Chapter 350: No One Says No to Mr. Lynch

As Gap’s eyes gradually adjusted to the blinding light streaming through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the world around him began to come into focus.

The figure standing by the window, turning slightly to look at him, finally matched someone from his memory.

“Mr. Lynch…” he muttered. The door behind him closed. Gap turned to glance back—the guard remained just outside, his dutiful silhouette still visible through the frosted glass.

Inside the room, aside from Lynch, there was another man who appeared to be an agent of some kind.

Lynch walked over to the chair that had always belonged to the warden and sat down, gesturing for Gap to sit across from him.

Gap had met the prison warden more than once. The man was grim and cold—a king ruling over his own dark kingdom.

This was no ordinary prison. Those held here were either serving sentences longer than ten years or were involved in politically sensitive cases.

Secrecy defined this place. What happened inside might never be known to the outside world—or would take years to surface.

Here, the warden was law. His rules, even if they violated federal statutes or the Constitution, were enforced without question.

But today, someone else sat on the warden’s throne. The shift left Gap disoriented. His prior understanding of Lynch was clearly outdated.

His gaze drifted past Lynch, out the vast window that overlooked the entire prison. The panoramic view encapsulated the whole compound.

Anyone sitting across from the warden would see a symbolic image: the prison itself forming the backdrop behind the desk’s occupant.

The first time Gap had seen this, he found it absurd—almost theatrical. But after spending time here, he realized: this was prison. The real one.

“You might be wondering why I’m here,” Lynch said, snapping Gap’s attention back to the room. As their eyes met, Lynch nodded slightly and continued, “I’m here as a special advisor to the Baylor Federation National Security Council. I have a few questions for you.”

Now Gap understood why Lynch had the authority to sit there.

The National Security Council—an incredibly powerful body. It had jurisdiction over any issue, domestic or international, that could threaten national security.

Their power was such that even the warden had to bow before this young man.

Still, Gap couldn’t help but wonder how Lynch had risen to become a special advisor.

“You’re not like the others—you should understand the nature of the NSC,” Lynch said.

Gap nodded.

“Then our conversation will go smoothly,” Lynch said, as expected. After a brief pause, he asked, “Based on our investigation, both the Liston Group and the former EverBright Group funneled benefits to Eminence, correct?”

Gap had expected simpler questions—maybe something superficial about CEO Neo, something he could deflect easily. He thought this visit was just to create the impression of a connection with Lynch, an NSC advisor, which might improve his treatment in prison.

But Lynch’s very first question was already difficult to answer.

After over a minute of silent deliberation, Gap shook his head. “I only handled some financial reconciliations. As for where the money went and who received it—I don’t know.”

Lynch stared at him. They locked eyes, neither flinching. Slowly, Lynch shook his head. “You’re lying. You know.”

The federal system had many ways of transferring benefits, the most common being through foundations. It seemed crude, but other countries envied this method.

Most Congress members held hidden stakes in private foundations. These foundations didn’t need to disclose information publicly. So even if lawmakers held significant shares, they were safe unless a major scandal triggered an official investigation.

All one had to do was donate to the right foundation. For instance, a company could donate a million to a birdwatching fund, claiming it was for equipment to observe birds in the wild. No one cared whether this had any economic value. The donation was legal—it wasn’t criminal income, nor was it given to a criminal organization.

The foundation would then distribute profits to its stakeholders—anonymously and without oversight.

Gap, as an auditor, would’ve reviewed every deposit and withdrawal. There was no way he didn’t know where at least some of the money went. These were all corporate accounts.

Why were such transactions made between official accounts? That was a naïve question. It was like criminals leaving behind incriminating ledgers—everyone knew it was stupid, yet it had to be done. It served as a trail, a push for beneficiaries to fulfill their obligations.

Gap remained silent. As Lynch said—he knew.

In fact, he had another set of ledgers. But he didn’t intend to disclose them. They implicated the true ruling elite of the federation. If word got out, he could vanish mysteriously.

For those powerful people, eliminating a federally monitored inmate like him was easier than swatting a fly.

One phone call. One word. He could die accidentally in any corner of the prison.

And no one would ever know why.

Lynch, noting the long silence, was convinced that Gap did know something. He turned to the NSC agent beside him and said, “Wait outside. I need to speak with Mr. Gap alone.”

The agent hesitated, then complied. Lynch had ties to the NSC’s upper echelons—there was no point getting caught in that crossfire.

Once they were alone, Lynch leaned in.

“You’re not outside. You don’t know what’s been happening lately. If you did, you wouldn’t be thinking this way.”

“I didn’t go to anyone else—not Neo, not anyone. I came to you. That says everything.”

“I understand what you’re afraid of. But you don’t need to be. As long as you cooperate, I can ensure you finish your sentence safely.”

“Let’s put it another way—you’re afraid of what he might do to make you disappear. But you’re not afraid of what I—or the people behind me—might do?”

Lynch smiled, a hint of irony in his expression. He tilted his head, gaze shifting past Gap toward the office door.

“In this world, accidents happen every day. For example… on your way back to the cell, you might try to grab a guard’s weapon and escape, ignore orders to stop—and get shot dead.”

“Maybe your death will make the next person with the truth a bit smarter—teach them how to cooperate properly.”

It was a blatant threat. Lynch didn’t even hide how Gap might leave this world, and the pressure crushed down on him. He was just an accountant. He never wanted to be caught in the middle of a political storm.

“Die now, or help us defeat our enemies and live. It’s not a hard question, is it?”

Lynch took out a cigarette, lit it, and watched Gap calmly. Everyone knew what the obvious choice was. Gap’s hesitation was just him stalling—trying to find a way out that didn’t exist.

But in a power struggle like this, there was never a win-win option.

After about two minutes, Gap suddenly asked, “If I talk, what do I get?”

Lynch nodded with satisfaction. “Have you heard of the Special Talent Requisition Act?”

According to federal law, certain enforcement agencies could conscript convicts serving fewer than five years under this act to work for the government.

Sometimes, law enforcement needed someone like a nail—precise, targeted. Of course, the lawmakers never told the public that this was to prepare for the day they might need it…

Regardless, the act held strong appeal for those serving time.

As soon as Lynch said it, he could clearly see the shift in Gap’s eyes.

So Lynch pushed further. “If we succeed…” he smiled faintly, “you know what I mean—then I can present your value in this case to the judge, request a sentence reduction, and recommend transferring you to a private prison…”