Chapter 3: This Is Not Your Fault

A few minutes later, Mr. Fox’s assistant brought two newspapers—one from four months ago and the other from this week.

Financial firms like Mr. Fox’s paid close attention to both national and international economic trends. Dealing with money every day, they understood the significance of such information.

They also cared deeply about social indicators such as employment rates, unemployment rates, and public safety.

If unemployment kept rising, they would lower interest rates and reduce large loans to manage risk, making their business more appealing.

When the economy improved, they raised interest rates and encouraged more borrowing—people could afford to repay.

Each day, Mr. Fox’s assistant read large volumes of news to analyze national trends and decide whether to terminate or ignore certain ventures in advance.

This wasn’t a simple or straightforward business. Most couldn’t scale or sustain it. Only people like Mr. Fox could keep such ventures running long-term.

That’s why he invested heavily to hire a university graduate to help—he saw it as a career, not a way to make quick money.

Lynch flipped through the newspapers for over ten minutes. Mr. Fox didn’t interrupt and even had someone bring him coffee and cigarettes.

He felt a faint anticipation that this ordinary young man named Lynch might surprise him.

This wasn’t baseless; it was his observation.

A truly ordinary person wouldn’t stay calm after being summoned, nor maintain eye contact when faced with implied threat.

Lynch wasn’t just a kid—though to Mr. Fox, at twenty, he certainly was.

After a while, Lynch used his pen to draw a few lines, then placed both newspapers before Mr. Fox. “I’ve underlined the parts you need to read—you’ll see them more clearly this way.”

Mr. Fox and his assistant examined them carefully, rereading several times but seeing nothing significant. The underlined parts were real estate ads—nothing stood out.

“I don’t understand what these mean,” Mr. Fox said. “Is there something special about them?”

Lynch remained patient. When a good client and their money are involved, anyone can be patient.

He walked over to Mr. Fox. A subordinate tried to stop him but was waved off—Lynch had earned Mr. Fox’s temporary trust.

If he could prove himself, that trust might last.

“These listings show two street-facing apartment rentals. This one is…” Lynch pointed to a line but didn’t finish.

Mr. Fox instinctively answered, “One hundred and thirty-five Sol.”

Lynch nodded. “Right. Now let’s look at the other one…”

Mr. Fox followed along and read from the second paper, “One hundred and seventy-two Sol!”

“These two buildings are on opposite sides of the street, less than a hundred meters apart. From this price change, what do you see?”

Mr. Fox thought for a moment. “Rent increased by thirty-seven Sol.”

In Lynch’s past successes, he believed in making others participate deeply—it saved time and avoided issues they might not even realize.

They’d convince themselves they were right, especially in math—until corrected, people believe their own answers over others’.

Mr. Fox had just participated in such a math problem, giving himself a false sense of insight and security.

He wouldn’t suspect Lynch of deception—these weren’t Lynch’s claims; they were Mr. Fox’s own conclusions, which he trusted.

“A rent increase means the purchase cost also rose. In four months…” Lynch paused. “No, actually, it’s increasing daily. A small daily change you wouldn’t notice—but it’s real. Do you agree, Mr. Fox?”

Mr. Fox nodded. “But what does this have to do with our previous business?”

“Everything. These properties didn’t change—no extra bricks or missing tiles.”

“They are exactly as they were when built. But the price changed. What does that mean?”

Before Mr. Fox could answer, Lynch continued—the conclusion wasn’t something Mr. Fox would reach alone.

Lynch wasn’t encouraging free thinking. He was guiding them exactly where he needed them to go.

“If something’s value hasn’t changed, but its price did, then the value of what we use to measure it has changed.”

“In other words, over the past four months, our currency…” Lynch pulled a coin from his pocket, flipping it between his fingers.

With a flick, the coin spun in the air, the metallic ring drawing every eye—Mr. Fox, his assistant, and the nearby bodyguard all watched it.

Lynch said confidently, “It’s been depreciating—by about 22% to 25% over just four months, Mr. Fox.”

Mr. Fox pulled his gaze from the coin resting on the newspaper and began seriously considering Lynch’s words, turning to his assistant.

The assistant looked awkward. He wasn’t a finance major—he studied management. If it weren’t for the high salary, or for being Mr. Fox’s son, he wouldn’t even be there.

He felt something was off, but couldn’t find any flaw. Lynch even used gold for a second example, reinforcing the idea of depreciation and explaining how currency itself is a kind of commodity.

He hadn’t lied. Everything he said was true. His examples were valid—even referencing how newspapers once cost five cents, now fifty.

The newspaper hadn’t changed. Same ink, same paper, same process. It wasn’t the product that got expensive—it was the currency that lost value.

Mr. Fox, gradually realizing the implication, was startled. He shifted uncomfortably and said, “But our interest rates are high—some even compound!”

He was trying to reassure himself, but Lynch’s laugh shattered that illusion within seconds.

“I know, Mr. Fox. But the problem isn’t with the money you lend out—”

“It’s with all your assets.”

“Everything you own is depreciating—at about 5% per month. That’s compounding too. And if you don’t get all your funds to the Federal Tax Office and finalize the paperwork…”

Lynch returned to his seat, shrugged, and spread his hands.

“Then the wealth you’re so proud of today might not even be worth a damn in a few years.”

“Do you still care about that insignificant ten percent?”