Lynch’s first job was as a salesman. Back then, there were no interviews, no training—just a deposit, an ill-fitting uniform, a name badge, a stack of brochures, and two sample products. That was the start of his sales career.
He worked for over a month without selling a single item. The company refused to return his deposit, claiming the samples showed signs of use.
Looking back, he figured he’d been scammed. That so-called sales company likely existed just to offload clothing and random goods under the guise of recruitment.
Through the experience, he began to understand something fundamental: supply and demand.
Whether it was selling products or hiring people, any exchange of resources could be viewed as a supply-demand relationship—a market.
As a salesman, Lynch was the supplier, and the customer was the demander. If the supplier couldn’t convince the demander, no sale would happen.
Now, the roles were reversed. Lynch was the one with demand, and the applicants were the suppliers. If they couldn’t provide value, he wouldn’t give them the job.
That’s why his first question was simple and direct: Why should I hire you instead of someone else?
The girl’s expression grew serious. This was clearly a great job—everyone knew the name
Mr. Billionaire
. Even just working beside Lynch for a few months or a year could change her life.
Such chances were extremely rare. That was why even that flamboyant
sister
had shown up—despite this not being Bentley, the gay capital. People in Eminence weren’t exactly welcoming of that kind of thing. Yet he still came—because the opportunity was just too good.
For people from the lower or middle classes, unless fate handed them something extraordinary, they’d never even get a glimpse of the threshold into a better life. But now, a door had opened.
Lynch didn’t come from a powerful family. His parents weren’t capitalists or elites. If he had such a background, he wouldn’t need to recruit outsiders—his family would have provided him with a professional support team.
But since he had no such backing, he had to build it himself—and that was the rare opportunity people were waiting for.
Helen appeared calm, but inside, she was nervous. She didn’t know what the other applicants were like, but she knew she wasn’t exceptional—at least not in the traditional sense.
“I know shorthand…” she said, leaning into her strongest skill. Then she realized she wasn’t without advantages. The shift in mindset helped her stay composed, unlike others who panicked.
“I also have related work experience. After graduation, I received professional training. I know how to quickly capture the key points of meetings…”
At first, Lynch wasn’t impressed—shorthand wasn’t rare. Many people had developed their own techniques or mastered traditional ones.
But when she said she could write meeting summaries, his evaluation of her changed. That was more than just recording—it meant she could identify and extract key information from discussions and documents. That would save Lynch a lot of time.
Helen grew more confident. She spoke about helping organize both commercial and non-commercial events, about her positive work attitude. She began to feel she was better than she thought.
But Lynch remained expressionless, so she kept talking—until she mentioned high school.
“I was on the cheerleading team in high school…”
“Cheerleading?” Lynch repeated, surprised. “You? Cheerleading?” He couldn’t help but laugh.
He knew all too well what cheerleading in high school was like—after all, just four years ago, he was a high school student himself.
In the federation, high school was part of the public education system. Most families could afford it, so nearly all kids had the chance to attend.
That meant high schools were full of beautiful girls. To get selected as one of the cheerleaders among them was no small feat.
Federation high school cheer squads had the highest standards of beauty—even more than college squads. So when Helen claimed she had been one, Lynch laughed. It seemed impossible.
Helen was decent-looking, sure—probably good enough for a college team. But for high school? No way they’d let an ugly duckling join.
Seeing the look on Lynch’s face—
You’re lying just to impress me
—Helen bit her lip.
Then, suddenly, she took off her glasses and tossed them to Lynch. He caught them, surprised, just as she pulled off her hair tie and shook her wavy hair loose.
Wavy hairstyles were all the rage at the time—celebrities and ordinary girls alike were going for them.
Helen had them too. She bit her lower lip, looked up at Lynch through her lashes, and walked toward him with a graceful sway.
Lynch leaned back slightly—not out of fear, but to play along. This was interesting.
“Whoa!” he even exclaimed softly. “Careful…”
Helen placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Lie down.”
“Lie down?” Lynch repeated. Her behavior was unexpected. He signaled outside, and a sergeant entered, standing by the door.
Face down—Lynch was curious but cautious. He wasn’t reckless; in fact, he feared death more than most. Having the sergeant there was the safest move.
Helen was caught off guard by the sergeant’s presence. It made things a bit awkward, but the job mattered too much for her to stop. She clenched her jaw and began massaging Lynch.
A proper, professional massage. “I studied physical therapy for a while. My sister has a rare illness and needs assistance…”
Despite her slight frame, she was surprisingly strong. Her massage was firm, precise, and full of effort.
It was a rare and pleasant treat for someone as overworked as Lynch. Soon, he had made up his mind—she would be on his shortlist.
After more than ten minutes, Helen was sweating. Lynch ended the interview himself and handed her his handkerchief. “You’re skilled. I feel much better. That was a rare experience.”
He didn’t say she was hired, which left Helen anxious. She pleaded in a low voice, “I need this job. My family spent everything to put me through school. My sister’s treatment also needs money. I need a good job, Mr. Lynch…”
Lynch kept his smile, neither confirming nor rejecting. He helped her turn around and pointed outside. “Everyone out there needs this job. Only if you’re better than them will you get it.”
“Don’t worry too much. Among the applicants I’ve met so far, you’re near the top. Wait for my news.” He returned her glasses, gave her a few instructions, and watched her leave.
As soon as Helen walked out, the sergeant hesitated to speak. After a moment, he said awkwardly, “Boss, I think you should… maybe hire some female bodyguards. You know, for situations like earlier—if I hadn’t come in…”
The sergeant felt that being present while Lynch was alone with female applicants was uncomfortable. A female staff member would be more appropriate. Lynch thought it over and agreed.
“Find someone trustworthy. You handle it.”
Meanwhile, Helen trudged home, dejected. When she reached her door, she was surprised to see a pickup truck parked outside. A few workers were loading items onto it.
The secondhand goods trade had risen and fallen quickly, but during its brief boom, many businesses had sprung up around it.
There were companies like that in Eminence too. The people Helen saw were all wearing matching uniforms—they were employees of one such company.
“You’re back?” an elderly man signing a clipboard greeted Helen with a smile. “How did the interview go?” he asked, handing the clipboard to a worker from the secondhand goods recycling company.
After checking the document and signature, the worker pulled out an envelope and handed it to the old man. It was filled with counted cash.
Helen wanted to say something, but in the end, she said nothing.
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