Chapter 61: The First Step into the Starry Sea

“Now you have two choices…” Director Johnson stood by the bookshelf in Michael’s study, looking at the books that showed signs of being read. For the first time, his impression of Michael improved somewhat.

He had thought Michael didn’t read, but many of these books had clearly been looked through.

He sighed silently and turned to Michael. “The first choice: young Michael broke in and stole Lynch’s ring. You want Lynch to drop the charges, so you framed him and are trying to get him to compromise and drop the case by your means.”

This was Lynch’s version. Lynch claimed Michael’s final act was attempted murder, but Director Johnson didn’t accept this. He knew that if attempted murder was proven, combined with previous claims, Michael could be charged with first-degree murder.

Although Lynch didn’t die, public outrage and social repercussions would lead the jury to convict Michael, and the judge would likely impose a harsh sentence to calm public anger.

If that happened, it wouldn’t be a matter of a few years in prison—it could mean decades, twenty to fifty years at least. Knowing the law but breaking it always leads to harsher punishment, and no one would think the sentence excessive.

Michael’s breathing grew heavy. He looked up, glaring fiercely at Director Johnson, who ignored his expression and gaze.

“This has nothing to do with my child. My child was also framed and trapped by Lynch…”

Director Johnson glanced back at him. No one had figured out what exactly happened with young Michael. He confessed to his crime but refused to communicate with Michael. The inside story was unknown.

Maybe, as Michael said, his son was truly framed by Lynch, but the judge wouldn’t see it that way.

“The second choice: you and Lynch have a personal grudge. You felt disrespected by him, which hurt you deeply. So you repeatedly provoked him to make him realize the gap between you two and to command his respect.”

This was Director Johnson’s version. Overemphasizing Michael and his son’s crimes would alarm society about possible issues among low-level law enforcement.

Better to downplay the crimes and base the story on their personal conflict, painting Michael’s character in a worse light.

Michael’s situation fit this second explanation. Later, no elaborate scripting would be needed. Journalists could simply interview those who interacted with Michael or his colleagues to reach conclusions.

Michael’s public image would become more vivid and worse, but the benefit was that the Sabin City Tax Bureau would be distanced from the incident and free from law enforcement criticism.

Michael tugged at his hair, lips pressed tight and pale from biting down hard. His eyes showed pain and a hint of despair. He knew he had to choose.

The first option was impossible. It would expose his son to the media, inviting not only criticism of himself but also his son, wife, and family under public scrutiny.

He could only choose the second…

When Michael made his choice, Director Johnson felt an indescribable sensation. Before leaving, he joked with Michael that no collusion was needed—Michael just had to act naturally, and people would believe that choice was the truth.

These things seemed cruel—forcing a person to decide how to endure one of life’s worst burdens—but it was unavoidable.

Because to turn public opinion, cooperation between Michael and Lynch was essential. Without ethical journalists digging up more inside stories, the truth wouldn’t appear to the public.

Though journalists seemed to deserve credit, Michael and Lynch’s cooperation was actually more important. As various secrets surfaced, they would face media scrutiny together, making their collaboration crucial.

After settling these matters, Director Johnson felt his guilt toward Michael ease. He had saved Michael from Lynch’s version of events and would look after Michael’s family until Michael’s release from prison.

Without him, the family would have fallen apart. He had done everything a superior should and more.

The next day, George called Lynch, expressing willingness to discuss their small business deal. Lynch gladly accepted.

Ten percent of two million plus five percent of expected profits—this was a deal worth hundreds of thousands, with little risk. Many might see this as a chaotic era, but Lynch considered it the golden age.

In the morning, they met at a private club—a meeting needing privacy, best kept away from public eyes.

Many in society held a frightening misconception: that the upper class neither needs nor engages in entertainment, constantly working or socializing, with socializing as their only leisure.

This was a misunderstanding. Just because their entertainment wasn’t visible didn’t mean they didn’t have it. Who knows how much fun they had where no one could see?

Around nine, Lynch arrived at a quiet, remote street on the edge of the city center carrying a briefcase. The street was almost empty. Following George’s directions, he reached a door with a one-square-meter red carpet outside.

From the outside, it resembled most other houses on the street: three small steps leading to an old wooden door with a nearly useless short handrail.

The door was perhaps wider than others but otherwise plain—no sign, no name, so unremarkable it failed to attract attention.

Lynch double-checked the address and pushed the door open. Inside were two elevator shafts and a small gated workroom, where a man in formal wear and glasses, looking like a butler, sat.

The environment resembled a typical apartment lobby. Lynch approached the counter with a curious feeling. “Mr. George arranged to meet me here…”

The butler immediately flipped through a ledger. “May I ask your name, sir?”

“Lynch.”

The man studied Lynch calmly, then confirmed and took a key from a wall full of keys behind him. He placed the key and a palm-sized card on a red velvet tray, holding it out with both hands.

“Mr. Lynch…” Lynch took them and bowed slightly. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Lynch glanced at him, shook his head, and headed for the elevator.

Inside, he realized the card was a key for the elevator floors. One end had small holes; inserting it into the slot lit up the selected floors.

After an almost imperceptible ascent, the elevator doors slowly opened. Stepping out, Lynch was immediately surrounded by extreme luxury.

Gold-plated decorations, deep red carpets, exquisite tapestries, and oil paintings every few steps—though Lynch didn’t know art, some were clearly excellent.

A faint, unfamiliar scent filled the air—calm, solemn, not lively, but dignified.

The distance between each door was large, indicating the building was far bigger than its modest exterior suggested.

Soon, Lynch arrived at the door matching his key number. Gemstones adorned the door, half metal. Just standing before it, its weight and gravity were palpable.

He inserted the key, turned it gently, and as gears clicked, the door opened with an unexpected ease.