Blackstone Code

The companies registered just yesterday were already known to many today—Lynch wasn’t surprised.

This was the heart of wealth and power. As long as the price was right, people didn’t mind trading trivial information for the friendship of the rich.

Lynch didn’t deny it. “Plenty of people are watching me. I won’t reject their ideas—but they’d better bring something real to the table.”

“If they want to take me down, they’d better be ready to break their teeth trying.”

Mr. Wadrick burst out laughing. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met. Do you think the same way I do?”

Lynch nodded without hesitation. “Of course. That’s exactly how I think.”

Anyone eavesdropping would have had no clue what they were talking about.

This was how smart people communicated—they might not fully understand each other, but at least sixty-six percent was enough.

If they wanted to interfere with Lynch’s control over the companies—fine. Let them try and crush him with money.

Four or five companies, each valued at over a hundred million. No stock swaps accepted.

No one typically buys research institutes—the real value lies in the people, not the equipment.

Removing the institute, what remained were four interlinked companies: patent licensing, production, sales, and after-sales service. Each one valued at a hundred million.

That meant a total valuation of four hundred million. To prevent Lynch from holding a controlling vote, his shares would need to be reduced below 32%. That would require these people to invest close to 300 million in shares.

Then, through several rounds of stock issuance, they’d have to keep pouring in money just to maintain their stake. If Lynch cashed out at that point, they’d be on the hook for hundreds of millions, maybe more.

Spending that kind of money just to restrict Lynch and stall the plane project? It was a steep price. They weren’t trying to destroy themselves—they just didn’t want a potential rival to get too far ahead.

None of Lynch’s moves looked like something a young man would pull off. He could even split things further—for instance, break the production company into an assembly company, and then split that into multiple parts suppliers.

Then have all those companies sign interlocking penalty clauses—with breach fees in the hundreds of millions—making it virtually impossible to seize control unless they acquired every single one.

Spending billions just to keep Lynch honest? That would be insanely stupid.

Of course, all of this hinged on one unrepeatable factor: the Ministry of Defense contract.

Not every company that develops a new product gets a 30-million-soll military order. That contract was the pillar supporting all of Lynch’s maneuvers.

With that contract—and some slight enhancements to the terms—it was easy to sell the idea of a 300–500 million military deal. That’s why people believed in its value.

Any other company trying the same trick? Forget about valuations in the hundreds of millions—ten million would be a stretch.

If it couldn’t generate returns and had no future, why would anyone invest?

Because they’re fools?

“I’m not sure which company’s shares I want to buy—you’ve made this difficult for me,” said Mr. Wadrick casually, without embarrassment.

Everyone’s job in society is to make money, live better, and take care of more people.

So making money should never be a dirty word. Wadrick had spotted a business opportunity—wanting to profit from it was perfectly normal.

Lynch thought for a moment. “If you’re okay with non-voting shares, I recommend the licensing management company.”

“All of the research institute’s patents will be commercialized through that company. It then grants licenses to the production, sales, and after-sales companies. It’s the upstream player.”

Wadrick nodded in realization. “That makes sense. Before I decide, I do have one more question.”

“Go ahead.”

Just as Wadrick was about to speak, a whistle sounded ahead. The two men immediately focused and reached for the rifles attached to their saddles.

It was a signal from the outer perimeter—the knights driving the game had spotted prey entering the hunting zone.

The surrounding knights sprang into action, continuing to herd the animal toward a favorable shooting position.

If the prey was large enough, they’d even rope it to restrict movement, allowing the distinguished guests to shoot without difficulty.

Bear, federal lion, leopard—nothing escaped these seasoned hunters.

Eventually, Wadrick and Lynch would pose over the kill for photographs. The photos would be printed, and the animal’s head preserved as a trophy in some dedicated room—a record of their victory.

It was a young deer. At most two years old. Still just a child.

Exhausted and gasping for breath, it had been driven into a patch of low shrubs. It didn’t realize the shrubs did nothing to conceal it.

Confused, it had no idea why, after just coming out to forage, it was being chased by strange things.

They wouldn’t let it rest. It couldn’t escape. All it could do was hide.

Every few moments, warm breath puffed from its nostrils. The weather was warming, but it wasn’t spring yet.

“You go,” said Mr. Wadrick, lowering his rifle.

Lynch didn’t hesitate. He raised his gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

The loud crack echoed through the forest, but in early spring, there were no birds to scatter in alarm.

The deer was flung sideways by the impact, collapsing after being thrown several meters. It struggled weakly.

Lynch’s aim wasn’t great—he hadn’t gone for the head or neck, just the body.

The specialized rifle and bullets made it easy enough. He lowered the gun and slotted it back into the saddle.

A knight approached. “Mr. Lynch, would you like a photo?”

No matter what the prey was, even a half-starved rabbit, you could always take a picture.

Hunting itself has little to do with what is actually caught, and there’s no such thing as a hierarchy of prey.

Ever since humans invented firearms, the strongest lion and a housecat have been essentially the same—especially when viewed through the sights of a gun.

“No need,” Lynch said after a moment’s thought, declining the offer.

The knight asked again, “Would you like its hide then? Fawn leather is excellent for gloves—very soft. Also, the meat is delicious. Perhaps you’d like to try it?”

That caught Lynch’s interest. He nodded. “Of course. Skin it for me, and keep the best cuts of meat. I’d like to try some.”

The knight quickly walked over to the prey. Seeing the fawn still clinging to life, he drew a dagger from his belt, placed the tip at the back of its skull, and struck the hilt with his other hand.

The blade sank deep into the fawn’s head. It stopped moving instantly.

With practiced efficiency, the knight skinned it, then sliced off two of the best cuts of meat.

The vivid red blood splashed against the pale forest floor, creating a surreal, almost seductive scene.

The rest of the carcass was left behind. Nature would take care of it, recycling it back into the ecosystem.

The two gentlemen continued riding. Mr. Wadrick asked, “Now, where was I?”

“You said you had a question…”

Wadrick furrowed his brow, thinking. “Ah, right. I remember now.”

“Is the airplane your whole plan?”

“I mean—is it the only type of equipment in your plan, or is there more?”

Lynch nodded. “There’s more. A lot more.”

He didn’t just want to sell planes—he also wanted to sell the weapons that could shoot them down.

It might sound like he was undercutting himself, but that’s the essence of making money.

Many people have heard the story: a man sells a spear, claiming it’s the sharpest in the world, able to pierce any shield.

Then he sells a shield, claiming it’s the strongest in the world, able to block any attack.

A wise man asks, what happens when the sharpest spear strikes the strongest shield?

People often mock this story, thinking the merchant is foolish. But they don’t realize how many spears and shields he sold using that very tactic.

Some people believe one side of the claim, so they buy either the spear or the shield. Some believe both—and buy both.

Others believe neither, and to prove the merchant wrong—or to show off their cleverness—they also buy both, just to test them.

Whatever the result, the merchant still makes a fortune.

Merchants may seem foolish, but they make big money.

Some people think they’re clever, yet aren’t even qualified to serve the merchant.

Besides anti-aircraft weapons, Lynch also had plans for other aircraft-mounted systems, like anti-submarine bombs and airdropped torpedoes.

Strictly speaking, Lynch didn’t understand a single one of these technologies. He couldn’t even describe their basic structure, let alone the technical challenges involved.

But he had the idea. The concept.

Once technology reaches a certain threshold, further breakthroughs don’t come from just refining it—they require a flash of inspiration.

That barrier is thin. Once people break through it, they look back and realize how foolish they were to be stuck on something so simple.

But before they break through, it seems impossibly thick—thick enough to crush hope.

Lynch was the key to breaking through. He could effortlessly pierce that wall, that membrane.