Chapter 5: Sometimes Making Money Is Easy

“Sir, would you like a newspaper?”

A boy, wearing a dirty baseball cap and carrying a large leather satchel, appeared in front of Lynch.

He looked about eleven or twelve years old and gazed at Lynch with anticipation as he opened his bag to reveal the newspapers inside.

These kids were all under the control of news bosses. That term didn’t refer to headlines but to those who managed the newspaper vendors.

Through connections, coercion, or other means, these bosses tightly controlled the mobile newspaper sales market in specific areas. Only their boys could sell newspapers there—outsiders weren’t allowed. Newsstands weren’t part of this system.

Every morning, they would gather outside the newspaper office to load still-warm papers onto carts, haul them back to their base, distribute them to the kids, and then send them out to the streets.

Each child had a minimum sales quota. Falling short meant beatings or hunger. Only when they exceeded the quota could they eat, and even then, there were no rewards.

Any wages earned were taken by the orphanage or impoverished families they came from. All the kids could do was work as hard as possible in exchange for food and shelter.

To some, this might seem like hell. But compared to those living in even more hopeless situations, these children might as well be in heaven.

Lynch took a one-Sol bill from his pocket and picked two papers. Local papers cost fifty cents, national papers a Sol.

The boy thanked him repeatedly, even took off his hat and bowed. To Lynch, a Sol for two papers was just a mundane expense. To the boy, it was a piece of salvation he longed for every day.

As the boy was about to leave, Lynch called him back.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?” the boy asked.

Boys like him often adapted better to society than those still in school from decent families. Looking at the youthful face already marked by hardship but still full of smiles, Lynch felt a touch of emotion.

It was the worst of times, but also the best.

“Want to make some money?” he asked.

The boy nodded immediately. “I dream about it, sir. But I won’t do anything illegal.”

Where there’s light, there’s darkness. Darkness makes light seem brighter, and light makes darkness even more stark.

Some used kids to sell papers, others used them for crime. It wasn’t a secret. In a society surging with ambition, everyone was blinded by wealth.

As long as there was money to be made, someone would do it—no matter what it was.

Lynch shook his head. “Do you have ninety-seven cents?”

Though hesitant, the boy quickly pulled ninety-seven cents in coins from his pocket. The bosses made sure each kid carried some change in their bags.

The money wasn’t theirs. It would be tallied later. Losing or shortchanging meant punishment—at best, hunger; at worst, beatings. The kids had become very sensitive about money.

Lynch handed the boy a Sol and took the ninety-seven cents from his other hand.

“Sir, that’s three cents short. I’ll get it for you right away…” the boy said, thinking Lynch wanted to break a bill.

City transit usually required ten- or twenty-five-cent fares for short or long rides, and they never gave change. You gave fifty cents, you got two tickets—not one and change.

So people always kept small coins handy to avoid losses.

Lynch stopped him and asked again, “Want to make money?”

The boy was stunned. This was the first time he could openly take advantage of a deal, and it made him uneasy. He hesitated, then nodded. “I do, sir. I dream of it!”

A smile began to spread on Lynch’s face—warm and soft like a rising sun, cutting through the dark and lighting up the sky.

“Do you have ninety-seven cents?” he asked again.

Still dazed, the boy quickly fetched another ninety-seven cents from his bag and held it out.

His face flushed—he was excited, nervous, anxious, and a bit doubtful. His bright eyes watched Lynch, waiting to see what he would do.

Lynch pulled out another Sol, placed it in the boy’s hand, and took the coins again. With a half-smile, he asked, “Want to make money?”

The boy began to tremble with excitement. He immediately gathered all the coins he could to make another ninety-seven cents. “Here it is, sir…”

Lynch counted out twelve Sol, put them in the boy’s hand, and pocketed all the coins. “Looks like that’s all you’ve got.”

The boy was overjoyed. Though he only exchanged coins for fourteen Sol total, he had already earned forty-two cents in the process—nearly half a Sol.

And in this job, no matter how well he performed, he wouldn’t get a single cent. The bosses sent all the earnings back to the orphanage.

The boy had grown up in an orphanage. As far as the orphanage was concerned, he owed them for raising him. They expected him to work in return, never mind what was fair.

Boys older than ten who hadn’t been adopted were unlikely to ever be adopted. Except for some girls—for very different reasons.

The orphanage didn’t interfere. After fourteen, kids could refuse adoption. By sixteen, they were forced out to survive on their own.

In other words, boys over ten were essentially edge cases in the orphanage system. No one could earn adoption subsidies or donations from them anymore, so they had to work.

They were expected to repay the years the orphanage had raised them through labor. Whether it was right or not didn’t matter—no one cared. Everyone only looked after their own interests.

For these boys, the biggest challenge was figuring out how to quickly adapt to society and find shelter after being forced out.

If they could get their hands on a little money before then—not a lot, just enough to get by for a while—they might have a chance.

Lynch’s change exchange had opened a bright path for this boy. Just like he had asked: “Want to make money?”

And the boy’s reply: “I dream of it!”

After pocketing the money, the boy hesitated and asked, “Sir, will you be here again tomorrow?”

Lynch nodded. “I’ll be here before lunch. If I’m not, I’ll be here the next day.” He tapped his wrist. “You’ve got time…”

The children already exposed to society immediately understood what Lynch meant. Within ten minutes, a crowd of newspaper boys had gathered—and more were still arriving.