Blackstone Code-Chapter 591: No Such Thing as “What If”

Some call these international bankers
gamblers
, others refer to them as
speculators
. But neither label is entirely accurate.
They exhibit traits of both gamblers and speculators, yet aren’t fully either.
They don’t wager on one-in-ten-thousand chances like true gamblers. They’re not that reckless. Gamblers chase that instant adrenaline rush at the turn of a card—one foot in hell, one hand reaching for heaven, relishing the thrill of the final judgment. But these bankers seek enduring profits, not fleeting highs.
Nor are they pure speculators. While speculators also pursue lasting profits, they are more methodical. They don’t just toss their stakes blindly; they conduct extensive research to achieve maximum returns with minimal investment. It’s not a reckless gamble—they calculate the odds carefully.
These bankers combine both characteristics but go beyond either. They’re more calculating than speculators, less extreme than gamblers. They may seem contradictory, yet they hold a power neither group possesses: the ability to manipulate external factors.
Now, those external levers have failed. Panic sets in. Unlike gamblers, they can’t laugh off a loss. Unlike speculators, they can’t stay composed. They’re deeply uneasy—terrified, even.
They’ve realized something: if all this is part of Lynch’s strategy—if he planned it from the start—they’ve all been played. Masterfully.
Their next concern: does Lynch have more moves waiting? Will he strip them further to feed his insatiable appetite?
Mr. Herbes no longer dares underestimate Lynch. He raises a point he normally wouldn’t: “At least we’ve profited from the exchange rates.”
It’s the only bit of good news after a disaster—and barely enough to calm them.
They abandon thoughts of swallowing Lynch’s debt. Now, they simply hope to fulfill the contract as written. No interest payments, no penalties—just return the money they lent him. If that happens, they’ll still walk away with sizable profits, even if their ultimate plan failed.
“I have a copy of the contract,” Mr. Herbes offers. At everyone’s agreement, he has his butler retrieve it from the safe.
It’s only a copy—the original is secured in the Federal Financial Regulatory Commission’s vault. These high-stakes loans and collateral deals are dangerous enough to kill over. Neither Lynch nor Herbes would risk carrying the original around.
As the nation’s top financial regulator, the Commission offers safekeeping services—at a premium.
The copy is soon in hand. They divide it, each reading carefully. None of them have read a dry legal contract this thoroughly in years.
The more they read, the more issues they find.
They immediately arrange a conference call with their personal legal teams.
Each banker deals with clients and laws from many nations. Accordingly, they employ lawyers with expertise in various jurisdictions. This time, they summon lawyers from Gephra, the Federation, and some neutral nations.
Why lawyers from neutral countries? Simple—they’re still clinging to the idea of using off-the-record influence to sway the legal outcome.
Perhaps they can appeal, claim that a trial in the Federation is unfair to foreign businessmen, and move the case to a neutral country or international court where they hold sway. This strategy has worked for them before.
As for the contract itself—it’s filled with mutual default clauses.
For example, if either party defaults, they must pay daily penalties: 1% of the total contract value per day of default.
Such clauses are common, found in contracts from home sales to financial products.
But now, it feels like a trap.
“Mr. Herbes,” one lawyer says, “I reviewed Federal law. The default penalty is calculated based on the value of the collateral—not the market value of the loaned currency.”
“In this case, the collateral is a set of war bonds with a face value of 94.45 million Federal Sols. Unless the Gephran government officially nullifies their redeemability or sets a fixed redemption rate, we must treat the face value as the actual value.”
“In other words, if you default, compensation is calculated on that basis—meaning a daily penalty of 944,500 Federal Sols.”
At this point, Mr. Herbes’s hands start trembling. He struggles to maintain composure so as not to alarm the others. Clasping his cane, he forces calm and asks quietly, “Under what conditions would I be considered in default?”
After all, people usually hear of borrowers defaulting—not lenders. He needs to be sure.
“If you demand early repayment before the contract’s maturity date, you’ll be in default. The number of days early determines the default duration.”
The lawyer even jokes, “For example, if you demand repayment today, with 110 days remaining, not only do you get nothing back, you’d owe Mr. Lynch around 10 million in penalties.”
The joke nearly shatters Mr. Herbes’s fragile calm. He grips his cane tighter, hands folded, forcing a composed image.
“That joke’s not very funny. Let’s move to the second clause I find questionable…”
All day, the group debates every term in the contract—whether they align with their interests or conceal further traps.
They highlight several suspicious clauses. Aside from the penalty terms, other concerns include payment methods and verification procedures.
Finally, Mr. Herbes poses the question most on his mind to this massive international legal team: “Gentlemen, if we end up in a legal dispute over this contract, is there any way—like before—to move the case to an international court?”
After a brief discussion, the lawyers give a grim answer: “We’re sorry, Mr. Herbes. That’s highly unlikely.”
“First, the contract was signed in Nagaryll and is to be executed in the Federation. To transfer jurisdiction, both countries would need to agree—which is nearly impossible.”
“Even setting aside the influence of the Nagaryll Joint Development Company on domestic courts, the coexistence of two legal systems would already complicate the proceedings.”
“Second, the Federation has become a top-tier military power and now takes a far more aggressive stance in international affairs. Given Lynch’s close ties with the Federation’s leadership, he’ll certainly block any such attempt.”
“We don’t believe your plan is feasible.”
Mr. Herbes purses his lips. “But what if there’s even the slightest chance?”
He’s determined to try. He knows people in the Federation—there might still be a way to shift the outcome. So he insists,
What if?
The lawyers, however, remain firm: “There’s no such possibility, Mr. Herbes.”
Herbes was starting to lose control of his emotions. He tried to comfort himself with the hope of some favorable outcome, but the lawyers kept shattering that hope.
His voice suddenly rose. “I’m saying—what if? What if there’s even the slightest chance?”
“As an employee, I’d love to tell you there’s hope. But as a lawyer, I must tell you—there isn’t even a one-in-ten-thousand chance, Mr. Herbes.”
“We can’t let you cling to an impossible illusion while danger approaches. If you believe that
what if
holds any value, then why not consider this—what if everything plays out exactly the way you originally planned? Wouldn’t that be better?”
Herbes was left speechless. One sentence from the lawyer made him realize—this might be the most foolish decision of his life.