Chapter 197: Beast in the Dead of Night

“The warehouse was robbed?”

Noel looked very surprised; he had no idea about this.

Lynch handed him a glass of juice and poured himself some alcohol. “It’s normal. Many people are barely surviving and no longer care if their actions are legal.”

“This morning, the warehouse manager told me they found a broken ventilation duct near the warehouse we rent. We lost a few hundred Sol’ worth of goods. It’s not a good sign.”

Lynch spoke calmly, his expression unchanged, as if this were ordinary conversation.

“This time they succeeded. We failed to stop them, so there will be a next time.”

“If they succeed again and we still can’t stop them, their greed will escalate. We have to find them before they cause more damage.”

Lynch raised his glass and clinked it with Noel, who was just coming to terms with the news. Taking a sip, Lynch said, “You need to keep an eye on this and find them.”

Lynch had wanted to ask Jack, the community driver, someone traceable who couldn’t easily run, but he reconsidered.

When he left the municipal building earlier, the way people in the square looked at him felt dangerous. These people were no longer ordinary protesters—they were turning into rioters.

More terrifyingly, the Progress and Conservative parties remained silent, planning to push things into a deeper abyss, destroy it, and rebuild from the ruins.

Impeaching the president might fail, but impeaching a dictator who causes social chaos is always a sure thing.

The next few months might be the darkest the federation has ever seen. Lynch had to prepare.

Noel and the other kids ran the streets daily, handing out flyers and gathering information from shops. Their reach covered the entire city, and their intelligence was sharp.

More importantly, Lynch trusted them. This confidence came from his position as boss. Without him, they would suffer; only if he lived comfortably could they enjoy life.

Noel looked furious after hearing this. Honestly, Lynch treated them better than the informer or the orphanage ever had.

Not only did he provide them a luxurious house with private rooms and adult salaries, but he also never withheld pay.

Before, working under the informer, they barely kept 100 to 200 Sol a year and risked being beaten randomly when he drank.

Here, life felt like a dream. Noel and the others were unwilling to change it even slightly.

“I understand, sir. If I find them, what should I do?”

Lynch saw deadly intent in Noel’s eyes—a chilling look and the strained voice reminded him of that early morning.

He calmly set his glass down and adjusted Noel’s unruly collar. “We’re civilized. Fighting and killing are for others to handle. You must understand, Noel.”

“Killing someone yourself is not courage or wisdom; it only drags you into trouble. Learn to use your advantages.”

“The police, some gang members, even judges and prisoners—all can do it better and keep you out of trouble.”

He withdrew his hand. “Find them, tell me who they are. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Noel nodded and left quickly. Within half an hour, dozens of kids began using their “professional skills” to gather intel.

Later, Lynch received an unexpected call from his mother.

It was an unavoidable issue. Life’s miracle is in creation, and Lynch was one of those miracles.

Since graduating high school, he hadn’t contacted home. In the Baylor Federation, children move out after graduation unless they inherit family businesses.

His parents opposed his choices—he and Katherine working and studying simultaneously. They believed working immediately was the right path. Ordinary people shouldn’t dream but live pragmatically.

Young people rarely understand those with little education. They trust only themselves until realizing some things can’t be learned in books or classrooms.

Because of this, and busy lives, their bond faded.

A survey once shocked society—most established families saw parents as relatives but not household members because they didn’t live together.

This was the harsh reality. Initially seen as cold, people later accepted it as the norm.

Adults leave home to start their lives; parents gradually exit theirs. Family but not household members—this is the Baylor Federation norm.

Lynch’s situation was the same. When he had children, once they became independent, he would also become family outside the household.

It sounded bleak, but it was universal.

His mother’s voice softened attempts to ease a father-son rift that no longer really existed.

“Your father lost his job. We heard you’re doing well…”

Her tone was conciliatory, lacking the old pressure Lynch remembered.

He sat on the sofa, poured more wine, and said, “Yes, I’m doing well.” He inhabited this body, enjoying its vitality and youth, willing to take responsibility.

Gains always require sacrifice; nothing earned without effort is reliable.

His mother sighed in relief. “Maybe you can help your father. He’s been going to rallies and coming home late. I’m worried something might happen.”

Lynch’s father was not yet fifty, in his prime. This was a major reason they couldn’t live together—a household needs one head, not two.

The rallies outside weren’t about fair demands. Mostly, they sought higher wages from their bosses. The shutdowns didn’t concern them.

Or they mobilized people. One person’s mistake may set an example, but many making mistakes deserve sympathy.

His mother feared he might end up as a news story, so behind his father’s back, she called Lynch.

Lynch sipped his wine, strange memories surfacing—his father once wanted him to quit school immediately and start working.

Those years were the federation’s economic peak; anyone willing to work could earn well.

Working early to support the family was practical, but Lynch refused and got beaten for it.Fortunately, the federation had laws protecting basic education. After finishing high school, Lynch once again refused to take the job his father arranged for him, sparking a cold war that had lasted over two years.

He smirked, “I’ll come back tomorrow to see you and talk about these matters.”

Through the phone, Lynch could feel the woman’s mood instantly lighten. “Thank God, that’s great. When will you come?”

Suddenly, noisy chants drowned out their call. His mother was using a public phone booth—typical for ordinary families who couldn’t afford private phones but could use booths.

After over a minute, the noise faded. Lynch gave a time—dinnertime—and told her to come home quickly since it was getting dark and the streets were becoming unsafe.

After hanging up, Lynch sat on the sofa staring out at the dark sky through the floor-to-ceiling window. The city center had grown darker; many neon signs had gone out. The federation was darker now than ever before.

Around 2 a.m., Lynch was woken by a call from the community service company. They asked if he was safe and if his room had been broken into, which eased his drowsiness somewhat.

“What happened?” he asked.

The voice on the line was heavy. “A mob attacked Prosperity Bank, using firearms. The on-duty guards repelled them, but some fled toward our direction.”

“Please rest assured, Mr. Lynch, all our security personnel have started patrolling. You can see them anytime through your window. We apologize for disturbing your rest…”

After the call, Lynch looked out the window and saw many security guards patrolling continuously, which relieved him.

He thought it was time to increase security measures.