Letting Lynch leak some information during the medal ceremony was a carefully planned move.

If the news spread through spies inside Gephra, the credibility would be low. Suddenly appearing parameters would raise suspicion.

If spies inside the Federation obtained the intel, it would seem abrupt.

The logic was simple: they might steal some equipment info and send it back before being caught, but it was impossible to steal a large number of classified files in one place and safely transmit them all at once.

If the Federation openly released the info themselves, it would look foolish. Occasionally announcing project names or a few strategic weapon specs can serve as military deterrence to potential enemies.

It signals, We have these advanced strategic weapons. If you’re not at our level, be prepared to back down.

But releasing detailed specs on every project at once? Do they think those countries won’t be suspicious?

So the plan was to have a reliable person leak it, draw Gephra’s attention, and give their spies some opportunities.

While arresting some spies, Gephra would also get two or three documents proving Lynch’s leaked data was authentic. They would likely fall for it.

This reliable person couldn’t be a government official or military leader but had to have enough status to access the data. Lynch was perfect.

Most importantly, he was about to become a Gephra noble, which would naturally lower the high-ups’ guard—just enough to be effective.

Lynch nodded, took a sip of coffee, and grimaced, “The presidential coffee is still terrible!”

He set the rest aside, unwilling to drink more.

Truman laughed, “We care about every taxpayer’s penny. That money is for developing and building our country, not for better coffee.”

He finished his cup, sighed, “Indeed, it’s awful, but what can you do?”

The presidential office often appeared in media—sometimes official releases, sometimes reporters stirring trouble.

Once, the coffee machine was surrounded by enough milk and sugar cubes that people made sweetened milk coffee. That small issue even made the news.

They debated whether the coffee bean purchase exceeded government procurement limits, causing the head of presidential logistics to resign.

Since then, only instant coffee packets remained, each cup allowed one sugar cube—no more.

Fancy coffee machines became hot water dispensers. The public was satisfied; public opinion won.

This made presidential coffee the second worst after police stations’ coffee.

Some staff couldn’t stand it and either brought coffee from home or ordered from nearby shops.

Lynch put down his cup, opened a drawer, and handed Lynch a sheet of paper with two names and phone numbers—obviously fake names.

They were so plain as to be suspiciously ordinary.

“The first is the military attaché’s number at the Federation embassy in Gephra. The second can get you out of Gephra fast.”

“No official personnel or agents will accompany you—you can bring your own people.”

He paused, “If things go wrong, return quickly.”

“Wrong?”

Lynch smiled, shook his head, lit the paper on fire, and watched it burn to ash.

He had memorized the two simple numbers firmly. He once had a job requiring him to memorize an ID number and a bank card number within a minute.

What’s difficult for many was easy for him.

Any number longer than three digits can be memorized with the right technique—it’s like a game once you master it.

“There won’t be anything wrong. I believe that.”

After leaving Truman’s office, Lynch didn’t immediately leave. He briefly chatted with the busy Katherine before departing.

It seemed nothing happened, but Katherine could clearly feel everyone’s attitude toward her had improved.

Some of it was because of Lynch—the wealthiest young man in the Federation, not just rich but friendly and soon to be nobility.

Wealth and social status meant everything in the Federation.

Truman also played a role. Everyone knew he was the president’s most trusted aide—best not to offend him unless you’re foolish.

Tension and busyness marked the start of a new life. Katherine glimpsed a bright, golden future ahead.

Meanwhile, in Gephra, someone else was watching Lynch closely.

“Is he being ennobled…?”

Richard was dazed.

The newspapers printed photos of Lynch and Jania traveling together in the Federation, both smiling brightly. The photographer captured a genuine moment of joy.

The article briefly mentioned the cultural exchange delegation’s achievements, rumors about Jania and Lynch, and at the end noted Lynch would return to Gephra with the delegation to attend the ennoblement ceremony in October.

He would become the first non-native imperial noble in Gephra’s history—a baron.

The whole society was watching. Few questioned Lynch’s eligibility. The emperor’s authority was unquestioned and absolute—his decision final.

People speculated whether Lynch and Jania would marry and become imperial dukes.

This topic fascinated many. Lynch, the Federation’s rare outstanding young talent, was already close to becoming Jania’s equal—soon to be nobility.

Once he marries Jania, his title will be raised from baron to duke to match the princess’s rank.

Princess Jania is the emperor’s sister, so she must marry a duke; if it were the emperor’s daughter, the rank would be marquis.

Because of one woman, he instantly rises to the empire’s top nobility. How could people not talk about it? In their eyes, it was already settled—Lynch would inevitably marry Jania.

From a normal perspective, that’s true. Marrying her means power, wealth, status, prestige, and influence—everything countless young Gephra men dream of.

Jealousy, praise, and flattery drowned out local discussions during this period.

Even Richard couldn’t ignore this much younger man.

Fragments of past memories flashed in his mind, causing a brief dizziness before he suddenly… exploded in fury.

Fury doesn’t quite fit—his expression was serious, but his actions were furious.

He swept an invaluable antique lamp and other items off the desk, then drew a decorative one-handed sword from the wall and struck the thousand-florin desk with all his might.

The noise alarmed those outside. The secretary opened the door, recoiled two steps in fear, covered her mouth, and whispered “My God,” eyes full of terror.

More people gathered—many were Richard’s men from the Federation. They blocked others from watching, standing at the door under others’ gazes.

Breathing heavily from exhaustion, Richard stabbed the sword’s tip into a newspaper on the floor. The force pierced the paper, the carpet, and the floor beneath.

He panted hard, then sat down in a nearby chair, holding his head and leaning forward, staring at the ground.

He seemed a little calmer. One of his earliest men cautiously approached, crouched beside him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, partly to comfort Richard and partly to prevent a sudden outburst.

“Lynch—he’s coming again, about the ennoblement!” Richard suddenly looked up, eyes full of hatred.

Everyone by the door and inside the room fell silent.

Undeniably, Lynch was the first boss who led them to success. His secondhand goods auctions gave them hope to achieve their dreams.

That time was unforgettable—they started from a small venue and grew to hold the largest auctions in York State’s capital, topping the state in sales every time.

Everyone enjoyed things they never had before. Easy money intoxicated them with fleeting, illusory pleasure.

But after Richard, they became dissatisfied.

They earned so much for Lynch every month, yet received little themselves. Lynch sometimes took 60-70% of the profits, leaving only 20-30% for them.

Richard felt unfairness deep inside—the dirtiest, hardest work was theirs, while Lynch, who did nothing, took the largest share.

Why should that be?