“Do you know, everyone thinks they’re the smartest one…” In a café not far from the port, Mr. Herbes and his international banker friends were enjoying a hearty breakfast.
Going to a café for breakfast wasn’t anything new, especially in Eminence, a city that
never stops
. People didn’t have time to leisurely prepare a warm breakfast; from the moment they opened their eyes, they blamed themselves for sleeping too long and for their weakness.
That weakness came from the desire to sleep a little longer. Many barely got six hours of rest a day, yet they had countless reasons to get up immediately.
Without considering distant dreams, just the monthly expenses for housing, various services and education fees, loans, and installments — if they didn’t want to be kicked out like trash, they had no choice but to work right away.
Eminence’s media often ed that certain CEOs woke up at 5:30 every morning. The lifestyle of the upper class was not much different from everyone else: late to bed, early to rise. Complaints were rare.
In the morning, to quickly get into their busy day, people often bought a cup of unsweetened coffee at cafés—likely the only coffee they’d drink all day without sugar or milk.
They might grab a wrap or buy a hot dog from a street vendor on the way. This was why cafés in Eminence opened early—the first wave of customers arrived while those earning only a hundred or two hundred were still fast asleep, constantly complaining about not being rich enough.
For Herbes and his group, cafés offered shelter from the cold wind outside. They were used to traveling the world, spending winters and summers in pleasant climates, so the chill was a bit hard to bear.
But none of this mattered to Mr. Herbes or his peers. What mattered was the sight of money—countless amounts of it.
Herbes set down his cup and looked around. “The Federation government is a little crazy. They’re desperate to prove their influence and control over the world across many fields.”
“They are too civilized, ignoring that shifts in dominance between nations don’t come from diplomatic civility!”
“But this is a great opportunity for us!” He took a roasted bean from a small dish, cracked it open, and popped it into his mouth. The aroma of the bean mixed with the coffee created a refreshing sensation.
He spoke slowly, and the others weren’t in a hurry. Each savored their coffee, enjoying a leisurely moment.
“The Federation’s grand ambitions will backfire on themselves, but that has nothing to do with us. On the contrary, we’ll make a fortune off the Federation!”
Herbes glanced at two police cars driving away, then shook his head slightly. “Lynch believes his friend, a man named Truman, can persuade Gephra to allow him to exchange his bonds. What we need to do is prevent that from happening—at least for a short time.”
“I know some of you have connections with Gephra. Use them. If any of you can pull this off, I’m sure the rest of us won’t mind if you take a bigger cut in the final profits.”
Everyone nodded. No one here was a naïve rookie, hoping that Lynch’s profits meant everyone would get rich.
Each well-dressed gentleman here masked their true nature behind manners and appearance.
They were ruthless crocodiles, not only eager to devour Lynch’s money and the gains from Valier’s appreciation but also to tear a large chunk from the Federation.
When Herbes said this, the bankers laughed with ease and pleasure.
They wanted to sign a wager agreement with Lynch precisely for the billion-Sol Gephra bonds in his hands. They never expected to exchange the bonds at 100%, but even at 50% of the face value, their profit would exceed twenty million Gael—enough to cover at least five years of their income.
In today’s unstable global economy, this was crucial.
“Your Highness, how do you plan to convince Gephra to reject their conditions?” a minor noble asked.
Among these bankers were nobles from small countries—some even royal figures acting as fronts for rulers, managing vast sums behind the scenes.
Herbes himself was a prince, wealthier than his king brother. Domestically, he was known as the “symbol of wealth,” while the king was considered
poor.
People preferred their poor king over the rich prince.
In truth, no one knew the money was jointly owned by the two brothers. Most of it, more than half, belonged to the king.
This arrangement was simple: to deceive the people. If a small monarch was too wealthy, the populace might think the king was plundering their wealth, which was bad for royal rule.
So the king had to be poor, and there had to be a contrasting figure—the rich prince, always scheming to amass wealth.
But the king and royal family wouldn’t allow this unchecked. Sometimes there were
struggles
between king and prince, which served political and manipulative purposes.
A clever but poor king would find ways to take money from the greedy but foolish prince, using it to support state policies. Whenever the king forced the prince to swallow bitter pills, the people cheered the king’s wisdom and united more tightly behind the monarchy.
Some even turned these struggles into a popular series of stories.
Such manipulative tactics weren’t unique to one country; many nations had similar tales. So don’t expect kindness from the gentlemen around Herbes.
Kindness was far from them. They wanted to swallow the huge dividends from Valier’s rise and seize Lynch’s bonds.
Herbes stroked his small mustache. “We’re not trying to convince Gephra to refuse exchanging these bonds. That would cost too much and might draw official Federation attention.”
“We only need to persuade Gephra to delay the exchange. For example…” He left the sentence hanging, sipped his coffee, and peeled another bean.
The others were anxious inside but maintained calm expressions.
After swallowing the chewed bean, Herbes said, “We just need to delay Gephra’s redemption. Our wager agreement ends in June, so for now, we do nothing.”
“We’ll contact them to find weaknesses, then in April or May, prevent them from quickly raising funds.”
Herbes spoke lightly, but he already had a full plan. He withheld it, wary that some might betray him to the Federation or Lynch.
Even if the Federation knew his plan, they wouldn’t intervene. First, nothing had actually happened yet. He just helped Lynch raise ten billion Valier in cash. If the Federation moved against him now, people would question their motives and fear for their safety.
Secondly, this was normal business—not targeted at any country, let alone maliciously against the Federation. It was a problem between Lynch and these capitalists, not conflicting with the Federation’s development plans.
They wanted Lynch’s pledged bonds, not to sabotage the Federation. So there was no reason for the Federation to meddle.
Without the Federation’s backing, Herbes believed Lynch couldn’t compete with them, not even alone.
He had made Lynch lose at auctions before; he could do it again.
He knew Lynch had no connections in Gephra. In a few months, Lynch hadn’t built a network there as a Federation citizen—he was doomed.
A smile crept across Herbes’s lips. The others noticed and soon laughter filled the room. They all knew they were about to strike it rich.
Lynch, the Joint Development Company, and the Federation’s Valier purchases shocked the world in less than half a day. Coupled with international hot money, Valier’s exchange rate surged unexpectedly fast.
On the afternoon of December 25, Valier’s exchange rate against the Gael was 237:1. Shortly after, it floated to 169:1.
This meant holders of Valier saw their wealth increase by over 20% in just one day, doing nothing.
Columnists at The International Observer even described it as a
miracle of the world
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