Blackstone Code-Chapter 569: You Can’t Fool Me!

The tragic story of the man was indeed compelling, to both men and women. Ultimately, Lynch decided to give him a job.
Lynch wasn’t strictly a kind person—he had once ruined many families financially.
But he wasn’t strictly evil either. Many people had been saved from despair because of him.
He was a contradictory figure, doing only what he wanted. You could call it willful, or a unique set of values.
Of course, he also had a very pragmatic side.
Anyone who could become a senior partner in a major corporation had to possess a high level of business acumen. Even if they didn’t meet Lynch’s own standards, they were at least top-tier professionals.
Opportunities like this were rare even in times like these. But since this one came along and matched Lynch’s needs, he didn’t mind extending a hand.
After giving the man his business card, Lynch returned to his room with the girl. The man had already signed a contract with the cruise company, so he couldn’t start working for Lynch right away.
“Then… shall we meet again at dinner?” Standing at his door, Lynch intended to take a break.
The cruise had provided excellent rooms for major shareholders of the Joint Development Company, unlike the cramped 50-square-meter cabins for regular passengers on the lower levels.
Lynch’s room featured a spacious living room, a study, a side hall, and three bedrooms.
Normally, staying in a room like this would cost ten to several dozen times more than a regular ticket.
The girl lingered at the door, not leaving. She looked at Lynch, biting her lip, her cheeks flushed.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly—something emotional was building inside her.
“I don’t know how to say this. I know helping that man wasn’t in your plan, but you did it. I’m really touched…”
She suddenly looked up and glared at Lynch through her glasses. “No matter what, you have to try tonight!”
Children are often told to do the right thing because it brings positive, rewarding outcomes.
Perhaps what Lynch was experiencing now was that kind of irrationally positive reward.
“What happened to your lips?” At dinner, Lynch ran into Mr. Patric again. Patric looked curiously at Lynch and pointed at his lips. “They look a bit swollen.”
Lynch touched his lips and chuckled. “I bumped them when I got up. Thanks for your concern, Mr. Patric.”
Patric smiled and dropped the subject. The two began picking out food.
With over a thousand passengers on each voyage, even with a large kitchen staff, it was impossible to prepare individual meals for everyone. Only the upper-tier guests had access to à la carte service. The rest had to make do with buffet-style food.
Still, the buffet was among the finest. Dishes made from high-quality ingredients were laid out in heated trays. Some people edly boarded the cruise just to enjoy the food for a few months.
That evening, Lynch came to dinner alone, as did Mr. Patric. Both chose to eat like regular guests, picking food from the buffet.
After choosing their meals, Lynch had a duplicate plate sent to his room. He and Patric then found a quiet corner to sit down.
Neither asked why the other was alone or where their assistants were.
They naturally began chatting.
“I ran into some people from the bank this afternoon,” said Mr. Patric, casually slicing his food. “They shared a few things with me—things I didn’t know before.”
He paused slightly, then looked up to observe Lynch’s reaction.
The six major banks were shareholders in the Joint Development Company, though not major ones. They didn’t involve themselves in operations, only provided financial backing.
That was nothing unusual. But the banker had mentioned something else—something that gave Patric a new suspicion. Something important was happening, and he didn’t know about it.
So he had his assistants dig up some materials, and they spent the whole day studying them, finally arriving at a conclusion.
“You plan to short the Valier.”
As he said this, Patric’s tone carried a hint of pride, even arrogance.
He tilted his chin slightly and loosened his grip on the dinner knife, rubbing his fingers together as if to say,
See? You tried to hide it, but I saw through it all
. A quiet pride in seeing through deception—a belief that nothing could be kept from him.
He watched Lynch carefully. Lynch showed no reaction, calmly chewing a piece of steak. Then, wiping the sauce from his lips with a napkin, he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Patric.”
“And besides…” He folded the napkin neatly and set it on the corner of the table, then looked directly at Patric. “We just pushed up the Valier exchange rate. And you know I bought 10 billion Valier. If someone’s going to short Valier, it would be my enemy.”
“I’d lose a fortune.”
The nickname
Mr. Billionaire
had already spread across the Federation. The youngest ever to earn the title, Lynch was becoming a symbol of both Nagaryll and the Valier currency.
Patric smiled. “If you lose a hundred on one project but earn a thousand on another, then the loss is worth it, wouldn’t you say?”
Lynch stared at him. The two locked eyes for a long moment—three, four… maybe even eight seconds. Then Lynch spoke.
“What exactly did the bankers tell you?”
The corner of Patric’s mouth curled up slightly. From Lynch’s reaction, he learned even more—at the very least, his guess was correct.
He spoke slowly. “They told me the Valier might continue to rise. They’ve been scrambling to buy up spot Valier and complaining about their heavy workload. Some of them haven’t had a break in nearly six months…”
No one passed up a chance to get close to someone like Mr. Patric. Backed by the Stardream Butterfly Group—one of the largest, most powerful conglomerates in the Federation—simply having a personal connection with him could open doors to high society.
Even the presidents of major banks wouldn’t miss the opportunity.
To show familiarity, a bank president had joked about his workload, inadvertently revealing details about his job.
It seemed like a casual comment, but Patric had picked up on something unusual.
It was like the faucet at home always breaking—a common issue. But if it only ever broke when you were away on business, then something suspicious might be going on beneath the surface.
After his chat with the bankers, Mr. Patric returned to his room, gathered his team, and shared his suspicions.
These well-compensated staff immediately began digging for answers—and to their credit, they proved useful.
They quickly reached a conclusion: the Federation might be preparing to short the Valier, and the countdown had already begun.
This struck Mr. Patric as unbelievable. The Federation had just recently bought up a massive amount of Valier. If they were planning to short it, why bother accumulating so much in the first place? But his aides provided a reasonable explanation.
The Federation was now the single largest holder of Valier in the world—a group that also included figures like Lynch, the so-called “Mr. Billionaire.” He was part of that collective.
So, what would happen if even the Federation lost confidence in Valier and began dumping it?
If the currency pegged to support Valier on the foreign exchange market abandoned it, then no one else would have any reason to hold onto it either.
If the banks, the federal government, and major investors like Lynch all began massively shorting Valier, the Kingdom of Nagaryll wouldn’t be able to withstand the pressure on its currency’s exchange rate.
But then—what’s the benefit of collapsing Valier?
That was the key point that convinced Mr. Patric something deeper was going on: what was the motive behind shorting the Valier?
In the Federation—and the wider world—motive is the cornerstone of logic. Nothing happens without motive. So what was the motive here?
In the ship’s library, they found newspapers and s from last year covering diplomatic talks. In those documents, they discovered a clue.
The Federation had once proposed that the Federal Sol become Nagaryll’s official legal tender. The Nagaryll delegation refused. The Federation then had to settle for a lesser arrangement—allowing the Sol to be legally circulated in Nagaryll.
One word made all the difference: official versus legal circulation. The practical implications were worlds apart.
And perhaps—that was the motive.