Chapter 223: Bar, Equivalence, Transaction

Being a senior agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation is not a job everyone envies—because it’s extremely dangerous.

The Baylor Federation is not a country with strict gun control. Founded by a group of pirates and fallen nobles, this new nation was built on a foundation of plunder and vigilance. The legal right to own firearms and protect oneself and one’s property with weapons was enshrined in its charter from the start.

Since the federation’s founding, there have been several heated social debates about weapons, but the pro-gun faction always won. Most people knew the anti-gun side had no chance.

Behind these debates stood a dozen chemical and military-industrial companies supporting the pro-gun camp.

The widespread presence of weapons makes every mission terrifying—each time an agent faces a life-or-death choice.

No one can tell beforehand whether they’re dealing with a scared coward who won’t even meet their gaze or a violent thug who’ll pull a gun and shoot without hesitation.

Neither the cause of the cases nor the suspects’ appearances provide clear clues.

This puts enormous pressure on every agent. To avoid losing their minds, they must find ways to relieve their pent-up stress.

But whether through drinking, indulgence, or therapy, it all costs money.

No matter how high their income, agents always find ways to spend every last cent, feeling no shame—it’s all to survive better.

Hedonism spreads fastest among this high-pressure group. They enjoy certain privileges thanks to their work and salary.

Lower interest loans, longer payment plans—this lifestyle traps them, and they cannot escape.

To extract more profit from them, many financial companies, including banks, entangle their current and future incomes, and the agents willingly comply.

But dreams eventually shatter. During good economic times, none of this matters. Companies don’t pressure senior agents for repayment. Instead, they keep the financial pressure invisible, letting them live in the illusions society weaves for them.

Until the financial tsunami hits. Many companies suffer massive losses that their indulgent boards can’t fix.

The only solution: shift those losses onto others.

The senior agent sitting before Lynch is now being chased for payments by at least three financial firms and a bank. Much of his salary never even reaches him.

Some suppliers, unable to collect installments, have issued notices: if he doesn’t pay by January 1, they will reclaim goods and may seek court auctions of his possessions.

Everything worsened overnight. More exhausting still, all his exchange account funds—his life savings of over a decade—have vanished, though it wasn’t much.

They locked eyes for a moment. The agent barely nodded. “I can’t promise I’ll provide anything…” He meant that if he shared intel, the initiative was his, not Lynch’s.

He controlled what he said; he didn’t want to be led by this young man. That was probably his last small pride.

Lynch smiled, his smile disarming. “Of course. Like I said, there are no contracts or constraints between us. Our relationship is more like a partnership. We trade what interests us.”

The agent nodded; that was exactly what he wanted to hear.

After a few quiet seconds, Lynch asked the first question: “What is your real purpose in accusing Mr. Gap?”

The agent paused, giving a very official answer: “He is suspected of a case involving abuse. There is no other purpose.”

Perhaps this was his first time working with a businessman—his answer was not direct enough.

It was obvious that a routine abuse case wouldn’t alert the FBI unless it caused major social impact or involved murder.

Otherwise, it would be handled by the police only. But both police and the Bureau got involved this time, so it wasn’t a small case. The agent wasn’t telling the truth.

Lynch didn’t show displeasure or a condescending attitude for the agent’s silence. Instead, he pulled out a fifty-cent coin, placed it on the table, and slid it over.

The coin’s scrape against the hardened tabletop caught the agent’s full attention. Though the lighting was dim, his eyes fixed on the coin.

He didn’t move. After observing for a while and concluding there was no hidden meaning, he looked at Lynch with curiosity and confusion, as if asking, “What does this mean?”

Lynch explained, “Your answer is worth fifty cents. The newspapers say more than you did.”

This angered the agent instantly. He frowned and glared fiercely at Lynch, who remained smiling, unafraid.

“This is a transaction—give and take.”

“You give me something I want, and I give you what you want. If all you offer are these answers, then you’re only worth fifty cents. Understand?”

Different people require different approaches. Someone like Ferrell has simple needs and can swallow his pride. If Lynch became important, Ferrell would rally around him and contribute.

This agent hasn’t grasped his own value yet. He clings to a worthless skin of authority that only fools him into feeling superior.

Lynch exposed that. The agent was nothing special.

After his anger faded, the agent calmed down. Sometimes you have to yield on some things to gain on others.

He lowered his eyes, no longer angry. “We don’t want Liston to walk away easily. We’re looking for their weaknesses. Mr. Gap has always worked for Liston. We believe he holds important intelligence.”

“If he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life in prison, the only way is to cooperate with us.”

Lynch was satisfied. He pulled out a cash check, quickly wrote $200 and his signature, and pushed it over. “It’s worth this much.”

In the past, this agent would have dismissed such an amount, but now, even fifty Sol would be welcome.

He was silent for a moment, pocketed the check, then asked with a tone mixing sarcasm and challenge, “Should I say Thank you for your generosity?”

Lynch laughed. “You can say that if you want, but don’t expect me to pay more just because you made me feel good.”

He paused, then asked, “If Mr. Gap cooperates, will he still go to prison?”

The agent nodded without hesitation. “Obviously. Cooperation won’t grant pardon. This case isn’t high-profile enough for the special clause to apply.”

“But if he actively cooperates and shows good behavior, the judge might be lenient, and he could get less than ten years.”

In the Federation, ten years is the cutoff between regular and serious criminals.

Those sentenced over ten years go to maximum-security prisons—no pleasant place.

Those under ten serve time in regular prisons, where hard labor is exhausting but at least tolerable.

Based on current intel, if Gap doesn’t cooperate, they can easily send him to maximum-security prison.

In a place like that, being accused of abusing, tormenting, and enslaving women could mean he might not leave prison alive.

Each year, the federal government allows a certain number of deaths in prison, mostly from diseases. These illnesses often make it seem like the prisoners suffered inhuman abuse, but it’s just the outward symptoms of the sickness.

This society is sometimes downright absurd—surrounded by crime, there’s a group of people who lost their freedom due to their crimes, yet most of them strictly follow some universal values. It’s both laughable and not.

Lynch wrote another $200 check. The agent’s eyes never left the checkbook in Lynch’s hand.

Suddenly, he realized what kind of emotional turmoil robbers feel during a heist—a mix of temptation, greed, and uncontrollable impulse.

If he got hold of the checkbook and copied Lynch’s handwriting, he could easily forge thousands or more in cash.

He took a big gulp of beer to quench that impulse, then looked at the $200 Lynch slid over.

Suddenly, it didn’t feel like an unbearable process anymore.

He thought of many things—the rumors among colleagues about who’s taking dirty money.

He thought about the director’s newly purchased villa—something the director couldn’t afford on his salary alone, even with installment plans and loans. The agent knew it was more complicated than it seemed.

In that moment, he made many excuses for himself.

The guilt wasn’t as strong. It even made accepting the money feel somewhat justified.