Chapter 282: Negotiation, Probing, Core

Lynch sat at the table in a relaxed posture, watching the president of the workers’ union give a lengthy opening speech. The content was the usual—if we don’t save the workers, society is doomed. Boring stuff, really. No matter how often it’s said, it never resonates more deeply.

When the president finally finished, he said, “We previously contacted City Hall. Mayor Landon and Mr. Ferrell mentioned you might be able to help us. Forgive me for asking so directly, but is the kind of help they mentioned the kind I’m imagining?”

Lynch nodded. He took out a pack of cigarettes, glanced inquiringly at the president, and lit one with his approval.

Ding

The clear metallic ring echoed through the room, lingering for a while before fading as Lynch closed the lighter’s lid and took a deep drag. He crossed his legs and rested the hand holding the cigarette on the edge of the table, leaning slightly to the side.

This posture wasn’t particularly respectful for such a formal negotiation. But he still did it. Did he not know? Of course he knew. He was testing them.

People inexperienced in negotiation often think it’s just haggling like at a street stall—name a price, bargain it down, find a middle ground. But real negotiations are more like warfare. They test not just intellect and stamina, but also endurance.

According to unofficial accounts, some negotiations have lasted over twenty hours in a single sitting. Others stretched over weeks or even months.

Throughout these processes, probing the other side’s bottom line, their tolerance, and expectations becomes the key task. And it’s not just through words—they test each other in all kinds of subtle ways.

Take Lynch’s current posture. If the union’s stance were truly tough, they might say, Mr. Lynch doesn’t seem ready for this negotiation. Perhaps we should reschedule, thus pushing back in their own way.

But there was nothing of the sort. The president only raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Scientists say smoking is bad for your health.”

Just that one sentence revealed a lot. The union wasn’t taking a hard stance. Their position was not firm. Meaning: the conditions they’d listed weren’t their bottom line. Lynch could push further.

He nodded slightly. “Appreciate the concern. Let’s get down to business.”

Glancing at the cigarette, someone promptly brought over an ashtray. Lynch thanked them, tapped off the ash, and said, “I’m not offering jobs. I’m offering orders. Need me to explain?”

It sounded provocative. The union leadership exchanged confused glances. They clearly didn’t understand what Lynch meant. The president smiled politely. “If you don’t mind elaborating, we’d understand your offer more clearly.”

“I don’t plan to hire any workers. You all know the federal laws now protect workers like they’re encased in steel. This excessive protection has caused a lot of problems.”

“As far as I know, every factory union office has workers who don’t actually work. They spend their days in offices reading newspapers, watching TV, playing cards, or sleeping.”

The president interrupted, “Sorry, Mr. Lynch, but I think you may have misunderstood our role.”

“Our union reps do have daily responsibilities—maintaining production order, resolving conflicts between workers or between workers and management.”

“Companies with union branches operate more efficiently than they did before those branches were established.”

Lynch bluntly retorted, “And they’re also more trouble—and more expensive!”

The sharp remark made the room go a bit stiff. But it wasn’t wrong. Every unionized factory was required to give workers half a day off each week for union activities—during workdays, of course. Doing it on weekends would be considered inhumane.

Workers gladly enjoyed that half-day break and still expected full pay. It wasn’t considered absenteeism. On top of that, they had demands for meals, conditions, and periodic confrontations with management for better benefits.

These were common in the years when the federal economy was strong. Back then, time is money was taken very seriously. To avoid delays, business owners often gave in to demands to keep operations going.

So, while unions were painted in a positive light by the president, in reality—at least from a capitalist’s view—they weren’t so favorable.

Lynch wasn’t a capitalist, but he was a businessman, and that’s the side he stood on here.

The two men locked eyes. The president smiled with a hint of condescension, as if to say “you just don’t understand.” He let the topic go. “Let’s talk about those orders.”

Lynch nodded, flicked some ash. “I need people to produce clothes, accessories, blankets, leather shoes—things people wear. For men, women, kids, all of it.”

The president gave a slight nod. That was a big order. A factory wouldn’t even start up for just thirty or fifty items. Lynch clearly wasn’t some clueless youth—he knew this.

If the quantities were in the thousands, even if each item wasn’t impressive on its own, the total volume would be a serious contract.

The president began to calculate in his mind which factory owner he’d recommend the order to. Of course, he wouldn’t do it for free. Unions, while inciting workers to challenge capitalists, also helped calm those workers down when needed—if paid appropriately.

Whoever paid more, or had a closer relationship with the union, would get the order.

But he’d overlooked one thing—it wasn’t going to be that simple.

Sure enough, Lynch continued, “This time, I plan to bypass the factory stage altogether. I want the workers to generate the profit directly. I want them to be the first to benefit.”

The president was stunned. “Without factories, how can you ensure consistency in production? And as far as I know, we don’t have any legal hiring framework like that…”

Lynch raised his hand, cutting him off. “No, not hiring. Let me remind you, Mr. President—this is cooperation.”

“I believe there are many skilled workers in Sabin—people good at sewing or making accessories—who are currently unemployed…” The president nodded, and Lynch continued, “If I give the order to a factory, the factory hires them, which means I have to account for the factory’s profit. That’s something I can’t afford.”

“We all know launching production now is different from before. Starting production now means taking a loss.”

“So why not cut out that step and let me deal with the workers directly?” Lynch stubbed out the cigarette and took a sip of coffee. The smell of tobacco and the richness of the coffee created a mix women hated—but men found distinct.

“Let the workers form small, family-based workshops. I give them the order. The more they produce, the more they earn. If they don’t want to, I don’t pay a cent.”

“Payment is based on the number of qualified items they deliver. No factory middleman means more money for them and lower costs for me. That’s my proposal.”

He shifted in his seat and looked at the people across the table.

They began whispering among themselves. Many of them seemed confused about what Lynch had even said, but instinctively, they felt something was wrong.

Without factories, the union couldn’t intervene. And without union involvement, how could they demonstrate their value to workers or to capitalists? This ran counter to everything the union stood for.

At this point, further discussion was difficult. The president eventually said, “We’ve never dealt with something like this before. We’ll need time to discuss it before giving you a proper answer.”

“But before we finish, may I ask you one question? It’s been bothering me.”

Lynch nodded. “Of course. That’s why we’re here.”

The chairman kept smiling, but there was a shift in his eyes. “From your earlier explanation, I didn’t quite see where we come in. Does the Workers’ Union have any role in this?”