Blackstone Code

“The public’s emotions have been completely stirred up. It’s no longer about the public opposing Congress. Now, if Congress doesn’t respond positively to this proposal, the people will be the ones protesting!”

Lynch was standing in Mr. Truman’s office—which, by the way, had moved out of its inconspicuous corner. Truman was no longer working inside the Presidential Palace, but at a new location nearby.

The new site used to be the Federal National Archives, a quiet and prestigious job with little foot traffic. Staff there frequently accessed classified documents. Even though the critical parts were often redacted, they could still infer bits of the truth about society from them.

Unfortunately, the archives were relocated. The reason? Since the building housed sensitive documents, it was moved to the Eminence Security Zone to ensure safety and prevent theft.

The Eminence Security Zone—also called the Eminence Defense Zone—is under the direct control of the President and military. It’s intended as the final line of defense in a doomsday war to protect the federal seat of power and the President.

Everyone knows how Federals love to scare themselves. During the era of isolationism, when the Federation had no intention of joining any war, they still built countless defensive structures. Likely because the military-industrial and construction conglomerates threw too much money around—Congress and the President couldn’t say no, and the public loved it.

They had no idea their taxpayer money, which should have been reinvested into their lives, ended up in the legal pockets of capitalists—and they even applauded it.

The Security Zone was a product of that time. A group of people who had already perfected their surrender poses still fantasized about resisting to the end. What else were they doing but scamming the public?

Once the archives were moved, the now-vacant land drew heavy attention. But on the day of the move, the Presidential Office made an announcement: the building would now house the Federal Department of International Affairs. That killed any ambition to buy it.

Now Lynch stood in the sixth-floor office of the former archives—now the Department of State—watching the crowd of protesters below.

Truman stood beside him, holding a cup of coffee, also watching the people shouting and waving signs with red faces and loud voices.

“Geruno played this move beautifully…” He paused, then corrected himself. “No, not beautifully—they’re just too rich.”

Lynch nodded. “That’s why I’ve always told you I don’t want to get into politics.”

“If this were Gephra, or Nagaryll—countries where power trumps capital—I’d be the first in line.”

“But look at this place. As long as enough money is spent, politicians, power, even the will of the people become toys in the hands of capitalists—just like now.”

This time, Truman didn’t argue. He just looked at the protesters with a complicated expression.

As everyone expected, when Mr. Geruno proposed pushing the Overseas Security Act, the politicians were initially nervous. The military didn’t express an opinion either—but their silence made it clear they weren’t thrilled.

But no one could stop it, because the Duncan family spent enough money.

Beyond their aggressive lobbying in Congress, they poured an equal fortune into manipulating public opinion.

News channels aired non-stop coverage of the dangers faced by overseas merchants. Scenes of Federals being attacked enraged and inflamed the public. With labor unions also taking money from capitalists, they began organizing mass protests demanding that the government protect Federal citizens doing business abroad.

It looked like a damn farce—a bunch of workers, most of whom would never leave the country in their lifetime, willing to skip work and join the protests. What kind of mindset was that?

It was the mindset of the ignorant. If the Emperor of Gephra saw this, he’d laugh in his sleep—these people are adorable, believing anything the powers above say.

Gephrans weren’t like that. They weren’t so gullible or loyal to the state.

Now, with public sentiment boiling, even if the government wanted to stop it, it had little room to act.

And all of it—was about money.

Bribing Congress? Money.

Wall-to-wall news coverage? Money.

Labor union protests? Still money.

In the Federation, if you have money, you can do whatever you want.

After watching the scene for a while, the two returned to the room and sat on opposite sides of the desk.

“The military’s stance is also getting murky. Word is, Geruno called the top brass. They’re not openly supporting or opposing it—but they’ve said they’re willing to follow the leadership of the President and Congress…”

At that point, Truman laughed. It lasted a while, his laughter full of mixed emotions.

There was amusement, absurdity, rage—and helpless silence.

As the military’s representative within the federal government, Truman knew more than most about changes in the top brass.

Most senior officers had financial ties to military-industrial groups. Their families held important positions in arms companies or procurement agencies.

Some even went further—setting up official companies that easily won military contracts. They didn’t need to produce anything. A simple resale brought massive profits.

Geruno promised the military that his company would prioritize hiring veterans, repurpose surplus equipment, and exclusively use standard Federal military gear for procurement.

On top of that, he pledged to build three to five global supply depots for the military.

These depots would stockpile weapons, heavy fuel, and other deep-strike supplies—offering the military what he called sincere support.

Of course, the military still had to pay him for these supplies—and rent his warehouses.

It seemed like the military wasn’t getting much out of the deal. But in reality, it was a strategic breakthrough.

Before long-range recon tech became reliable, the main constraint on deep operations was logistics: getting there was easy; getting back was impossible.

Now that issue was solved.

With these secret depots, the Federal Navy could circle the globe, fight one or two mid- to low-intensity wars, and still have enough supplies to sail home.

Geruno offered a deal no one could refuse.

Absolutely no one.

“This whole thing is moving too fast—it’s missing some key steps.”

Developments need a natural progression. It’s like the first night people sleep together—you don’t just take your pants off right away. There has to be some rhythm.

Everything should build up gradually. Only when it reaches the peak does it truly deliver.

But this is all exploding too quickly. It feels like something’s missing.

If this moment had come after proper buildup, it would’ve felt like a true climax. But from the start, things began at a high point, and now it just feels stuck in between—neither rising nor falling.

“There’ll probably be a major event soon to reset the pace,” Lynch said, shaking his head. It meant someone was going to get unlucky.

Mr. Truman sighed. “Let’s hope it doesn’t get too messy.”

They both paused for a moment before Lynch changed the subject. “Has the new presidential cabinet list been finalized?”

The president was still assembling his cabinet and would be announcing it publicly in a couple of days. Some of the appointees might never have held office before, but soon they’d be moving into government offices and taking up mid-level roles.

There’s no phrase like when chickens and dogs rise to heaven in this world, but it would describe the relationship between a president and his cabinet perfectly.

If the president felt playful enough, he could even appoint his dog to a post—and no one could say a thing. It was his constitutional right, just like the people’s right to vote: innate, sacred, and untouchable.

“No major changes,” Truman replied. “Just added some offices—too many people trying to cut the line.”

Since the president can appoint senior officials directly, there’s always a scramble to get in.

Important party members, allies of financial backers—many helped during the campaign. These appointments are their reward.

“What about the Foreign Ministry?” Lynch asked with interest.

Truman shrugged, his hands resting naturally and calmly on the armrests. “Same as before. No foreign minister appointed yet.”

Lynch chuckled. “Should I be congratulating you then?”

Truman scoffed and waved it off. “Spare me. There’s nothing fun about it. You’ve got no idea how many people are watching me right now.”

“They all think the President left the post vacant because of me. Every person who believes they’re qualified to be foreign minister basically hates my guts.”

Despite his words, there was no trace of fear on his face.

From now on, all federal foreign affairs would be handled by him. And with the world heading into another decade of rapid international development, it was clear just how much power Truman now held.

And with that kind of power, there’s no one he needs to fear.