Blackstone Code

Lynch hung up the phone, and only after two or three minutes did Mr. Patric return to the table and sit down.

He had given Lynch a moment to process the information from the call—a matter of courtesy, and of good upbringing.

Of course, one person’s manners can’t be the standard for everyone. People come from different social classes, and their approach to the world—and the world’s response to them—varies accordingly.

You can’t expect a factory worker to give you a couple of minutes to collect your thoughts. They might not even wait for you to answer your call and could just stand there, watching.

And when you look at them, they might even ask, puzzled, “Aren’t you going to take the call?”

Well-mannered people can feel like the warmth of spring sunlight, but the absence of manners doesn’t always mean winter.

Not always.

“Mr. Wadrick’s call…” Lynch smiled and brought up the conversation himself. “Where were we?”

Mr. Patric was clearly momentarily distracted by the mention of Mr. Wadrick, and took two seconds to respond. “I don’t mind paying entirely in cash. Of course, equity swaps are acceptable too.”

“As long as I can invest in the company, I’m open to any arrangement.”

Originally, Mr. Patric had planned to purchase shares in Lynch’s company through a mix of cash and equity, but now he was also offering to pay fully in cash.

Equity swaps are common in capital circles—they allow stock holdings that aren’t readily liquid to be transformed into usable assets without crashing the market, saving time and cost.

But these transactions come with many restrictions. They’re not universally beneficial or suitable.

Especially when the other party is someone like Mr. Patric or Mr. Wadrick—extra caution is needed.

Cash has few limitations, but equity is a different story.

A million Sol in cash can be spent however one pleases—whether on helping girls in need or for personal indulgence—it’s entirely up to the individual.

No one can condemn someone for spending their own money, at most people might criticize their lifestyle choices.

But equity is different. For large, especially public, companies, liquidating shares is not so simple. Selling a significant amount requires prior notification to the exchange.

If a shareholder intends to sell a certain percentage or transfer share ownership, they must notify the exchange at least one day in advance—or risk regulatory investigation.

These rules exist to prevent financial crimes, though in reality, those determined to break the law often find workarounds.

There’s another issue. If Lynch accepted Mr. Patric’s offer and acquired shares in the Dream Butterfly Group, he wouldn’t have free control over those shares.

To sell or transfer them, he’d first need board approval—a classic trap used by major capital players.

In the Federation, nearly all large financial groups have similar restrictions. Once a shareholder owns more than 3%, any transfer or sale must be approved by the board.

It sounds unbelievable—after all, it’s personal property—but the board has its own interests.

These terms are often written into the contract even before shares are transferred.

It’s both a form of protection and a weapon—using a company’s own shares to consume others.

Say I offer you $1 million in shares for 100% of your $500,000 company. It looks like you’ve profited—your assets doubled, and you now hold a tiny stake in a major corporation.

But when the board blocks your ability to liquidate or transfer your shares, whether you go bankrupt or survive depends on whether the capitalists decide to show mercy.

There have been many such cases in Federation history. Large firms acquired small businesses via stock deals, and the small company’s founder went bankrupt before ever making it.

Often, contracts contain clauses prohibiting liquidation or transfer for a set time, with hefty penalties for violations.

After pushing the small founders into financial collapse by other means, the big firms buy back their shares at minimal prices, using clauses in the agreement.

Some even pre-set a buyback price in the contract’s fine print, barely hiding their greed.

In this way, with virtually no real cost, they consume company after company.

Some might ask—why not just say no?

That’s not easy. First, many people can’t resist the lure of overnight wealth.

In the Federation, the only recognized form of personal value is to appear successful—meaning rich.

Second, business conflict is far more brutal than people imagine. There’s no romance, no honor among rivals.

Every entrepreneur who lost everything and jumped off a building proves this point.

Even when people see the trap, sometimes they still have to walk into it.

That’s why cash investment post-swap becomes a form of security.

After a brief pause, Mr. Patric offered cash investment. Of course, by cash, he didn’t mean a lump sum—it would come in installments.

Lynch didn’t agree immediately. “If I give away too much equity, I’ll lose control of the company. But we both know I can’t turn away certain investors. Among the shares I can release, who gets how much isn’t something either of us can decide alone.”

Mr. Patric nodded. “You mean you want to retain the key vote?”

Lynch nodded, not denying it.

“But that’ll definitely upset some people. You could achieve the same result another way—like having me on your side.”

Lynch couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you believe that yourself?”

“At least for now, I believe I can.”

Lynch shook his head. That was as good as saying nothing.

In the Federation, it’s not uncommon for founders to be kicked out of the boardroom by their shareholders. No one can guarantee that interests will always align with the founder.

Rather than relying on others, it’s better to hold the key vote yourself.

According to federal law, any major vote must be approved by a majority. But what exactly is a majority?

It’s a complex concept. The people who originally defined it weren’t sure themselves what qualified as a majority.

So they came up with a simple method—gather some people and split them up.

If there are only two people, neither can convince the other—there’s no majority.

With three people, if two side together, that becomes the majority.

In other words, a majority must be more than fifty percent—but not by too much.

Eventually, with the help of mathematicians, it was determined that a true majority must exceed 66%.

In other words, Lynch must hold no less than 34.1% of the shares to control the key vote.

As long as he disagrees, the board cannot force anything through.

If he holds 34.1%, that leaves only 65% available. Considering the company will inevitably go public in the future, the shares truly up for grabs would be less than 30%.

That’s too little—investors would be dissatisfied.

Furthermore, no investor likes someone holding the key vote. It makes them feel like their money has no influence and they have no say in the company they invested in.

This is a central issue: Lynch doesn’t want to give up his control. He can see through the fog—he sees the future. Others can’t.

In the silence, Lynch seemed to think of a more suitable solution.

“Mr. Patric, I have another proposal. You might find it interesting.”

Mr. Patric sat upright. Whether or not he was truly a nobleman, he certainly acted like one. “Please, go ahead, Mr. Lynch.”

“We can split the rights and benefits of the shares—separate power from profit. You can have the shares you want, but they come without voting rights.”

“In other words, you may attend board meetings, but you’ll have no voting power…”

Mr. Patric shook his head at first. “That’s not accepta—” but stopped mid-sentence, frowning in thought.

His initial reaction was to reject Lynch’s offer, but then… it didn’t seem so unreasonable.

After all, he never intended to speak or vote at board meetings. His investment was purely for influence and future returns, and to use Lynch’s position as a bridge into the arms trade.

So, shares without voting rights might be acceptable.

In fact, Lynch’s idea sparked even more thoughts—especially about internal issues within the Dream Butterfly Group.

The room fell silent.