many young people prefer juice for its sweet and sour taste.

But Lynch wasn’t really young anymore. He no longer craved sweet and sour flavors; rather, he was drawn to bitter tastes with a hint of sweetness.

Mr. Fox nodded. “You know, my damn son is a college student…” He called him a damn kid but the pride on his face betrayed him. “One of his classmates found this script and gave it to him. The kid found it interesting, so why not let him try?”

Lynch understood that feeling as a father. Every father hopes their child finds a bright path—even if the child is the leader of a criminal family.

He nodded. “I mentioned this over dinner with the mayor. He agreed to provide some financial support, though I can’t promise how much—I asked for as much as possible.”

“You can also apply for assistance from the social services bureau. They’ll assign staff to help with your filming.”

Mr. Fox was surprised, then thanked Lynch. “You’re a good man, Lynch.”

“We’re friends. Friends help each other, right?”

Without hesitation, Mr. Fox replied, “You’re right, friend Lynch.”

Maybe Lynch’s arrival distracted the Fox Jr., or maybe he wanted Lynch’s approval. Soon after, the son came up to the second-floor platform holding the script and handed it to Lynch. “Want to read it? This should be our first movie.”

The Foxes had founded Fox Studios, with Lynch investing some money for a 30% stake.

Originally, he intended to take just 10% as a courtesy, but the father and son were so enthusiastic they insisted on 30%, so Lynch put in an extra 300,000 (not yet received, but it will come). Those damn Foxes!

Responsible with his money, Lynch read carefully. His past experience and contacts in the quick-money business helped.

His eyebrows twitched. It was a common road-trip thriller romance, a bit cliché, but still a mainstream genre.

Before faster transport, people often traveled between cities by car—cheaper and freer than trains. Freedom is enshrined in the charter; it’s in every Federal citizen’s bones.

People love road trips—the beauty and poetry of driving toward the setting sun over the desert. Road movies have always been popular and cheap to make.

But this script… Lynch was not optimistic. A woman’s car breaks down, she gets a ride from a psychotic killer, and after suffering abuse, she falls in love with him. She redeems him, he turns himself in, and she even bears his child.

The real horror wasn’t the atmosphere—it was the writer’s mind. Lynch put the script down, using some body language to find a mild word but failed.

“I don’t know how to describe it…”

The Fox Jr. might have misunderstood. “Were you shocked too?”

Lynch glanced at Mr. Fox, who looked at him seriously, hoping for some feedback. Lynch frowned. “Maybe I don’t understand the deeper meaning, but I know it’s not a script I like. I wouldn’t pay to see it in a theater.”

The Fox Jr. looked incredulous. “It’s an excellent script, full of symbolism. Didn’t you notice its connection to some religious stories?”

He then explained a passage’s meaning and symbolism, revealing deeper layers unseen by many.

But Lynch wasn’t interested. “Entertainment is about happiness, not thinking—that’s for philosophy.”

“People won’t spend a few bucks and two hours in a theater pondering why and what. They just want to be happy. And I didn’t find a shred of happiness here.”

“That might hurt your feelings, but I have to be honest—I have to be responsible for my money.”

Mr. Fox kept smiling. He didn’t understand movies well but knew what held interest. He didn’t think this was a good story, but the college kids loved it.

As a father, he was definitely failing. He wanted to make up for what his son lacked somehow. He didn’t say it was bad, just stayed silent.

If Mr. Fox had stopped his son, it might not have worked. But Lynch was different. The Fox Jr. admired Lynch even more than his father. They became successful only with Lynch’s help—and this was just a small step in Lynch’s plan.

“Is it really that bad?” The Fox Jr. came out of his enthusiasm, sensing maybe it was…

“Take it out. Show it to people unrelated to this. They’ll tell you the honest truth.”

The Fox Jr. left feeling uneasy. Mr. Fox asked, “Do you have any good suggestions?”

Lynch was puzzled. “In what way?”

“For the script, the story!” Mr. Fox said. “They already rented all the filming equipment. It’s expensive, and the rental company said no refunds even if we don’t use it…”

With the economy bad these days, refunds were impossible. Some might say it’s just a few hundred thousand, but would the Foxes care?

Maybe in good times. Now, things were different.

Plus, these weren’t purchased—they were rented and had to be returned after the contract. Not a single thing could be kept.

Mr. Fox wanted his son to take a loss. He thought society was simple and believed they could succeed even if they didn’t follow this path.

If Lynch hadn’t known, the plan would proceed: filming, failure, and the son learning harsh lessons. It would improve their relationship.

But now Lynch and the mayor knew. If the original plan went on, the loss wouldn’t be just the son’s—it would hit Mr. Fox too.

People would witness a huge joke. That wasn’t part of Mr. Fox’s cunning plan. He had to fix it.

Lynch was about to say he was powerless when he suddenly remembered the truck driver mentioning a fool named James in the convoy who often wrote stuff and supposedly sold it to studios or unions. Maybe James could help.