Chapter 179: Black October I

As the vehicle passed a relief station, Lynch saw for the first time a long line of people waiting for aid.

Sabin City had twelve relief stations where food coupons and supply coupons were exchanged. Simply put, people could use food coupons to get food, and supply coupons for essentials like salt, small amounts of sugar, basic medicine, or even clothing.

After all, autumn had come, and winter was near.

At the front of the line were several social service workers and several armed police with standard-issue submachine guns.

There had already been multiple robberies targeting these relief stations. Food and supply coupons had become a new hard currency among the lower class, partially replacing money and holding strong value.

In any antique shop or alley, one could find people trading food and supply coupons. They knew the balance well enough that neither buyers nor sellers felt shortchanged.

Lynch watched curiously as George, ever the know-it-all elder, spoke up. “Have you ever tried that food?”

Lynch turned his head and shook it. “Should I have?”

George laughed. “It’s definitely not a pleasant experience. Twenty or thirty years ago, I ate it. Their recipe hasn’t changed.”

“Corn, potatoes, some vegetables, meat and bone powder, baked until rock hard,” he recalled nostalgically. “To eat it, you’d either scrape it into powder bit by bit with a knife and swallow it with water, or crush it and boil some in a pot.”

“In the end, you get a thick stew that smells just awful.”

Lynch listened seriously, then commented, “Sounds terrible.”

George nodded, still haunted. “But you have to eat it! Many say things are bad now, but I think it’s not that bad. It’s much better than before.”

“We survived tougher times, so there’s no reason to lose now over a little hardship.”

The luxury cars in the traffic stood in stark contrast to the line of poor people waiting for aid. Their numb eyes glanced at the cars briefly, then looked away; they no longer cared.

Soon the two arrived at a private venue, one accessible only by recommendation and membership.

Strict confidentiality made it a popular meeting place, regardless of any legal issues involved.

After entering the agreed room, Hart greeted them. In less than a month, he looked much more haggard, with more graying hair.

After brief greetings, they sat on the sofa.

Hart stared at the wine in his glass before apologizing for his distraction. “My mental state hasn’t been good lately. The doctor gave me sleeping pills. Otherwise, I’d have to drink myself into oblivion.”

He showed them a small pill bottle. Lynch and George expressed concern.

Hart smiled bitterly. “Enough about that. Mr. Lynch, after thinking seriously, maybe you were right.”

Lynch remained unmoved. “In business, there’s no right or wrong. You just stepped back before I did.”

Hart was silenced, his words caught inside, finally sighing. “So we proceed as agreed last time?”

Lynch nodded. Hart took out a floor plan of a lakeside villa area from his bag.

Sold houses were marked in blue; unsold ones in white.

It was clear that if not for the current crisis, Hart wouldn’t have to do this.

The remaining properties’ prices would only rise, and these vacant homes generated steady profit through holiday rentals and long-term leases, pleasing Hart, his company, and investors.

At the previous growth pace, in three to eight years, each house would become worth a fortune, yielding profits dozens of times the original price.

But he had fallen hard, crushed painfully by the tide of the times.

Not just a heavy loss but an embarrassing one, perhaps never dignified.

Lynch marked the floor plan. Having visited earlier, he had a thorough understanding. Hart’s expression shifted painfully as he watched.

When Lynch finished, he roughly calculated that based on previous prices, Hart had lost at least two million.

With the help of the private venue’s manager, they quickly finalized a standard contract. This was partly why the membership fee here was so high.

At least two lawyers were on call daily, experts in state law, able to draft nearly any legal document, including commercial contracts.

Hart sighed deeply looking at the contract. “You win.” He signed, seeming to shed a burden.

Lynch signed too. The deal was done.

Though the land hadn’t turned into cash, the value of the houses he secured from Hart far exceeded cash.

Cash appreciated slowly, but houses, especially villas in beautiful areas, rose in value quickly.

After signing, Hart left in a hurry without even dinner. He said he needed to show investors and shareholders that he wasn’t idle — he was already on the path.

“He’s a good man,” George said, watching Hart leave.

Hart was one of the few honest businessmen Lynch had met.

Lynch just smiled and let the topic drop.

Everything moved steadily forward. A few days later, the tall, thin man finally gave in, agreeing to Lynch’s request to invest in the Interstellar Trading Company with no less than 33% cash equity.

But they changed the initial plan, no longer demanding majority control. Instead, like the merchants in Kurland City, they invested collectively for a 10% stake, signing a supplemental agreement ensuring priority rights in future financing.

More and more cities held auctions for secondhand goods and the Interstellar Trading Company, drawing growing attention to Lynch and his firm. He seemed to be stepping onto a broader stage.

On the first trading day of October’s first week, a man in his thirties, dressed in mainstream high-end formalwear, carrying a briefcase, entered the main hall of the Eminence Opulent Exchange.

Men like him were common in Eminence — seven out of ten men on the street dressed like this, the backbone of the city’s financial brokers.

But this broker wore little smile. He faced a huge problem: yesterday, one of his agents broke into his home, holding his wife and daughter hostage. The agent demanded immediate liquidation of foreign bonds the broker had previously recommended.

Capital was never kind. The Trade Journal had already issued multiple warnings about foreign bond risks, but these warnings were often subtle.It was like a news report claiming aliens were invading the planet and the world was ending—while casually mentioning a clogged sewer on some street.

People only focused on the sensational headlines. Compared to rising bond exchange risks, other warnings deserved more attention.

Around this time, some institutions quietly hired brokers to resell these hard-to-cash bonds, with banks as the biggest players.

According to the issuing countries’ promises, each bond with a face value of one Sol could eventually be redeemed for seventy-five cents in cash; some bonds even traded at a premium of two to one.

Logically, these bonds should be in high demand with no excess supply, yet strangely, trading of such bonds increased rapidly on the securities market.

Bonds backed by sovereign guarantees were considered very reliable by ordinary people.

They knew some people were as trustworthy as flatulence—especially capitalists and even banks—but they had never heard of a government deceiving so many people.

In this information blackout, blind investors at the bottom began showing interest in these bonds, encouraged by brokers. Trading volume surged, and prices unexpectedly rose.

Until the market’s close last weekend, when the situation suddenly took a sharp downturn.