The goods Lynch brought from the Federation hadn’t all been sold, but more than half had been, delivering a heavy blow to those in the Joint Development Company who were waiting to see him fail.
Why couldn’t they understand? Did they really think the natives in Nagaryll were all fools?
Soon, their dissatisfaction and doubt turned into motivation.
A flood of orders from Nagaryll flowed back to the Federation, giving a strong boost to domestic employment and reinforcing the belief that Nagaryll was the Federation’s ultimate way forward.
At this point, on the last day of the final week of January, the Joint Development Company’s board meeting was scheduled.
The meeting was held aboard a luxury cruise ship in the Amellian Ocean, which the company had booked for three months.
The first week was reserved for meetings and socializing. For the rest of the nearly three-month voyage, the ship would circle Amellia before docking at a port in the Federation.
This was also a perk the company provided for some outstanding employees—not for them directly, but for their families. No boss would allow a key employee to be absent for three months. Only truly exceptional staff qualified for such a reward.
The lavish cruise became a strong motivator. A ticket alone cost around 2,000 Sol, and now the company was handing them out for free to employee families—envy-inducing, to say the least.
As a board member, Lynch was invited to attend the company’s first quarterly meeting of the year.
While these meetings occurred quarterly, most board members would later send proxies or representatives. Only a few would attend in person, contacting the actual board members when necessary decisions had to be made.
But this being the first full-scale meeting after business had properly launched, nearly all shareholders came in person.
“Mr. Lynch…” As Lynch stepped out of his cabin onto the third-deck, taking a glass of wine from a server’s tray, someone called out to him.
He turned and smiled, setting the glass back down and extending his hand.
“Mr. Patric!”
Mr. Patric looked like he had stepped out of the 1400s, with a stiff expression carved into his face. When he smiled, it was unnatural—more comfortable when he wasn’t.
He had just come out from inside the ship and spotted Lynch, calling him over.
Their greeting caught the attention of others on the deck. Many sought eye contact with Lynch or Mr. Patric.
Some failed—though you couldn’t tell from the surface—while others succeeded, exchanging nods or raising their glasses in acknowledgment.
Lynch let go of Patric’s hand. They each took a drink from the tray and moved away from the crowd for a more private conversation.
“I heard about what you’ve done—bold and effective. You’ve released a lot of pressure from the domestic economy. Truly impressive.”
He was referring to Lynch’s product dumping in Nagaryll. In this age, especially in the Federation, nothing escaped the notice of capitalists—not even Congress, and certainly not Lynch, who hadn’t even tried to hide it.
Soon, detailed s surfaced—possibly more detailed than even Lynch knew—listing his achievements in these trades.
Ignoring the fact that he’d acquired factories and raw materials for virtually nothing, just counting production, with market-rate materials, wages, and overhead, each cast iron pot cost about 10 to 11 Sol to make.
With continued production, labor costs would be spread over more units, bringing the per-unit cost down to about 9 Sol.
Shipping each pot cost 3 to 4 Sol. Adding local labor and storage in Nagaryll, the total cost per pot came to about 15 Sol.
But that wasn’t the final number. The federal government subsidized products that created jobs—based on the number of workers Lynch employed—and gave him tax exemptions, effectively reducing the real cost per pot to around 11 or 12 Sol.
These pots were then sold for 28 Sol each—during a time when others couldn’t even move their goods.
It was nothing short of a commercial miracle, a textbook case of identifying opportunity, triggering demand, and profiting from it. Many praised Lynch’s business savvy and the changes he had brought.
Some of the products were practically free—picked from warehouses of recently acquired factories. With subsidies and tax breaks covering even shipping, every Sol earned was pure profit.
Still, this couldn’t be publicly emphasized. Lynch was seen as a socially responsible young leader.
Media coverage emphasized his contributions to society: reviving struggling domestic factories, improving local conditions, and creating not just economic gains but political and social value.
So Mr. Patric praised him generously. Talents like Lynch were rare—especially compared to those
kids
who woke up and fell asleep on women’s bellies. Lynch was the kind of man that inspired envy.
To Mr. Patric, Lynch felt more like a peer than a younger man. That’s why they could talk like this.
“I heard you have more plans coming?” Mr. Patric asked, hoping to get some inside information before the meeting.
Lynch nodded. “Next month, or the one after, I’ll be heading to Gephra. I’ve been added to the diplomatic delegation. I’ll be there for a while.”
“During that time, we’ll try to convince the Emperor of Gephra to let us participate in the development and postwar reconstruction of the Amellia region. You know—that’s big money.”
Mr. Patric nodded repeatedly, sipping his wine. “Yes, yes. Big money. We all know, since Gephra’s footing the bill!”
They shared a knowing smile. This kind of implicit understanding only existed among top-tier individuals like them.
They had a clear grasp of society’s structure, its development, and potential outcomes. A few hints were all it took to understand the full picture.
The Emperor of Gephra’s military defeat by the Federation was already a major blow. Despite the apparent calm, his grip on the throne was no longer secure.
His domestic authority had been shaken. In monarchies, authority is the foundation of power. Losing it in one area meant he had to compensate elsewhere.
So, he would likely tolerate the Federation’s overreach in Amellia—on one condition: the Federation had to provide effective solutions for the region’s problems.
If they met that requirement, the Emperor would gladly show off Gephra’s wealth and generosity. Militarily defeated, but still having Federation people work for him—another kind of victory.
He might even openly declare this perspective. If the deal went through, Amellia could see wealth beyond imagination.
“So, what’s your plan?” Mr. Patric asked, intrigued. His business was primarily in mining, but he was open to expansion.
Mining materials, metals, even smelting waste could be used in construction—more ways to profit.
“Postwar reconstruction needs people. Lots of workers. I can’t afford to hire Federation workers, but in Nagaryll…” Lynch sipped his wine, then smiled knowingly. “That’s what I’m thinking.”
“So you want my support regarding the natives in Nagaryll? I heard some of your people want to, let’s say,
cleanse
part of the local population?”
Mr. Patric raised an eyebrow and twitched his fingers around the glass. “Did they? I must’ve missed that.”
Lynch stared at him, and he stared back. Both knew the truth—Patric was one of the staunchest supporters of such a plan.
Hiring natives to mine meant paying wages, compensating deaths, and dealing with the consequences. But if you used slaves—if they died, they died.
No wages, no compensation, no public condemnation. No one would fight for a slave.
But now, he felt that Lynch’s approach might actually be more profitable.
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