Chapter 307: You Don’t Get to Decide, What the Hell Are You Saying?

“What do you want?” Lynch broke off a corner of the pastry and popped it into his mouth.

Mishehaye smiled politely, “It’s not what I want—it’s what our people want!”

He licked his lips as he spoke. “Mr. Lynch, the market environment in the Baylor Federation is much more open than ours. In your business experience, have you ever encountered fraudsters?”

Lynch nodded. “Yes, I have.”

In the Baylor Federation, financial scams related to commerce are rampant and increasingly sophisticated, especially those involving banks.

Bad checks, forged promissory notes, and crimes exploiting legal loopholes are common. No one understands the federation’s legal gaps or banking regulations better than these fraudsters.

According to Lynch’s talks with George, last year alone, Golden Exchange Bank suffered over 4.6 million in fake check scams. That’s just one bank—there are six major banks in the empire plus many regional banks. The actual number of scams far exceeds what’s reported in newspapers or imagined.

Mishehaye’s smile deepened meaningfully. “We’ve faced them too…” His tone was slightly nostalgic before turning stern. “Many con artists here pretend to be investors. They promise bright futures but betray our hopes and the people’s aspirations.”

“Tragedies like this shouldn’t repeat. What you have to do is simple, Mr. Lynch. Just deposit a sum in the bank we designate, and people will believe you’re different from those fraudsters!”

Mishehaye took a big gulp of the overly sweet tea, then wiped the residue from his lips and added casually, “Of course, that’s just my suggestion…”

He looked at Lynch without expression, but his eyes churned with unspoken meaning.

It’s a feeling hard to describe—less obvious than outward expressions, more like a subtle intuition. Though eyes can’t literally change color or move in meaningful ways, people sense emotions and thoughts through them.

Lynch stared back and asked, “Is this protection money?”

“Protection money?” Mishehaye’s tone shot up in surprise as he raised an eyebrow. “Of course not! Why would you think that?”

“The money you keep in our bank remains untouched; only you have control. We do this just to show the public you’re a genuine investor and that your funds are in place—at least partially. The money won’t leave with you. That’s all.”

“You can see it as a gentleman’s agreement or a guarantee, but it’s definitely not protection money. We never extort merchants. Nagaryll is a civilized nation!”

Lynch kept smiling and nodded approvingly. He put the pastry corner back on the plate and clapped his hands. “How much?”

Mishehaye licked his lips again—whether from leftover sugar in the tea or thirst from all the sweetness was unclear. It was impolite behavior.

In the Federation, ladies nearby would discreetly cover their mouths in shock, whispering incredulously, Look at that guy, how rude.

“One hundred million Valiers, or the equivalent in Federation Sols,” Mishehaye demanded boldly. “If you deposit Federation Sols, we can reduce the amount somewhat.”

Nagaryll’s foreign reserves were limited, but the ruling class spent heavily overseas. Official exchange rates made currency exchange bearable, but no international bank accepted Nagaryll’s official rates—they all followed market fluctuations.

Mishehaye knew this well and offered the foreign currency discount to cut the difference between official and market rates.

“About…” Lynch frowned, doing quick mental math. “One million one hundred thirty thousand Federation Sols.”

Mishehaye looked surprised. He expected Lynch to refuse outright, so he could threaten to restrict his departure.

Despite Lynch’s guards—around forty men, armed—the empire could easily overwhelm them with a few thousand troops. Nagaryll had plenty of worthless commoners eager to serve as soldiers.

Mishehaye never considered Lynch could refuse; he couldn’t.

But Lynch’s calm reaction, even calculating the exchange rate, threw Mishehaye off.

After a few seconds, Mishehaye calculated as well and nodded. “Yes, your math skills are impressive!”

“There’s nothing impressive about it. I can deposit the money…” Lynch began.

Before he finished, a smile crept onto Mishehaye’s face. Lynch was easier to handle than expected. Without a threat, Lynch had already backed down—meaning more wealth, technology, and other resources could be extorted.

But Lynch’s next words froze Mishehaye’s expression.

“…But if I deposit the money in your designated bank, what do I get in return?”

Mishehaye wanted to ask why Lynch’s words made no sense as a whole, though he understood each one.

Seeing Mishehaye speechless, Lynch smiled. A cool breeze carrying floral scents stirred the garden plants.

Dappled sunlight flickered briefly on Lynch’s face before Mishehaye looked away—too bright.

The sunlight was blinding. Lynch’s smile was even more so.

“Mr. Mishehaye, you want me to show my sincerity, and I find your request reasonable. I’m willing to comply, but what about your sincerity?”

Lynch leaned back, crossed his legs, lit a cigarette. The power shifted. Smoke obscured their view, and Lynch’s smile twisted into a sly smirk.

“Sincerity must be mutual, don’t you agree, Mr. Mishehaye?”

Difficult to deal with!

That thought flashed through Mishehaye’s mind. Lynch was a tough opponent—he’d agreed to a demanding condition without hesitation, only to strike back unexpectedly.

Mishehaye had been harsh on Lynch; now Lynch’s counter was harder to handle. Having agreed to such an extreme request, Lynch could now refuse to fulfill his side if Mishehaye failed to reciprocate sincerity.

Mishehaye stared intently through the cursed smoke, still feeling Lynch wasn’t fully real despite being less than two meters away.

After over a minute of silence, Mishehaye lost patience. Under increasing pressure and sweating, he broke the stalemate. “What do you want?”

Lynch shrugged. “Sincerity. Or the exclusive trade rights.”

He flicked ash indifferently as it fell onto him. His speech sped up but remained clear. “Exclusive trade rights, sole trading rights—whichever term you understand.”

“I can deposit one million Federation Sols, two million, three million, or more. But you must sign an exclusive trade agreement with me. For at least twenty years from signing, the export business of the Magulana province and the product categories I specify will be mine alone to operate. I set the prices, the sales rules, and hold the rights to review, supervise, and handle.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Now it’s your turn to show sincerity, Mr. Mishehaye.”

Mishehaye’s temples were slick with sweat. He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe it but didn’t respond immediately. Lynch’s demand was excessive, but so was his own.

If he refused, Lynch wouldn’t deposit the money. He was trapped in a deadlock.

Actually, having Lynch deposit the money was just a way to get some funds into their pockets first. Later, they’d find an excuse to convert Lynch’s deposit into an investment guarantee. Once all his investments ended, they’d return the money.

As long as Lynch’s investments continued, the money would remain frozen, and Lynch might have to deposit even more.

But now, this problem was no longer Lynch’s—it was Mishehaye’s and the few young masters behind him.

“I can’t decide…”

Lynch stood up immediately, flicked his cigarette butt away, brushed the ash off his clothes, and said, “Sorry, Mr. Mishehaye, go find someone who can make decisions and talk to me. Also…” He glanced at his watch. “I have other matters to attend to. I won’t be staying here with you.”