Chapter 37: Some Have Already Shown Us the Way

In the morning, after exchanging over seven thousand Sol in small bills, Lynch received a call from Mr. Fox, who wanted to meet and discuss upcoming matters.

After some thought, Lynch accepted the invitation.

Soon, he met Mr. Fox at a somewhat remote farm. Mr. Fox wasn’t dressed in expensive clothes today; instead, he wore a blue-gray denim shirt and pants, along with rubber overalls.

When Lynch arrived, Mr. Fox was carrying a large stack of hay into the stable. The weather was getting hotter, and the smell of manure—horse, cow, and possibly other animals—was overwhelming, but Mr. Fox showed no discomfort.

After about seven or eight minutes, Mr. Fox apologized and came out of the stable.

They walked to a shaded area behind the stable. Mr. Fox washed the dirt off his rubber overalls with a hose, sighing, “Before entering this industry, my father and I both thought I’d be a fine farmer.”

His face showed nostalgia. Over twenty years ago, he was not yet the respected Mr. Fox but just a country boy.

That year, he had just married. The Baylor Federation’s long-accumulated economic achievements were finally booming. All industries were growing rapidly. Many praised the city, as if money was everywhere, and anyone willing to work hard could quickly become a big shot.

Society was filled with this atmosphere. Mr. Fox wanted a better future for his wife and children, so after discussing with his family, he and some friends set out for the metropolis.

Since then, some have succeeded, while others live only in memories.

Mr. Fox was undoubtedly one of the lucky ones. People tend to reminisce once they achieve success; some yearn for carefree times because their present is difficult.

Others reminisce merely to highlight their current success.

As for Mr. Fox’s nostalgia and his small hobby of farm work, Lynch thought the latter was probably stronger—a way to find some satisfaction.

After washing his overalls, with help, he removed the hot garment. He and Lynch wandered aimlessly around the ranch, casually discussing his thoughts.

“Michael returned to Sabin City around 4 a.m. this morning. Be careful. He’s hot-tempered and impulsive. Don’t give him any chance.”

He smiled, “Of course, that’s just a reminder. I believe you’re smarter than him. He’s not your match.”

This was valuable information. If Lynch only learned this upon seeing Michael, some trouble might have occurred. Knowing in advance gave him time to prepare for any confrontation.

Lynch had never feared Michael, the licensed man. If not for Michael repeatedly trying to provoke him, he wouldn’t have conflicted with the head of the investigation team.

Mr. Fox saw Lynch nod seriously, knowing he took it to heart, then continued, “Two more things. I told you before, but now the whole city—and nearby cities—know how to deposit money into banks legally. Do you think this will impact our business?”

“I mean, if everyone’s doing this, will that path be cut off?” He spoke cautiously. Life had been easier for him lately. Privately, he had acquired two more laundries and raised their standards.

Following his son’s advice, he created registered invoices. Everyone knew those who paid dozens of Sol to wash a single item at his laundries were his people. Yet, until solid evidence emerged, no one could claim his actions were illegal.

He had even heard through certain channels the mid-to-high level officials’ views on what was happening in Sabin City. Some believed it was good because even these so-called helpful finance companies now understood a crucial point: no matter how illegal their business was, they had to pay taxes.

But others thought their actions were improper and that they shouldn’t be allowed to handle these issues. Allowing them was tantamount to condoning crime, and ordinary people helped by them would ultimately suffer.

Some things could be said privately but were unlikely to become reality. Eventually, authorities would move to stop the growing problems in Sabin City and surrounding areas.

“Besides that, another question: how do you think I can legalize my business?” Mr. Fox paused. This was his urgent issue.

Until it was resolved, despite returns exceeding the federal government’s minimum, he could never truly rest.

His eager gaze fixed on Lynch, who smiled noncommittally and took the lead walking forward, with Mr. Fox following closely.

“Don’t worry about the first issue. Small bills can’t solve it, but we have many other ways. Remember, pioneers always stay ahead of followers—they can’t catch us. No need to worry.”

“As for the second, no good solution has existed all these years. I’m sure it’s not because people born these years are fools.”

“But you can learn from the banks’ approach to temporarily solve minor problems…”

Mr. Fox, initially disappointed, perked up hearing this indirect solution. “The banks’… what?”

“Collateral!” Lynch tapped the wooden fence at the farm’s edge. It had stood for over ten years, now decayed and rotten.

Outwardly, it looked unchanged, but when Lynch’s hand struck it, it snapped immediately.

Gray-white wood dust scattered. Lynch’s eyes lost focus, as if he wasn’t looking at wood but something else.

Mr. Fox didn’t interrupt, waiting silently. After about thirty seconds, Lynch came back to himself.

“Sorry, I drifted off. Where was I?”

“You said I can temporarily handle the situation using the banks’ method!”

“Yes, exactly…” He took control, continuing forward. Mr. Fox followed, while in the distance, his son watched the two with a strange expression.

To him, his famous father seemed like Lynch’s follower, trailing closely behind.

Of course, Mr. Fox himself didn’t feel that way and kept listening to Lynch’s suggestions.

Banks had long provided a practical method: discount a hundred-Sol item to fifty as collateral. They avoided risks but also swallowed wealth.

Shorter terms, lower appraisals, seemingly reasonable interest—all just disguises for their greed.

But for someone like Mr. Fox, who didn’t care about appearances, this made things easier to handle.