Blackstone Code

Being a senior agent at the Federal Bureau of Investigation wasn't a job everyone envied, because it was extremely dangerous.

The Baylor Federation wasn't a country with strict gun control. This new nation, founded by a group of pirates and destitute nobles, always had a deep-seated culture of plunder and vigilance. The right to legally own firearms and protect oneself and one's property with weapons was enshrined in the constitution from the very beginning.

Throughout the history of the Federation, there were several large-scale debates on gun control, but the pro-gun faction always won. Many people actually knew from the beginning that the anti-gun faction was doomed to fail.

This was because behind these debates, numerous chemical companies and military enterprises supported the pro-gun faction.

The prevalence of weapons in society made every mission terrifying, forcing agents to face life-and-death decisions.

No one knew whether they'd encounter a timid person who wouldn't dare to look them in the eye or a thug who would suddenly pull out a gun and shoot without hesitation.

There was no way to accurately distinguish these people based on the cause of the cases or their appearance!

Every agent was under considerable pressure, and if they didn't want to go crazy, they must find ways to vent these accumulated negative emotions.

Whether it was drinking, indulgence, or psychological counseling, it all cost money.

Hedonism, the philosophy of living in the moment, first spread among these high-pressure individuals, who used their jobs and salaries to enjoy certain special privileges.

Lower interest loans, longer installment plans—such lifestyles drew them in and they couldn't extricate themselves.

To extract more profit from these people, many financial companies, including banks, used various means to entrap their current and future income, and they gladly accepted this.

But dreams would eventually end. In times of economic prosperity, everything was fine. Various companies wouldn't pressure a senior agent to repay money. Instead, they would ensure that the senior agent didn't feel the immense financial pressure, allowing them to live in the dream that society had woven for them.

Until the financial tsunami hit, and many companies faced massive losses.

These losses couldn't be resolved by the board members who only knew how to indulge in eating, drinking, and having fun. The only effective solution was to transfer the losses to others.

The senior agent sitting in front of Lynch was currently being hounded by at least three financial institutions and one bank for repayment. His monthly salary was taken by these creditors before he even saw it.

Some creditors, who hadn't received their installment payments, had already issued notices. If he didn't make a payment by January 1st, they would reclaim some of the goods or even apply to the court to auction his possessions.

Everything turned terrible overnight, and what exhausted him even more was that all his money in the exchange account evaporated. It was all his savings from over a decade, though it wasn't a lot.

The two stared at each other for a moment. The agent gave a barely noticeable nod, "I can't guarantee what I'll provide..." meaning that if he were to provide some information to Lynch, the initiative would be his.

He would decide what to say, not Lynch. He didn't want to be led by this young man, which was probably his last shred of insignificant pride.

Lynch smiled, a smile that always made people lower their guard, "Of course, as I said, there are no constraints or contracts between us. Our relationship is more like a partnership, trading things we're interested in." ṙΑN∅ВΕꞨ

The agent nodded; this was exactly what he wanted to say.

After a few seconds of silence, Lynch asked the first question, "What is your real purpose in prosecuting Mr. Gap?"

The agent paused for a moment and gave a very official answer, "He's involved in a case of assault and abuse, nothing more."

Perhaps this was his first time working with a businessman, the agent's performance was not direct enough.

It was obvious that an ordinary assault case wouldn't alert the Federal Bureau of Investigation unless it had a significant social impact or someone was killed.

Otherwise, it would just be the police's job. But this time, not only the police but also the Federal Bureau of Investigation was involved. It couldn't be a small case. The agent wasn't telling the truth.

Lynch didn't show displeasure or any dominating attitude because of his reluctance to speak. Instead, he took a fifty-cent coin from his pocket, placed it on the table, and pushed it over.

The sound of the coin sliding across the hardened surface of the table firmly caught the agent's attention. Even though the light here was dim, his gaze remained fixed on the coin.

But he didn't move. After observing for a while and confirming there was no hidden meaning, he looked at Lynch with a confused expression, as if asking, "What does this mean?"

Lynch explained his confusion, "Your answer is worth fifty cents. The newspaper reports will be more detailed than what you said."

This made the agent angry. He glared at Lynch with a frown, but Lynch didn't show fear or any change in his expression; he kept smiling.

"This is a transaction, give and take."

"You give me what I want, and I give you what you want. If you can only give me such answers, you're worth fifty cents. Do you understand?"

Different methods applied to different people. For someone like Ferrall, his needs were simple, and he could put aside his pride. As long as Lynch became an important figure, Ferrall would try his best to prove his value to him.

This agent hadn't figured out his own value yet. He still thought his uniform, which was actually worthless and had no real power, made him superior.

Lynch exposed him for what he really was; he wasn't anything special.

After the initial anger, the agent gradually calmed down. Sometimes people had to bow to certain things.

He lowered his eyelids, no longer angry, "We don't want Listoan to leave easily. We've been looking for their weaknesses. Mr. Gap has always worked for Listoan, and we believe he holds important information."

"If he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life in prison, the only way is to cooperate with us."

Lynch was pleased with the agent's answer. He took out a cash check, quickly wrote an amount of two hundred bucks, signed his name, and pushed it over, "It's worth this."

Two hundred bucks, an amount the agent wouldn't have cared about in the past, but now even fifty bucks was valuable.

He was silent for a moment, then took the check and put it in his pocket, asking with a tone of sarcasm and provocation, "Should I say 'thank you for your generosity'?"@@novelbin@@

Lynch chuckled, "If you want to, I don't mind. But don't expect me to give you more money just because you make me feel good."

He paused, then asked, "If Mr. Gap cooperates with you, will he still go to jail?"

The agent nodded without hesitation, "That's obvious. He won't be pardoned just because he cooperates with us. This case doesn't have enough weight to alarm higher-ups to use the special treatment to pardon him."

"But if he actively cooperates with us, his positive behavior might make the judge side with him, and he might get a sentence of less than ten years."

In the Federation, a ten-year sentence was the dividing line. More than ten years would make one a felon, requiring time in a maximum-security prison, which was not a pleasant place.

Sentences of less than ten years were served in regular regional prisons. Although inmates had to work every day and were exhausted to the point of having no extra energy, it wasn't too terrible.

Based on the current information, if Gap didn't cooperate, they could easily send him to a maximum-security prison.

In such a place, with a charge of sexually assaulting, abusing, and enslaving women, he might not be able to leave the prison alive.

Every year, the federal government allowed a certain number of deaths in prison. Most of these deaths were due to various diseases, making it seem like they suffered inhuman treatment, but it was just the outward manifestation of the disease.

This society was sometimes particularly ridiculous. In a place filled with crime, there was a group of people who had lost their freedom due to their crimes, yet most of them strictly adhered to certain universal values. It was laughable, yet not laughable at the same time.

Lynch wrote another check for two hundred bucks. While he was writing, the agent's eyes were fixed on Lynch's cash checkbook.

Suddenly, he realized the emotions robbers feel during a heist: temptation, greed, an uncontrollable impulse.

Just grabbing that checkbook and forging Lynch's signature, he could easily get thousands or more in cash.

He took a big swig from his beer bottle, quenching that impulse, then looked at the two hundred bucks Lynch pushed over.

Suddenly, he didn't find this process unbearable anymore.

At that moment, he thought of many things, like the rumors among colleagues about who was taking dirty money.

He thought of the director's newly purchased villa, which the director couldn't afford on his salary. Although the director claimed it was bought in installments with a loan, the agent knew it wasn't that simple.Please vote for this novel at /series/blackstone-code/There are advance chapters available nowAccess will be granted 24 hours after the donationTier 1: 7 Advance chapters Link

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