Blackstone Code-Chapter 572: There’s a Traitor Among Us

“Almost everyone is here. Let’s officially begin the first board meeting of the Joint Development Company. First, we should introduce ourselves so everyone can get to know each other. I’ll start…”
The speaker sat in the chairman’s seat. He appeared to be in his sixties, with graying hair, but here appearances were deceptive.
Most people here lived comfortable lives and had social networks far beyond what ordinary people could reach. Their privileged lifestyles shielded them from many aging factors, making them look younger than their actual age.
This gentleman seemed about sixty but was likely closer to seventy or older. His physical condition, however, was like that of an average sixty-year-old.
Money can’t stop time, but it can slow it down as much as possible.
As he introduced himself, the most prestigious board of the Joint Development Company was fully revealed.
If anyone made a list of the
Top Ten Federation Conglomerates
or the
Most Influential Conglomerates in the Federation
, many of those names were here.
People had known this when they invested in the Joint Development Company and saw the chairman list, but seeing these figures in person now was still thrilling.
Some were so excited their lips trembled and their eyelids twitched uncontrollably. Reverence for capital and money was ingrained deeply in these capitalists’ bones.
If the chairman members reached out their hands now, many would line up humbly to shake them.
One by one, everyone introduced themselves, deepening people’s impressions of the company’s board.
Soon it was Lynch’s turn. He stood, smiled at everyone, and said, “Chairmen, directors—some of us meet for the first time, some are old acquaintances. I’m Lynch. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”
A very ordinary introduction, without flair, but in this setting, ordinariness was necessary.
Being rebellious or different works well for ordinary, lower-class people immersed in a gray world—it brightens their lives. But to the already colorful upper class, standing out means being an outsider.
You can say or do outrageous things and no one will condemn you because
we are of the same kind
.
But being truly different means exclusion. Lynch understood this well, so his introduction was plain and unremarkable.
After half an hour of introductions—some slower, some more detailed—the last shareholder took their seat. The elderly gentleman who spoke first spoke again.
His name was Geruno Duncan—a name that sounded unremarkable but belonged to a very different man.
The Duncan family were among the first immigrants to the Federation, adventurous pioneers. Those early adventurers who survived thrived, like Mr. Patric’s Aginer family.
The Duncans were the same, though less known among the public for their low profile.
They divided shares evenly among family members and overseas foundations, so they lacked a famous, representative figure.
But among the elite, the Duncans were not to be underestimated. They were shrewd investors.
Three Federation presidents came from their family. They owned the most land in the Federation and had close ties to the five biggest oil companies, holding significant shares in many mining enterprises.
No one truly knew their wealth, except themselves.
But it was known that Mr. Patric’s Stardream Butterfly conglomerate, Mr. Wadrick’s backers, and other large groups had Duncan stakes and personnel—this was why Geruno represented the board chairmen.
Others didn’t have this standing. Whether Mr. Wadrick, familiar to Lynch, or the somewhat known Mr. Patric, if they spoke for other chairmen, some would resent it.
The Federation wasn’t subtle; if you don’t assert your rights, no one will care about protecting them. That causes conflicts. Having Mr. Geruno speak avoided much trouble.
“I reviewed the company’s financial for the last quarter of last year. I must say, we did well,” Geruno smiled. “Everything is going according to plan. We’ve found new opportunities in Nagaryll.”
“New opportunities, new development, a new future—but also new troubles.” His speech was measured, slower, as age tends to slow down pace.
Not because they couldn’t speak faster or clearly, but because they feared others might not keep up. Lynch, having grown older himself, understood this instinct well.
“Some of the savages among the locals weren’t very friendly to us. This was evident even before our development began. Some foolish people believe their ways are best. We cannot blame them, yet they impact our business.”
“Because of unrest, because of protests, the company lost a large sum. Addressing these savages is one of the board’s main concerns.”
Lynch noticed Geruno’s repeated use of
savages
—a term dripping with contempt and arrogance.
Most main members of founding families held similar attitudes—Mr. Patric was no friendlier, even planning purges.
This stemmed from their
family honor
. Anyone familiar with Federation history knew the Federation’s growth was built on relentless slaughter of native populations.
The older the family from that era, the more natives they’d killed. They no longer publicize this, but in family teachings, they glorify these
ancestor achievements
.
Some ancient families kept grisly trophies—dried thumbs or eyeballs from native chiefs.
Though fringe, the mainstream was old photos of well-dressed men wearing civilized hats, holding canes, standing on native corpses.
These men were the Federation’s first immigrants; slaughtering natives was considered honorable. This
glory
permeated family upbringing, naturally breeding arrogance and contempt.
Not just Federation natives—anyone deemed uncivilized was considered native, including Nagaryll’s people.
Geruno’s voice did not falter as Lynch’s rapid thoughts flashed by. “Within the board, there are two approaches: a moderate one, and a…,” he glanced at those with deep family roots, “…a tougher one to teach the natives the rules.”
“The Joint Development Company belongs to all here, not to one person or even the chairman group. We must unify our stance.”
“I must warn you: once the board reaches a consensus, no one may act against our collective will. We are one body; any division will be severely condemned!”
The atmosphere turned heavy. Though Geruno spoke fairly on the surface, everyone knew only the chairman group’s opinions truly mattered.
In other words, ordinary members’ views were irrelevant; they only needed to comply.
It stung but there was no alternative—small limbs can’t outmatch big ones.
Geruno looked at Mr. Patric. “Mr. Patric, I heard you have some thoughts on this topic?”