Blackstone Code-Chapter 657: Banding Together

The room was silent. Mr. Truman’s expression was strange—like he was suppressing something difficult to speak of, hiding an urge. His face was flushed, not from alcohol, but from emotion.

He clenched his fists and shook his head. “It’s too hard.”

Too hard.

Too hard to do what? He didn’t say it, but both he and Lynch knew—fighting back against those financial conglomerates was too hard.

They controlled far too many resources, beyond the reach of an ordinary businessman or a regular government official.

These conglomerates had propped up wave after wave of politicians. Some of the top ones had even supported multiple generations of presidents. A few even had core family members from presidential dynasties.

Like the family that produced three generations of presidents, giving them 24 consecutive years of power. Over that time, an enormous interest group formed around them.

And beyond that interest group, an even larger power existed.

The influence of capital had long since spiraled out of control. Government regulations on capital were just part of a script—one written by politicians and capitalists to make the environment seem livable to the general public.

Impeaching presidents, removing them from office, assassinations, accidents—capital had never held much reverence for politics.

Even presidents struggle against capital. So what could two ordinary people possibly do?

Lynch raised his glass and clinked it with Mr. Truman’s. He took a small sip. “We’re not completely without options. I know that what you’ve been doing lately is just a façade.”

Mr. Truman looked surprised. He set down his glass and raised an eyebrow. “Was it that obvious?”

Lynch nodded. “Everyone knows what kind of person you are. You changed too quickly—it’s fake. But no one will call it out.”

“Everyone knows that if you want to play the part, you have to throw yourself into it.”

“A day, a week, maybe even a month—no big change. But six months?”

“A year?”

“Three to five years? Ten?”

“Will you still be the same?”

Mr. Truman’s expression turned serious. Lynch nodded slowly. “You won’t be. If you play that role long enough, eventually you’ll lose your sense of who you are.”

“You won’t know whether you’re the version of you that refuses to bow to capital, or the one that fits in with everyone. You’ll be lost.”

“And then those two versions of you will merge—into someone you never wanted to become.”

“Truman, my friend—whether our interests align or not, as a friend I have to tell you: be yourself. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Mr. Truman grew visibly restless as he listened. He stood, walked to the bar with his glass, and poured himself more liquor to mask his emotions.

“You… make a good point,” he said. It was the only thing he could say. He really had been feeling more relaxed lately, mingling with the capitalists. He hadn’t noticed anything wrong until Lynch pointed it out. Only then did it hit him.

The decadent lifestyle, the flattering words from the capitalists, their constant praise—it had started changing him. And he hadn’t even realized.

When he first attended those parties, he was disgusted. These capitalists spent the blood and sweat of the people on indulgence. They sought thrill by trampling others’ dignity. Truman found it repulsive.

But now… he had gotten used to it.

The realization made cold sweat break out on his back. He stayed at the bar, afraid that if he got too close, Lynch would notice more subtle changes in him.

This young man didn’t feel like a young man at all. If not for his appearance, Truman would have thought he was speaking with someone in their sixties or seventies—or even older. A wise man with deep life experience.

For ten minutes, neither of them spoke. Each was lost in thought.

Finally, Truman returned to the sofa with his glass and bottle, his emotions now under control.

“I know you’re right,” he said. “I just wanted to get through this phase and then find another way to reach my goal. But clearly, that won’t work.”

His original plan had been to maintain a friendly relationship with the capitalists. That way, his demands wouldn’t have to come through confrontation, but through negotiation and compromise.

That’s the core of politics.

But Lynch had shown him that this path would change who he was—into someone he himself wouldn’t like.

Now calmer, he sought a solution. “What do you think we should do?”

Lynch, composed as always, raised his glass and watched the amber liquid swirl between the ice cubes. The ice had blended into the drink—only a few floating pieces remained clearly visible.

“You know, in nature, some pack predators face situations like ours—clashes, assimilation, merging of groups.”

“A small group that doesn’t want to be swallowed up, doesn’t want its offspring wiped out, has only one option: make the larger group understand one simple truth—devouring them comes at a cost.”

“A painful cost,” Lynch said, his voice firmer. “So painful that some of those larger groups might suffer a heavy blow. That’s the only way they’ll give up.”

“And we humans are no different. If they want to force us to bow, then let’s fight.”

“Let’s see whose bones break first—ours or their teeth.”

“When they start to feel threatened, when their rule begins to tremble, they’ll come crawling like dogs, wagging their tails, begging for a deal.”

“Capital is even more straightforward than animals—because here, profit is the only thing that matters.”

“Anyone can be discarded. As long as it serves the interests of the majority, sacrificing the few becomes justifiable.”

“We must not be the few, Truman. Whatever happens next—for now, we need to stand together.”

Truman listened intently, nodding repeatedly. “Do you have a plan?”

Lynch set down his glass, his voice firm. “I do. But I’ll need your cooperation.”

“Tsk… I suddenly feel like everything you said before was just leading up to this line!” Truman burst out laughing. But deep down, he knew—even if it was a setup, everything Lynch said was true.

And in the Federation, being convinced by someone wasn’t something to be ashamed of. Look at the political brokers—their status often exceeded that of regular politicians.

Why did both politicians and capitalists like them?

Because they had good ideas and even better mouths.

Paying someone to persuade others might sound strange, but it was already a reality—and one that would continue.

The two talked a bit longer before Mr. Truman finally stood up to leave. He had another reception to attend, a cocktail party. It was supposed to be his vacation, yet he was busier than ever.

But after talking with Lynch, he felt more certain about his path. Everything was for the future.

After sending Truman off, Lynch exhaled deeply. Truman was a key part of his entire plan—because behind Truman stood the Federation’s military.

The Federation military was a unique and independent force. Neither the President nor the Department of Defense could fully interfere with its decisions—they could only request cooperation.

In the past, the Federation had feared war and avoided it. The military’s status was reduced to its lowest point. Though it was the politicians and the public who were to blame, the military took the fall. That led to massive disarmament.

To prove they were harmless, they had to cripple themselves. That such a ridiculous thing could happen was a miracle in itself.

But now, things were improving. The Navy’s recent victories had restored the military’s prestige. It was gaining influence, and with it, Truman’s political capital grew.

He wasn’t used to leveraging that power—foolish. Lynch would show him how to use his background the right way.

Not long after Truman left, Lynch made another call—to Mr. Wadrick—and arranged to meet that afternoon.

Wadrick had warned him before things went down. Lynch appreciated that. More importantly, if he wanted to act, he and Truman alone weren’t enough. They needed to pull someone with real decisive power into their circle.

Compared to other unreliable options, Wadrick was the better choice.

He had few heirs, no complicated connections, and his ambitions weren’t excessive. And in a way, Wadrick was also a victim this time. He checked every box.

For a board to overrule a CEO’s decision was humiliating—at least for the CEO. If you’re already the president and still get overridden, your status in the company, the group, and the consortium will inevitably suffer.

Wadrick knew he was powerless to stop it. But Lynch would give him a chance—a chance to reassert his position.