After saying goodbye, Lynch got up and left without looking back. He didn’t seem to care at all about the pistol hidden under Richard’s coat—he didn’t even show the slightest respect for either the man or the weapon.

Watching Lynch walk away, Richard lightly touched the gun under his clothes, but in the end, he did nothing.

He wasn’t sure if Lynch had been bluffing or not—whether there really were two guns aimed at his head from the outside. But he didn’t dare to gamble.

If Lynch was telling the truth, any move to draw his weapon could get him killed instantly.

And if he died, no one here would hold Lynch accountable.

Because Lynch was a noble. Richard, on the other hand, was just a foreigner. Drawing a weapon on a noble was equivalent to challenging the nation’s authority. He knew that very well. If it came to that, his death would be in vain, and no one would help him.

Lynch walked farther and farther until he finally left the café. Only then did Richard let out a long sigh.

Just as Lynch had said, he had made a wrong move—not just one, but several. There was no turning back now.

He no longer fantasized about how long he could hold on. His only thought was how to escape from Gephra.

Once Harmony Capital collapsed, the nobles backing him—and other nobles—would all want to tear him apart. He had no way out but death.

He stayed in the café for about seven or eight more minutes, then left two Sol on the table and got up. Now that he had made his decision, he had to act immediately.

The top priority was to cash out his shares, even at a loss—he had to do it quickly and leave.

At this point, Richard was no longer thinking about anyone else. Not his subordinates or his partners. He convinced himself with one thought: Lynch’s target is me. If he didn’t leave, he would die. But the others would be fine.

Lynch wouldn’t bother with people at that level. They’d be fine. He wouldn’t.

To cash out, the best place was the stock market.

If he tried to sell through other channels, like transferring shares, it would take too long. Just finding someone to buy that many shares and signing a contract would take at least two weeks.

And in two weeks, everything could already be over. He couldn’t afford to wait.

Moreover, transferring company shares required a public announcement. As a major founder, if he reduced or completely liquidated his holdings, a statement had to be released, and trading had to be suspended.

This was part of Gephra’s financial regulations—and it had to be followed.

If everyone knew he was trying to run, would he really have a chance to escape?

With those two constraints, there was no real way for him to flee. The only option was to sell in small batches on the stock exchange, hoping to gain some room to maneuver.

Technically, that was also illegal in Gephra. But as long as he and his trader kept quiet, who would know?

Once the money was out, regardless of how much, he’d be out of Gephra.

He admitted he’d lost this round—but he believed he still had a chance.

There was no time to waste.

Fortunately, the café was right across from the Royal Exchange. Richard crossed the street straight to the exchange, where Harmony Capital had its own trading seat.

Most companies had similar setups—either they owned a seat or had deals with brokerages, which would operate on their behalf during key moments.

This made it easier to respond to market threats. If someone attempted a hostile takeover and the company didn’t have a seat, it would be difficult to counter by, say, buying back stock to raise prices and block the acquisition.

It also made it easier for companies to offload shares or issue new ones.

To show off Harmony Capital’s strength, Richard had paid a large sum to buy a trading seat outright.

Priority seats, however, were held by nobles and a few major firms—not something you could buy with money.

“Boss…”

The trader working at the seat greeted Richard as soon as he saw him, quickly wrapping up his private trades.

Trading seats couldn’t just sit idle—Richard had allowed this trader to take on side work, splitting the profits with the company.

The trader had no complaints. Even setting aside how hard it was for individuals to get a seat, a single trading seat could bring in enormous daily profits.

With a minimum transaction fee of 1% in Gephra, a million Sol passing through meant 10,000 Gael in fees.

Half of that went to the exchange, the other half to the seat owner.

It might not sound like much—until you realized trading volumes could easily hit several hundred thousand or a million daily. Some seats could do over three to five million on active days, generating tens of thousands in net profit daily.

Split with the company, that was still a lot of money.

Richard looked at the display board in the second-floor trading hall, then bent down and lowered his voice. “I want to cash out.”

The trader nodded casually. He was just an employee under contract. He wasn’t there to judge, only to follow orders.

Besides, company founders cashing out was common in Gephra. Usually meant they were short on cash. “How much?”

As he spoke, the trader pulled up Richard’s account. “You still have… fifteen million shares.”

That was a little over a hundred million in market value. The trader wasn’t particularly impressed. He’d seen and handled far larger sums.

If anyone could treat money like just numbers, it was traders. None of it was theirs anyway.

Some of them even messed up decimal points without a second thought.

“Listen, I’ve run into some trouble. I want to cash out all of it—through the stock market.”

“I know this isn’t exactly legal, but I’ve got my reasons. Can you help me?”

Richard looked the trader in the eye. After a brief silence, the trader gave a nearly imperceptible nod. “Twenty percent.”

Side work was one thing. Official work was another. Per their contract, the trader was entitled to 8% commission for regular business—regardless of outcome.

But Richard’s request was irregular—and illegal. The trader would be taking on risk. So he wanted a bigger cut.

Richard barely hesitated. “Alright. I’m counting on you.”

He didn’t leave. He stood right beside the trader, just in case there were any sneaky moves.

The market had been open for some time, and trading was still steady. The trader was matching trades on the spot and over the phone. Overall, the financial world remained optimistic about Harmony Capital’s future.

The main reason for this was Richard’s move into brick-and-mortar jewelry stores, which had created a convincing illusion of stability.

People believed the gold and gems in those stores came from Harmony Capital’s global mining operations. They assumed the company was selling its own resources, and with only transportation costs and cheap local labor, Harmony Capital was turning rocks into high-margin gold and gemstones.

As long as those jewelry stores remained open, no one would question Harmony Capital. But how could they know whether the gold and gems in those stores truly came from Harmony Capital’s mines?

They didn’t. They simply assumed so—fooled by their own belief.

As Harmony Capital’s sell-off volume spiked, the price began to drop. The huge turnover attracted the attention of other exchanges and traders.

It was strange—such heavy selling with no public disclosure or insider news? That wasn’t typical for Gephra’s financial scene.

Then it happened: Harmony Capital’s share price, which had just dipped under seven Sol but was still holding, suddenly plunged to six—and kept falling.

Richard’s knowledge of the stock market was limited to that of a retail investor. He was confused. The price had looked stable just moments ago—why had it dropped so sharply?

“What’s happening?” he asked.

The trader’s expression turned serious. While speaking on the phone, he scribbled something on paper: “Heavy suppression in the market…”

Richard started to get a bad feeling. He clenched his fists, wanting to say something, but waited until the trader finished his call.

“What does that mean?”

The trader pointed to the trading hall’s bulletin board. “Someone just dumped large blocks of shares across several price levels, driving the stock down rapidly—and they’re not done yet…”

Before he even finished speaking, the stock had fallen below four Sol. All of it happened in less than fifteen minutes.

“How… how could this be?” Richard stared at the now 3.99 Gael price and suddenly realized—Lynch might have made his move.

“Quick! Sell everything—price doesn’t matter. Just dump it all!” he shouted, panicked.

The trader glanced at him, then quietly followed orders. His cut was guaranteed anyway—no need to play the villain.

But the price was falling far faster than either of them had expected. Within five minutes, it had already dropped close to 3.60 Gael.

There was no time to react.