Chapter 875: Howl

“Making money is so easy!”

In the lounge of a major corporation’s lobby, a senior executive, dressed in expensive clothes, sat with one leg crossed over the other, sipping coffee that cost over ten Sol a cup while chatting with those around him.

People frequently passed by, greeting him and his companions warmly.

Sometimes he nodded in return, other times he ignored them altogether.

He was sharing his latest get-rich strategy.

“If you’ve been watching the federal stock market, you’d notice some strange patterns. Those patterns are our key to making money.”

He took a sip of his coffee, graceful and refined, like an aristocrat.

Everyone around him listened closely. Every citizen of the Federation knew the most profitable business was in Eminence—within the financial sector.

But very few could actually profit from it.

This gentleman clearly was one of the few—he made money regularly, often changing cars, buying new golf clubs, and even keeping a horse at the equestrian club.

His salary alone couldn’t support such luxuries after covering his family’s expenses, but he had a special skill—he could make money.

At first, people didn’t believe him. But he kept making money, and they couldn’t help but be convinced.

Before work officially began, management-level staff chatted in hopes of picking up some insights.

He casually continued, “Take EveryMoment, for example. If you pay attention to this publicly traded company, you’ll notice that during two periods every year—the Spring Tasting and the Autumn tobacco harvest—its stock consistently rises.”

“We ignore everything else and just watch those two times. The increase isn’t huge—maybe 10% to 20% over one or two weeks.”

“But gentlemen…” He paused, then turned to a female manager and added apologetically, “And our ladies, of course.”

The manager forgave the oversight. More than being bothered by the implied sexism, she was eager to learn how to make money.

“EveryMoment gives me a consistent return of 15% to 20% annually on my total investment.”

“Especially during the Spring Tasting. The growth is steady. The Autumn season can be a bit weaker due to weather, but Spring never fails.”

Just as he was speaking, he suddenly froze. A company employee had just walked in, reading a newspaper as he entered.

The executive’s attention snapped to the newspaper. He immediately stood up, completely ignoring those around him, and rudely snatched the paper from the employee’s hands.

He stood there reading—and within two minutes, collapsed to the floor.

This scene was happening across the Federation. EveryMoment’s stable dividends and returns had made it a favorite among investors, especially during certain peak periods.

No one had expected this time would be different.

Inside EveryMoment’s headquarters, the CEO was furiously hacking at everything in sight with a medieval scimitar that had once hung on the wall as decoration.

A group of senior executives stood silently in the corner, too afraid to speak.

The CEO cursed loudly in a Marilo accent, revealing his crude nature without restraint.

EveryMoment’s stock had instantly dropped 30%—and was still in free fall.

With every public statement from someone connected to the missing tycoons, the stock took another plunge.

It was now uncontrollable—unless they could bring those missing moguls back.

The CEO was filled with regret. If he had let the ship dock, the drop might have been manageable. They could have stabilized the market.

But now?

His only hope was that his brother wouldn’t skin him alive and hang his corpse to dry for wrecking the family business.

After exhausting himself in a violent rampage, he collapsed onto a shredded chair, gasping for breath.

“Two things,” he said.

“One, find out who the hell is shorting our stock. They must be tied to the cruise ship’s disappearance.”

“Two, announce a global bounty: anyone who can find the ship and those goddamn rich bastards onboard will receive 1% of our company’s shares!”

Seeing the stunned executives still standing at the door, he grabbed a flower vase and hurled it at them. “Get to work!!”

The announcement of a 1% share in EveryMoment didn’t just tempt the public—it stirred interest among politicians, the military, and even the criminal underworld.

That 1% stake was worth tens of millions, based on the company’s valuation.

Assassins would kill for $2,000. For millions? If God stood in their way, they’d kill Him too.

The entire Federation plunged into chaos.

At that moment, Mr. Truman was also grappling with the fallout.

This wasn’t just one or two people missing. It was an entire ship full of tycoons and their families.

Handled poorly, this could become a massive political disaster—because once even the federal government failed to locate them, the public, angry and irrational, would blame the government’s incompetence.

The first to face public wrath would be the President. People would say, We donate so much money every year to the federal government, and they can’t even find a single ship.

Next would be the economic consequences. The businesses run by the missing billionaires would stall or shut down. Workers would lose jobs. The unemployed would also turn their rage toward the government.

The President might be forced to resign in disgrace—just three months into his term.

Just as Truman had this thought, the red phone on his desk rang.

That red light meant it was a mandatory call—either from the Secretary of Defense or the President himself.

“Get over here. Now!” the President barked and hung up—a rare loss of composure for a man known for his calm demeanor.

Soon after, everyone gathered in the White House situation room. The President sat at the head of the table, silent and frowning deeply, clearly lost in thought.The atmosphere in the conference room was suffocating. Everyone could sense the growing despair spreading like a world-ending plague.

“Our situation is bad. From the information we have, the cruise ship has been missing for several days.”

“A Navy officer told me that in this amount of time, the ship could’ve appeared anywhere it wanted. There’s no way we can find it quickly.”

“Unless it surfaces on its own—or someone’s boots have been blessed by God.”

The boots blessed by God reference came from a passage in the Book of Revelation, where Serber, lost in a treacherous swamp, always found the safest path because he wore boots watched over by the Lord. It’s often used to express a hope for divine luck when searching for something lost.

The President was in despair. He finally understood the helpless rage his predecessor must have felt in his final days in office—

“This has nothing to do with me, so why the hell am I the one holding the bag?”

Losing this many billionaires without recovering them—in a country where capital rules—only he could be expected to bear that responsibility.

He didn’t expect anyone in this room to actually solve the crisis. Like that secretary who always smiled at him—there was no way she had a clue how to fix this.

Or the national security advisor standing nearby. The President seriously doubted the man had ever even left Eminence. Not only would he fail to find the ship, he might get himself lost in the process.

It was hopeless. Resistance or struggle seemed pointless now.

The President glanced at Mr. Truman, and just like every time trouble struck, he habitually asked, “Truman, do you have any good ideas to get us out of this?”

Truman nodded.

The President almost missed it—he had asked more out of habit than expectation. But… had he just nodded?

“You nodded?” the President asked, surprised and overjoyed, like a castaway spotting land after drifting at sea. “You did, didn’t you?”

Truman nodded again. Instantly, the heavy atmosphere in the room began to lift.

The President, dropping all pretense, rushed to his side, standing behind him like an old friend and gripping his shoulders. “Damn it, I knew you had something. I knew it.”

“Tell us—what’s your plan?”

Everyone turned to Truman, full of hope, desperate for a way out.

If the President had to resign, the Conservative Party’s Vice President would take over—an outcome none of them wanted.

Even if they could keep their jobs temporarily, those jobs would become a nightmare.

Hadn’t the entire Foreign Ministry stopped even showing up?

“Actually, when they first ran into trouble, I got word. Lynch sent me a telegram. Blackstone Security has already started moving.”

“We just didn’t expect the ship to veer off course so quickly. But we do have a response plan.”

The President, trying to contain his overwhelming urge to shout with joy, pressed Truman’s shoulders with trembling hands. “What plan?”