Chapter 64: The Rebirth of Gatner Finance

Lynch’s approach was unique. Until George had a clear, definite goal, he wouldn’t reveal anything to anyone.

Speaking carelessly could expose what might be a scandal or even corruption to those who shouldn’t know. He had to remain silent, observe his surroundings, and even after deciding on a target, he might still hesitate to confront it.

But in his heart, he had a firm choice and believed it was the right one.

Recently, the only person connected to him who could receive a reward of thirty thousand was Lynch. Without doubt, this money was from Lynch. Unable to speak about it or return it, the money quietly settled in his pocket and became an unspoken truth.

As a bank credit manager, he had ways to handle the money—whether depositing it overseas or legally routing it back through investment or fund channels. It was simple for him.

He flicked the check, placed it in a drawer, and realized this wasn’t the first time nor would it be the last. Unexpectedly, he started to look forward to future dealings with this intriguing young man, Lynch. Such matters required mutual silent understanding.

A few days passed quickly. Early one morning, Lynch arrived at the bank parking lot in a borrowed car, ready to load the money.

By the time he parked, three client managers waiting for him wore excited expressions. One hundred and sixty thousand stacks of hundred-Sol bills—piled up was overwhelmingly impressive.

Most people would never see that amount in cash at once; they could only imagine the scene with awed whispers.

But facing that much money was far more shocking and exhilarating than anyone imagined.

Even the three bank client managers, who dealt with money daily, were briefly stunned on seeing so much cash.

They eagerly anticipated Lynch’s reaction, hoping to see some falter to ease their own embarrassment or simply to gawk.

They were doomed to be disappointed. The man before them had seen millions—one hundred sixty million, even one billion six hundred million in cash. This was mere pocket change.

“Don’t you feel shocked?” one client manager finally blurted out, trying to probe whether Lynch’s calm was genuine or feigned. He emphasized, “There’s one hundred sixty thousand here, one hundred sixty thousand!”

Lynch calmly nodded, walked to the steps where the money lay, and casually picked up a stack.

Unlike the rolled bundles seen on the streets, these were neatly strapped in paper bands.

He shuffled the bills, the rustling accompanied by a strong scent of ink—ten thousand Sol in one stack.

He smiled slightly and tossed the money back. “One hundred sixty thousand, weighing about twenty kilograms total…” He glanced at the manager as if to say, “What more do you want me to say?”

The client manager forced a laugh, feeling a bit embarrassed. After Lynch’s words, he admitted quietly to himself that one hundred sixty thousand was just about that—nothing extraordinary.

The excitement vanished from the faces of the staff and police present, replaced by a vague, awkward discomfort—one unfamiliar to women, regrettably.

What had started as something special ended rather anticlimactically.

The client manager asked politely, “Would you like to verify the bills?”

He knew Lynch wouldn’t. First, this was a bank; counterfeit bills were rare since producing fake currency was costly and not necessarily profitable.

If one had the skill to forge currency, making fake cashier’s checks was easier and more effective.

The question was just polite formality, but Lynch took it seriously.

“Of course!” He picked up another stack, flicked through it. The touch instantly gave him clear feedback.

Counterfeiting technology was limited. Even sophisticated photolithography or copperplate engraving was still cutting-edge and rare. Replicating the genuine feel of currency was nearly impossible.

Most counterfeiters used ordinary printing, so fake bills were easily detected.

After randomly checking about a third of the bills, Lynch declared them genuine. The watching police officer solemnly signed a form, certifying Lynch’s approval of the money’s authenticity.

Banks weren’t protecting customers here—they were protecting themselves.

The money was packed into three suitcases, each holding fifty thousand Sol. Lynch had bought oversized suitcases; standard ones could only hold twenty thousand.

The cash went straight into his car. Two police officers, at Lynch’s request, escorted him all the way back to Dyson Asset Management.

The office was an unremarkable roadside building with no sign. Lynch didn’t intend to advertise it; it was a disposable façade—used when needed, then discarded.

Shortly after the police left, Mr. Fox arrived personally with his team, entering through the back.

When they saw three suitcases plus an additional hundred thousand Sol in cash, everyone’s breathing became heavy and quick.

“How much is this…?” Mr. Fox, who had dealt with money most of his life, felt as if he’d returned to his youth, blood pumping with renewed vigor.

His weathered hand caressed the cash inside the suitcase as if stroking a lover’s skin.

“One hundred sixty thousand exactly…” Lynch approached, took out six more stacks, adding them to the extra hundred thousand. “This is my portion.”

Fox’s eyes shifted—first fierce, then softened. He nodded, “You deserve it.”

Lynch set the money aside, then returned to the office. From somewhere, he produced a certificate and handed it over.

“This is a cash withdrawal certificate issued by the bank and witnessed by the local police. Whenever you pay large sums in cash and someone questions the legitimacy, show them this.”

“Make a copy—you’ll use it often.”

If Fox had shown discontent with Lynch taking the money, Lynch wouldn’t have shown this certificate. He had other ways to make Fox return his share with interest.

Fortunately, faced with such a large sum, Fox kept his integrity, avoiding much trouble.

While examining the document, Fox asked instinctively, “Does this mean I still have some money I can…”

He looked at Lynch. Lynch nodded. The creases on Fox’s face deepened.

He patted Lynch’s shoulder and added one or two more stacks to Lynch’s share as a reward.

With this certificate, even Fox’s small remaining funds could come to light. More than that, all his money could be legitimated—all thanks to this document and Lynch’s help.