Blackstone Code-Chapter 689: Good People Don’t Have Bad Luck

Lynch’s teasing tone only made Lime more anxious.T

“Boss, help me. If those people find out their money is frozen, they’ll tear me apart!”

A loss and a freeze are two very different things. Many investors in the financial sector, especially long-term and experienced ones, are willing to take risks. Before they transfer money into a fund or financial company’s account, they sign a contract.

That contract includes strict clauses—what to do when losses occur after opening a position, what to do if losses deepen, what to do when the stop-loss line is hit, and how to ensure the safety of the funds.

They accept a certain level of shrinkage in their funds by the end of the contract cycle. That’s normal—no one wins every time.

But they absolutely will not accept their funds being completely frozen. That’s no joke—it’s basically the same as total loss. Technically, they have the right to demand compensation from the fund or financial company according to the maximum loss clause. Of course, that requires signing a waiver and transfer agreement first.

If they can’t agree, then the matter goes to court. But whether handled privately or legally, for Lime, either path is a disaster.

He doesn’t have enough money to settle it privately, nor can he afford legal proceedings—he might not even be able to cover the lawyers’ fees.

According to the usual practices of vultures like Opulent’s firm, if they win, they take 15–25% of the case amount as fees. Even if they lose, they still charge 3–7%.

Win or lose, Lime might not even have enough to pay the lawyers.

And when that happens, bankruptcy is the only option.

He had worked so hard for so many years to finally turn his life around. He didn’t want to see five a.m. in Opulent again. He didn’t want to lose. No matter what, he wanted to stay in the game.

“I can’t help you, Lime. There’s nothing I can do,” Lynch said, still with the same calm tone, emotionless. He’d seen too many ups and downs. Bankruptcy? Starting over? Nothing unusual about it.

Only those with a strong heart won’t be crushed by the world. For the weak, the world will always be an enemy.

“Please, boss, I really have no way out.”

“I know I was wrong. I should’ve listened to you. This will be the last time—please save me. I feel like I can’t breathe…”

Lynch couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re still not mature enough, Lime. Honestly, I think this crash is a good thing for you. You’ve lived through hard times but never felt something like this—a fall from the top. It’s thrilling, dangerous… and deadly.”

“Then—bam—you hit the ground and shatter.”

“Without experiencing this, you’ll never be as cautious as I am. You’ll never learn fear. But since you’ve handled it relatively well, I’ll give you a chance.”

To Lime, Lynch’s words were like something to cling to while drowning. He was instantly grateful. “Thank you so much, boss. You saved me!”

“Don’t thank me yet. I can’t recover your full investment or profits. I can only return part of your principal—50%, no more.”

“You know that’s not easy.”

Lime had wanted to push for more but gave up. “I understand, boss. So… when?”

“Within this year. Wait for my message. As for your clients, you’ll need to handle them yourself. If needed, take out a loan. Anything else?”

After hanging up, Lynch shook his head. He hadn’t planned on getting involved—he already made his money. But in that final moment of the call, he had a sudden flash of inspiration.

Why do some equally talented people shine while others stay ordinary, even lacking confidence?

It’s the power of thought.

That might not be the most accurate way to describe it—maybe it’s just a sudden spark. But that seemingly unreliable spark destroys 100% of 99% of people’s hard work.

After thinking it through briefly, Lynch picked up the phone and dialed Mr. Wadrick.

Still the annoying operator transfer system—Federal Telegraph and Telecom clearly had no intention of selling its patents globally, at least not yet.

After two minutes, the call connected.

It was a private line, so Mr. Wadrick answered immediately. Someone like him typically had at least three phones on his office desk.

One was the secretary’s line, which they screened before passing it on.

The second was for company executives and board members—used only for internal communication at the highest levels.

The third was the private line. Frankly, most board members didn’t even know the number. Only those personally approved by Mr. Wadrick had it.

“This is Wadrick.”

“It’s me—Lynch.”

“What’s the matter?” Wadrick waved his secretary away and shut the door behind her.

He walked to his bar and poured himself a drink. The call was a good excuse to take a break.

Lynch didn’t go straight to the point. Instead, he chatted casually. “Sounds like things are going well for you?”

Previously, Wadrick had tried to bring Lynch closer—he wasn’t hitting on him, just suggesting Lynch pursue Severella—but Lynch had refused.

Still, the attempt at friendliness remained, and a little small talk would make their relationship seem more personal. Even pointless chatter between busy people was a sign of closeness.

Wadrick chuckled. “That’s right. I just spent a fortune increasing my stock holdings. I don’t have much chance at the chairman’s seat, but I’m satisfied.”

The board meeting hadn’t even happened, but Wadrick already knew the outcome. That wasn’t surprising.

Many major shareholders and current board chairs didn’t want the consortium’s CEO to also become chairman. Concentrating power like that would give Wadrick too much influence.

It would threaten the interests of other shareholders. Though they formed a united front, they were also rivals at times.

It was expected he wouldn’t win. After all, he got the majority of shares in this round of compensation, which meant giving up the chance to join the chairman’s circle.

But he didn’t mind. Even without the official title, his actual influence was nearly the same—just missing some of the formal powers reserved for the chair.

He was already quite satisfied with the result.

Lynch pursed his lips and continued, “I heard the electric company has been delisted and declared bankrupt. What’s your plan?”

“That’s a strange question coming from you—I thought you wouldn’t care about that,” Mr. Wadrick replied, immediately sensing something unusual. At this point, the electric company and the new patents held no real value for Lynch anymore.

Gephra had declared Amellia an Imperial Special Zone, meaning everything there would be governed by a new set of rules, distinct from the mainland. These announcements also included messages welcoming foreign investors—clearly laying the groundwork for people like Lynch to invest.

An imperial decree couldn’t be casually overturned by a governor—that would be treason.

But now, with Lynch suddenly bringing it up, Mr. Wadrick caught a different scent. “Is there something I should be aware of?”

He said it with a smile—half-joking, half-probing.

This time, Lynch didn’t bother with small talk. He got straight to the point. “If I can get Soren to sign a memorandum of understanding with you that nullifies the penalty clause—would that benefit you?”

Mr. Wadrick’s smile immediately disappeared. He stood up seriously, walked over to the table to light a plain cigarette, then returned with his drink and sat on the couch, phone in hand.

He thought for a moment and asked, “What’s your plan?”

“That’s not your concern. I only have one question—if I can make it happen, is it good for you? I want the truth.”

“Absolutely,” Mr. Wadrick replied without hesitation. “We’ve estimated legal costs at no less than ten million for this lawsuit. If Soren digs in, that could rise to fifty million—or even a hundred million.”

“If you can get Soren to agree to nullify the penalty, we’ll save all that money, not to mention resources and face…”

Spending tens of millions—or even a hundred million—to avoid a nine-hundred-million-Sol penalty was clearly a good deal. The current strategy was simple: drag the lawsuit out, indefinitely, for twenty years if needed. If there’s no settlement and the courts stop holding sessions, the case dies.

But that required huge manpower, resources, and came with reputational costs—defaulting on payments is bad PR. Damage control would be another hefty expense.

Lynch was blunt. “I don’t care what your company gains. I want to know—what do you get?”

“I’ll get a seat on the consortium’s board of directors.”