Blackstone Code-Chapter 630: Real and Fake

In the bedroom on the second floor of an ordinary standalone house, the crown prince’s double sat quietly on the bed. Two agents from the Federation’s National Security Committee sat on the sofas by the window, guiding the prince to understand the current situation.

According to their investigation over the past two days, this man was indeed the crown prince. His teachers, classmates, and even neighbors were all certain he was the real one.

What they had expected to be a complicated capture—no, calling it a capture was too harsh; protective custody was more appropriate—had turned out to be unexpectedly smooth.

To prevent radical anti-government forces from attacking the crown prince, the legitimate heir to the Nagaryll royal family, the Federation had found him, placed him under protection, and offered to help him return home to claim his rightful power.

It was important to make the crown prince understand that he didn’t have much choice.

The operation had not been considered difficult—someone educated long-term in a developed country was expected to better appreciate the greatness of the Federation. Persuading him shouldn’t have been hard.

And indeed, after a brief conversation with the agents, he agreed to cooperate, accepted the new identity the Federation offered, and agreed to become a Federal citizen.

There were other rewards as well—money, for example—but those were secondary.

“Just now you said…” One agent flipped through his notes. “…that you have a double, correct?” He looked up at the crown prince, his gaze sharp.

The prince had told them this the previous night—that he had a double, arranged by the royal family, hidden in secret.

According to him, his younger brother—the second prince—held deep resentment toward him and had even sent assassins to kill him, all because of his birthright.

As the eldest son of the king, he held the most legitimate claim to the throne by Nagaryll tradition. As long as he lived, no one could take that away.

But since he had been living abroad, the second prince had taken over politically. To move forward, the second prince had to eliminate him. To protect him, the old king had arranged a double.

He now had no idea where the double was, but believed the information was important enough to report to the Federation agents.

Once they confirmed this, one of the agents stood up, went to another room, and called Mr. Truman’s office.

“Mr. Truman, according to the crown prince, the royal family employed a body double. We believe this double poses a potential risk to our plans. We need a domestic security evaluation…”

He didn’t need to finish. Once something is deemed a matter of national security, it opens the door to potential military action to eliminate the threat.

Mr. Truman, the commander of the entire operation, had deep ties to the military, and the National Security Committee was heavily populated by military personnel. The call went straight to him.

“I understand. Wait for my orders,” Truman said, then immediately ordered the operations office to begin a risk assessment.

Fifteen minutes later, a message was sent to agents in Is:

“Capture if possible. If not, authorization to kill.”

Feeling safe under the Federation’s protection, the crown prince stood by the window and smiled with ease.

Who would have thought that, after years of quietly studying in place of the real prince, he would suddenly get the chance to become the prince?

At first, he was afraid. But he quickly convinced himself—the Federation’s visit meant the real prince hadn’t been exposed. In other words, the entire world believed he was the crown prince.

He had the advantage.

His classmates, teachers, neighbors—all could vouch for him. Even the letters he had written, personally, to the old man and to the royal siblings were proof. All of it confirmed he was Nagaryll’s true heir.

An ambition that had no place in his heart began to fester under the pressure of desire.

Replace the real prince. Become the true crown prince. Then vanish into a rich, anonymous life in the Federation.

As someone who had lived in Is for years, the double despised the rigid hierarchies and social castes of Nagaryll. He wanted to live in a developed country—and for that, he needed status and money.

Now both were within reach. He was all in.

The risk of being exposed? Worth it. He might actually succeed in replacing the real prince.

If he didn’t take the chance, he might be in danger—from the Federation or from the real crown prince.

So he bet everything. This was the moment of payoff. By tomorrow morning, once the diplomatic formalities were completed, he would leave port and return to Nagaryll to begin his reign.

And four years later, he’d start a new life in the Federation.

As he fantasized about the future, he suddenly spotted a familiar figure on the street outside.

A chill shot through him. He almost screamed.

It was the real crown prince.

The prince had also seen him and wanted to talk, but the Federation’s security was too tight for him to get close.

Agents were everywhere. All he could do was watch from afar.

Just as he was about to use hand gestures to express his desire to talk, the double pointed at him from the window.

In half a second, the prince bolted. Cold sweat soaked his back.

At that moment, he realized some things were already beyond saving.

Agents appeared and gave chase. The prince was moved to a new location. As the agents pushed him into an armored vehicle, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. No matter what, he was safe.

The incident was reported to Mr. Truman. The order was clear:

Send him back to Nagaryll immediately.

The next morning, the crown prince signed a declaration at Is customs stating he willingly left with the Federation’s personnel, beginning his journey home. The real prince was still on the run.

That same day, Lynch arrived at the Golden Exchange Bank headquarters to collect the spoils from his power play with Mr. Herbes—collateral worth tens of millions.

“Mr. Lynch, we meet again!” Karl, the bank’s financial director, led a team of employees to greet Lynch at the main entrance—an unmistakable sign of how seriously the bank valued him.

Beyond his influence in Nagaryll and the Joint Development Company, this one collateral deal alone had brought the bank millions in profit.

In the highly commercialized Federation, nothing came free. Lynch had appointed the bank to assess the assets, and the fees were based on the total value.

Beyond profit, Lynch once again proved his value. Banks preferred to associate with the wealthy and avoid the poor. To the rich, they showed warmth and enthusiasm; to the poor, only cold indifference.

Don’t expect a loan just because you’re starving. Even if you’re dying and need money for treatment, the bank won’t help. They’ll watch you die, then auction your remaining assets to recover unpaid medical bills.

Banks are capitalism’s most loyal accomplices—and the executioners of ordinary people’s futures and fortunes.

Lynch stepped out of the car and shook hands with Mr. Karl. Surrounded by staff, the two made their way into the building.

“We’ve cleared a conference room specifically for you today, Mr. Lynch—this way, please,” Karl said, leading him to a room on the right side of the first-floor lobby.

As the door opened, it revealed several people already inside, reviewing documents—each one a pledge signed personally by Mr. Herbes.

Jewelry, real estate, land—countless types of assets were involved.

Given the variety, complexity, and importance of the collateral, Lynch’s presence was necessary.

The staff first brought over the more manageable items—red velvet trays holding luxury watches, jewelry, and gemstones from around the world. Small in size, but of immense value.

“These are items valued at… Mr. Lynch, please take a look. If you have no objections, please sign here,” one staff member explained while pointing out each item and its appraisal.

Lynch casually examined a yellow gemstone carved into a lion’s head, about the size of a child’s fist. It had clearly been well cared for—spotless, not even a fingerprint.

Sitting beside him, Mr. Karl smiled. “Mr. Lynch, our headquarters offers the most secure vault and safekeeping services in the Federation—perhaps even globally. Our vault security team is one of the few authorized to carry and use firearms in Eminence.”

“If you’re not planning to liquidate these items immediately, you’re welcome to rent a vault or a safe deposit box here to store them.”

“We also guarantee that no matter where you are, if you ever need access to anything, we’ll deliver it to you as quickly as possible.”

The vault services at Golden Exchange’s headquarters weren’t open to just anyone—they required significant social status and influence, and came with a high price tag.

Annual fees ranged from tens of thousands to several hundred thousand, enough to deter most people.

Lynch casually tossed the lion-headed gemstone back onto the velvet tray and nodded nonchalantly. “Sounds good.”