Blackstone Code-Chapter 493: Things Happen Every Day

The interview with the wealthy survivor families was very successful. Although Lynch spoke little and considered whether to bring in some feminist activists, overall, the interview went well.
The international community, including those in the Federation who have started meddling, actually aren’t concerned with the lives of the foreign poor. They don’t care whether the poor elsewhere live better or worse. No matter the reality, everyone believes they are the ones most in need of help. If anyone is truly suffering, it must be themselves.
People only focus on issues affecting the rich because those stories gain more sympathy.
Stories about the low-class natives, seen by many as no different from savages, don’t resonate. It’s only the misfortunes of foreign tycoons that make people realize how bad things really are.
If even the rich are suffering, then this time it’s serious
.
To judge whether a social event truly impacts society, just see if the wealthy are affected.
Once these s went out, they immediately drew widespread international attention. People debated whether the unrest in Nagaryll served as a warning.
In another country, a mother and son saw the news.
“Simon…” The woman, dressed elegantly and appearing about forty, was actually older than she looked. Thanks to her husband sending large sums of money every year, she and her son lived in comfort, looking healthy and well-maintained.
She spent most of the money on beauty and indulgence, employing private hairstylists, beauticians, fitness trainers, even private intimate care specialists.
Though money couldn’t stop time, it made her look younger than most.
Nearby, a confident young man sat on the sofa, legs crossed, eating an apple. Hearing his mother say the man’s name, he frowned.
For this father who had abandoned them to go overseas, he only felt favor toward him when desperate for money. Most of the time, he felt nothing but annoyance, though he enjoyed the lifestyle his father’s money provided.
“What’s wrong with him now?” the young man asked casually. “I remember he wrote he wanted to come back.”
The young man was successful—he had his own company despite yearly losses. Simon’s money kept it afloat and gave him social experience.
In a way, he saw wasting Simon’s money as a form of punishment—a way to reprimand his father for abandoning them.
The woman momentarily lost focus, then panicked. She turned the newspaper toward him, voice trembling, “It says your father died in Nagaryll!”
The young man’s cynical smile froze. First disbelief, then horror, as he read the article.
They knew their comfortable life depended entirely on Simon’s remittances. They took it for granted, enjoying the money while convincing themselves their extravagance was punishment for Simon’s neglect.
Sometimes, their letters even cruelly said things like
I wish you were dead
or
I want to believe you never existed
to hurt Simon and satisfy their twisted feelings.
But Simon was really dead—and for them, it was a disaster.
The woman faced losing everything—her personal trainers, beauticians, luxury brands, and the ability to flaunt wealth among the socialites.
She would age and lose her beauty. Worse, her lover, younger than her son, would abandon her once she had no money left.
The young man was terrified too. His company survived only because of Simon’s unconditional support. He believed losses were part of growing up, that he would mature with experience.
Unfortunately, he would never see that day. The son Simon had pinned his hopes on would never grow.
If he couldn’t pay debts early next year, his factory, company, house, car, and all luxury goods would be lost.
His current funds couldn’t cover bills or lifestyle. He faced bankruptcy and being forced to work in a factory for the rest of his life to repay debts.
He snatched the newspaper from his mother, reading seriously. He was nearly hopeless. The local er mentioned Simon was a successful businessman from their country, making the story relatable.
This confirmed it was indeed his father, old Simon.
Fortunately, the lower part of the article gave him hope. His sullen face brightened with manic joy.
“See, Mom? It says he has factories and shops there. He’s a successful businessman with lots of money. That money is ours!”
He turned to his mother with a twisted expression, pointing at a passage, “We must get over there soon to claim what’s ours, or someone else will take it!”
The woman, like a drowning person grabbing a lifeline, hurried to her feet. Reading the trembling text, she nodded repeatedly. “You’re right, dear…”
That afternoon, the mother and son booked four tickets to Nagaryll. After a lavish dinner, they boarded the ship to leave.
The four tickets included one for a top lawyer specializing in inheritance disputes. If the lawsuit succeeded, he would take 40% of Simon’s estate as fees, as per their contract.
The fourth ticket was for their dog, a small and rare breed called the Colonel, about 20 centimeters excluding the tail. It was said the president’s wife in their country also owned this breed.
Meanwhile, unexpected events were unfolding in the Federation.
The Nagaryll diplomat looked grim. He had received a telegram at home accusing him of betraying national interests and demanding an immediate .
Another telegram came from a secretive friend, revealing the royal family had secretly arrested his relatives—his mother, siblings, but not his father.
Their status was unknown, but clearly grim.
Without doubt, the domestic upheaval was caused by this man. He was troubled: on one hand, the shameless Federation officials, unable to persuade him, sent people to stir trouble in Nagaryll; on the other, he was struck by how much the Federation valued him.
It was a conflicting feeling. Most of the time, self-admiration is just the consolation of the powerless, but true talents are always noticed.
He appreciated the attention, but not the method.
“As long as you join us, none of this will be a problem.” It was a warm afternoon, and with November approaching, the Federation began to chill rapidly.
People had already put on their trench coats, including Mr. Truman. Federation agents favored this outfit so much that they could always be spotted instantly in a crowd.
The diplomat smiled wryly, “Should I thank you for giving me another chance?” He meant that they hadn’t wiped him out completely—hadn’t found a way to have the royal family kill his entire family, forcing him to turn against them, or used any other irreversible, extreme method to settle their dispute.
Mr. Truman shook his head. “You know, the former president’s son has officially been appointed as the Federation’s ambassador to the Kingdom of Nagaryll.”
“I haven’t heard that!” The diplomat was surprised. The news hadn’t been made public yet. Although by tonight everyone who should or shouldn’t know would know, it hadn’t been disclosed because the parliament session wasn’t over.
Mr. Truman shrugged. “He’s an outstanding young man, already walking the path toward his life goals. And you, diplomat, when will you find your true direction in life?”
“The right direction?!”