Chapter 176: A Downpour

By September, the weather had cooled. Though still warm, the wind now carried a faint chill.

With two new branches established and generating impressive sales, Lynch had already instructed Richard to begin preparations for a second-hand goods auction in the state capital. As the Interstellar Trading Company became more visible to the public, Lynch gained both wealth and reputation.

“Edwin is the governor’s chief of staff—and also a relative…”

Sitting in the mayor’s car, the mayor briefed Lynch on the person they were about to meet, along with a few important reminders.

The better Lynch’s business performed, the more it validated the mayor’s policies.

The more successful those policies, the higher the mayor’s standing within the state’s Progressive Party. Some had even begun to suggest he might have a shot at running for governor.

Such an opportunity wasn’t available to every mayor. Most would retire as state legislators or congressmen—if they were lucky. Others wouldn’t even achieve that, settling for minor party positions.

Backing a candidate for governor required massive resources. Unless a party was confident, neither the Progressives, the Conservatives, nor the often-forgotten Socialists would consider nominating anyone.

The mayor might have that chance—but only if his ideas and policies genuinely improved Sabin and the state’s performance during tough economic times. His policies also needed to influence the direction of the entire federation.

Only that kind of prestige and media presence could make up for his greatest weakness—he wasn’t a member of the Saint Harmony.

That’s why he now heavily relied on Lynch. The two were en route to a small networking event hosted by Edwin, the governor’s chief of staff.

Sabin wasn’t the only city facing trouble. Every city in the state was struggling. The governor’s team had started searching for solutions, hoping to find something that might work.

They hadn’t acted earlier because they believed they could figure things out on their own. Now they knew they couldn’t.

Edwin’s visit to Sabin had been arranged by the governor himself. The second-hand goods auction policy, implemented here, had been proven effective—validated by professional survey organizations.

People often saw surveyors in the streets offering small gifts in exchange for completed questionnaires. These were professionals, and each survey was worth a set number of points or money, depending on the demographic.

The governor wanted to know if Sabin’s mayor—or his associate Lynch—had any more innovative ideas worth exploring.

“…Edwin comes from a devout family. He has strong faith—though he often does faithless things,” the mayor added sarcastically, clearly not fond of Edwin.

He continued in a lower voice. “He looks like a priest, but don’t be fooled. He’s a sly fox.”

Lynch found this amusing. “No offense, but are you two…?” He shrugged and gestured to make his point clear.

The mayor admitted it somewhat sheepishly. This was the value Lynch brought—he had earned their closeness. Even personal matters could be discussed.

But if Lynch ever lost that value, they would become strangers again—able to see each other, but never looking.

“He once suggested I skip my current role and go straight to the state senate. Not out of kindness—he just wanted his nephew to take my job.”

The mayor smiled. “But I won that round.”

He didn’t mention what that victory had cost—likely something heavy.

He went on to share Edwin’s habits and quirks, repeatedly warning Lynch not to believe a word the man said. “He’s a liar.”

But in truth, everyone was. Some still clung to naïve ideals; others had even managed to fool themselves. The rest were still struggling in the middle.

The gathering was held at an estate outside Sabin, owned by Mr. Green, a Progressive state senator. When Edwin planned his visit, Green volunteered to host.

As the car neared the estate, a sudden downpour began. The rain cooled the air and offered Lynch—dressed formally—a welcome relief.

His back was already damp with sweat. But summer formalwear was designed for this—extra layers in the vest absorbed moisture, keeping the suit presentable.

The rain cleared the air, though the driver’s view worsened. Visibility dropped, and the car slowed.

About ten minutes past the scheduled arrival time, they reached the estate. The butler immediately had them shown to their rooms to freshen up, reminding them the event had been delayed until 9 p.m. due to the rain. They had roughly forty minutes to prepare.

The time wasn’t for rest—it was to resolve anything that needed fixing.

If clothes were damp, maids were available to dry them.

If shoes were muddy, servants could quickly clean them.

Even dirty cuffs or stained socks could be dealt with before the meeting.

Of course, no one would openly mock them if they didn’t. No one would sing like in an opera, “Ah-ha! Look at that fool’s behind—is that mud or something worse?”

Still, people cared about appearances—especially on important occasions.

Once in his room, a maid offered to help with Lynch’s attire. He removed his jacket and inspected it—no dirt or water. Only his pant cuffs were slightly damp, but not noticeably.

He changed into another pair of shoes and asked the maid to clean the muddy ones. Then he sat and enjoyed some refreshments, coffee, and a few newspapers.

About ten minutes later, his shoes were returned—cleaned, polished with wax, and buffed with lambskin to a shine.

Lynch spent the rest of the time reading or watching TV. Around eight, the prime viewing hour, most people were lying on couches indulging in fatty, sugary snacks, chasing fleeting entertainment.

Lynch flipped through a few channels—nothing relevant to current affairs. But The Trade Journal showed several institutions simultaneously increasing the risk levels on war bonds. The situation was deteriorating fast.

Many thought that since they hadn’t bought any war bonds, it didn’t concern them. And in isolation, that might be true.

But how many events in the world are truly isolated? How many are completely independent?

Very few.

Lynch walked to the window. In the rain, the sky and earth blended together, indistinguishable in the darkness, swallowing all light.

At 8:50, the butler knocked and informed Lynch that the meeting would begin shortly. A guide was assigned to lead him there.

As they walked through the long hallway, Lynch noticed oil paintings on the walls. Though not an expert, he could tell—they weren’t cheap.

Art resonates because true art is an expression of emotion.

It was clear that Senator Green was more than just a politician—he was also very wealthy.

In the conference room, Lynch exchanged a quick greeting with the mayor, and the two of them sat in the front row. Tonight, they were the true stars of the event.

At exactly 9:01, as the second hand swept past the fifty-ninth mark and the minute hand ticked forward, the conference room doors opened again. A silver-haired man with a gentle smile walked in.

Dressed modestly, he gave the impression of a teacher rather than a politician—two roles with little in common.

One nurtures minds and teaches the pursuit of truth.

The other spins words to serve personal gain.

Yet somehow, these opposing qualities coexisted within this man. Just as the mayor had described, Mr. Edwin resembled a priest or a teacher—someone who could lower your guard.