“There’s been some unusual selling activity the past couple of days…”

On Thursday, Richard received a report from one of his subordinates. He closed the door and took the file handed to him.

“These are the turnover rates for the past three days—nearly five million shares traded. The volume is quite high and abnormal.”

Richard wasn’t highly educated, but in the world of the successful, no one ever required a high degree to be one. As long as he had money, he could pay those with higher education to work for him.

On the daily trading chart in his hand, turnover volumes for each time period were marked. The term turnover originated from the hand gestures used on the trading floor—when sellers wanted to offload shares, they used silent signals to communicate with floor traders alongside flipboards.

There weren’t many gestures—mostly to indicate buying or selling. Each time shares passed from seller to buyer, these hand signals were involved, giving rise to the term “turnover.

Some argue the word didn’t originate there, and have started using trading volume instead. But regardless of old or new terminology, it all pointed to the same thing—trades.

“Did our agreement partners start selling?” Richard frowned as he studied the dense volume spikes.

His academic credentials might’ve been low, but his analytical sense was sharp. He understood that when a stock had room to rise, it wouldn’t suddenly experience a trading spike like this. Real bullish momentum came with steady volume increases, not sudden bursts.

He suspected their agreement partners had begun selling. These partners, who had bought in bulk to heat up the stock, now saw prices well above the agreed rate. Instead of selling back to the company at the contract price, they were likely dumping shares on the open market. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

With strong momentum behind the stock, as long as they didn’t flood the market, the price wouldn’t crash. In fact, wider distribution to retail investors could even stimulate the price further.

“Did we move any funds?” Richard set the chart back on the table. His subordinate nodded. “We used around twenty million. Those shares will be released again next week.”

Richard nodded. “Good. This makes it look like regular market activity. But keep monitoring things. If anything unusual happens, inform me immediately.”

After his subordinate left, the office fell silent. Unlike what some imagined, Richard wasn’t constantly fielding calls. He knew this was all a scam, and the busyness of a con was just for show. There was nothing truly demanding his attention.

He sat at his desk, frowning deeply. A vague unease gnawed at him. He didn’t know what was causing it, but he knew it wasn’t good.

He stood, paced a few steps, then sat back down and picked up the phone.

He dialed a number and, after twenty or thirty seconds, asked, “What’s Lynch been up to these past few days?”

What was Lynch up to?

The past two days, Lynch had been preparing for a noble celebration banquet. Today was the day of the event.

Festivities had started early in the morning.

Lynch arrived at a private hunting ground outside the capital. People often said Gephra lacked land, but once you entered a city and experienced life there, you’d see how much land was wasted.

Thousands of square kilometers had been turned into noble hunting grounds. They raised tame animals there, and hunting was permitted year-round with a simple application to the Privy Council and a small fee.

Beside the noble hunting grounds was the royal one—larger, with more animals and stricter management.

The issue wasn’t land scarcity, but how much of it nobles monopolized and left idle. They loved building castles, hunting grounds, and gardens…

It was Lynch’s first time on horseback. Fortunately, the trainer had chosen a gentle mare for him. Mares were calmer and would follow others at a slow pace, avoiding any tense conflicts between a novice rider and the horse.

The hunting weapon was a longbow. After some sarcastic remarks from others, the nobles had grudgingly allowed Lynch to use a firearm—but not a modern rifle. They handed him a flintlock.

Luckily, he didn’t have to load it himself. After firing, he simply handed it to an attendant.

The hunting itself wasn’t worth describing—tedious and dull. These nobles enjoyed killing with cold weapons, relishing the cruelty and thrill of taking life. Lynch had no interest. They were inefficient and, more importantly, pointless.

He understood the appeal of hunting, but not the obsession with handicapping oneself.

Lunch was venison. That morning, they’d managed to bag a deer and some rabbits and ducks. The cooks expertly prepared the game for a barbecue at the camp.

In the afternoon, they went to the opera for a two-hour performance—finally, some rest.

“My neck hurts,” Lynch said, taking off his cravat. He could understand the nobles’ devotion to their traditions, but that didn’t mean he thought it was good.

Nobles all wore cravats, some even wigs. With the capital’s temperature at over 32°C, a cravat alone was unbearable—let alone wigs.

He’d seen elderly nobles drenched in sweat still clinging to their so-called grace. It was pure pretension.

Yes, pretension. Lynch didn’t think anyone there had more money than him, so he had every right to say it.

The evening banquet was held in a castle owned by the Privy Council. It used to belong to a duke who had opposed parliamentary reform. After the emperor seized power, the duke was eliminated and his castle nationalized.

It had so many rooms that every guest got their own.

Lynch took off his coat and cravat. The stiff, reinforced collar had left a red ring on his neck.

The butler smiled but said nothing. Lynch’s shirt was soaked, but fortunately, the butler had prepared in advance.

“What’s next?” Lynch asked, stepping into the bath. The warm water washed away his irritation.

The butler tidied up his discarded clothes. “Next is a salon. About ninety minutes. After that, the banquet and evening party.”

Lynch poked his head out. “What’s the topic?”

“There isn’t one. Just casual conversation.”

“Just casual conversation…” Lynch repeated, pulling his head back.

Soon after, he changed into a fresh outfit and, led by the butler, made his way to the gathering hall in the castle.

This hall had once been where the duke met with his retainers to discuss important matters, but now it was set up for socializing.

Though it looked informal, the arrangement of noble-style sofas and small round tables was deliberate. Some nobles had arrived early and were already chatting in small groups.

On the tables were coffee, floral teas, and pastries—no one was drinking alcohol at this hour.

As long as it wasn’t too late, afternoon tea was always appropriate.

Lynch’s arrival drew attention. He was the first foreign-born noble in the empire’s history. Relations between Gephra and the Federation weren’t nearly as friendly as public reports claimed, which gave some nobles an excuse to look for trouble.

They just wanted to see Lynch embarrassed—like earlier during the hunt, when they mocked him for not knowing how to use a bow. It was all just to laugh at him.

“Baron Lynch, after this brief rest, we’ll begin the evening reception. I hope today has left a lasting impression on you,” said a marquis from the Privy Council. The high-ranking nobles in the Council were hereditary, and with few new titles being granted these days, nearly all of them held titles passed down through generations.

Lynch smiled in response and sat down, but the marquis wasn’t done with him.

“It’s obvious you’re not too familiar with our way of life. Perhaps, with more exposure, you’ll grow to love it.”

Lynch gave a noncommittal nod. “That might be possible.”

“Why might and not definitely?” The marquis smiled and looked around the room. “Could it be that life in the Federation is more interesting than ours?”

Lynch smiled slightly. “I don’t know about interesting, but I do know it’s cooler over there.”

The odd response left several nobles speechless. What kind of answer was that?

Someone chimed in, “Is the Federation really that cool?”

Lynch’s smile began to change subtly—if Richard had been there, he would have become alert immediately.

Whenever Lynch smiled like that, it meant he was scheming something.

“No, the Federation is actually hotter than here. But we have advanced technology. We have something called a temperature regulator that can bring indoor temperatures down to a comfortable level.”

“Sometimes, if you set it too low, it can even feel cold.”

“Know what I’ve been enjoying most lately?”

Without waiting for an answer, he burst into laughter. “I love setting the room to sixteen degrees and wrapping myself in a thick blanket!”