Chapter 882: Lynch’s Arithmetic

“Wait!”

If anyone were to ask Beret what he thought of Lynch, he’d probably tell them: Never fucking talk to Lynch!

And if he ever got the chance, he’d write a book titled Don’t Talk to Lynch, if he managed to live that long.

At this moment, Beret’s thinking was a complete mess. To put it simply, he realized he’d walked into a dead end.

He needed funding—either to grow his small organization or for something else.

Back home, there was no opportunity. So he set his sights on EveryMoment cruise ship, packed with wealthy elites.

Rich people meant money. That equation was fine. But he had overlooked a critical point: he couldn’t actually get any money on this ship.

All the costs were covered by EveryMoment, and apart from a little cash in circulation, most transactions onboard used checks or chips.

Yes, there were many rich people on the ship—but there was nothing to rob.

As he came down from his combat high, Beret slowly calmed down and realized the flaw in his plan. He’d only thought about hijacking a luxury cruise full of billionaires but never considered that none of them would be carrying millions in cash.

He’d blown it.

In short, getting the ransom he had imagined wouldn’t be easy.

And time wasn’t on his side.

Once the authorities in Marilo reacted, the sea would be swarming with smuggling boats. Beret knew how those big warlords operated—if he got caught, he was dead.

Now the only way not to lose everything was to trust Lynch, to believe he could pull it off.

Beret made his decision and suddenly stood up, grabbing Lynch by the collar. But since Lynch was taller, he couldn’t lift him—only lean in close and growl through gritted teeth, “Don’t fucking disappoint me!”

Lynch calmly pushed him away. “This’ll be the smartest choice you’ve made in your life. Now I need your men to cooperate with me for a bit…”

Half a minute later, Beret strode back toward the crowd, firing shots into the air as he walked.

The cracks of gunfire and the flashes in the dark made everyone freeze. He swept his gaze across the people who had deceived him, then shouted, “Get them all back to their rooms! Anyone who steps out without orders—shoot them on sight!”

The crowd immediately moved. Soldiers and the newly turned managers began guiding all the guests back to their rooms. There was only one exception—Lynch.

“You’d better do what you said,” Beret warned Lynch again.

Lynch nodded, brushing dust off his coat. “You need to learn to trust people…”

Before long, Lynch arrived outside a cabin.

With Beret’s orders in place, the soldiers treated Lynch with some respect.

The one on Lynch’s left knocked hard on the door with his gun, then stepped back.

The door cracked open slightly. A startled face peeked out and stared at Lynch in disbelief, making even Lynch feel a bit awkward.

He pushed the door open without subtlety and stepped inside, glancing around. “Were you asleep?”

Meanwhile, Beret, along with another group led by a female manager, entered Lynch’s cabin.

He now controlled the entire ship and could go anywhere—including having keys to every room.

“You said he had a female companion?” Beret asked as he stepped in, scanning the room. The female manager stood behind him, trembling.

Trusting Lynch wasn’t easy. Even Beret wasn’t that dumb—he knew he was the hijacker and Lynch was one of the hostages. They weren’t on the same side.

So his trust in Lynch was limited. He’d noticed everyone else came in pairs to the upper deck, except Lynch, who was alone.

He’d asked around—Lynch had brought a girl. But she hadn’t appeared on deck.

He cornered the female manager, and under some light coercion, she gave up the truth.

Lynch hadn’t come alone. He was accompanied by a woman—a famous celebrity from the Federation.

When Beret found out, he didn’t react with anger. Strangely, he seemed unusually calm. While ordering men to tail Lynch, he barged into the room.

If he could get hold of Lynch’s companion, he could trust Lynch a bit more.

Lynch had hidden his companion—he must care deeply about her. That made her a valuable bargaining chip.

He stood still for a moment, then suddenly moved toward the wardrobe and yanked it open.

It was full of hanging clothes. No one was there, and no one could fit inside.

“Maybe under the mattress?” he muttered to himself—or perhaps to someone else—before heading to the bed and lifting the mattress.

Nothing underneath.

Frowning, he moved into the bathroom, checked every room, every possible hiding place—but there was no sign of the woman the manager had mentioned.

They circled back to the bedroom. Beret shot the female manager a cold glare. “You didn’t lie to me?”

She frantically shook her head. “No! I swear I didn’t lie!”

What they didn’t know was that at that very moment, Penny was watching them from directly above.

She felt both angry at the female manager for revealing her, and lucky that Lynch had prepared for this.

If Lynch were here, he’d surely tell her that anger was pointless—everyone has the right to survive, and doing anything to stay alive is understandable.

Just as she was stewing in that bitterness, Beret suddenly drew his gun and shot the female manager in the head. Pop—she collapsed backward onto the mattress.

A small hole pierced her forehead. The back of her skull was blown open, blood and brain matter splattering across the bed.

Her body twitched involuntarily—perhaps her cells were still trying to signal the brain, desperate to know what had just happened.

Unfortunately, the command center had already been destroyed. None of those signals would receive any response.

Penny stared in terror at what was happening below, clutching her mouth tightly to avoid making the slightest sound.

Beret holstered his pistol, adjusted his gear belt, spat on the floor, and muttered—half to himself, half explaining, “You’re Malorian. All Malorians deserve to die.”

With that, he glanced up at the ventilation shaft. Nothing could be seen beyond the dark blades. Then he turned and left the room.

The hatred between the Marilo and the Malori would never be resolved. In their own words, a group of Maloris ruled a country named after the Marilo people.

Once planted, the seeds of ethnic hatred are nearly impossible to uproot. Today, both groups remained distinctly separate.

No one had subordinates of mixed ethnicity. Even within a single city, the two races lived clearly divided lives.

Not even in the slums did they intermingle.

Outside the room, Beret had somehow obtained a two-inch headshot of Penny. He handed the photo to a nearby soldier. “Search the whole ship. Find this girl.”

She was the key to controlling Lynch.

He cast a sideways glance at the lit room guarded by soldiers not far away. Lynch was inside.

“I’ve made a deal with their leader,” Lynch said as he toyed with his million-Sol lighter. “He wants a hundred million in ransom. We split it evenly…”

The wealthy man speaking with Lynch looked to be in his fifties, clearly confused. “Mr. Lynch, why are you helping him?”

From his perspective, once the hijackers got their checks and satisfied their greed, they’d leave. They had almost succeeded.

Lynch asked in return, “How can you guarantee that after we all give them checks, he won’t kill us?”

The man froze. “I… I don’t know.”

“You can’t guarantee it,” Lynch said, shaking his head. “You gave in too easily. Once he gets those checks, he’ll decide you’re no longer useful.”

“At that point, the only thing you’re good for is to drive up the bounty on his head.”

“Killing us and sinking the ship—that’s the smartest move.”

“This is the open sea, sir. If this ship goes down here with all of us, the Federation will never find us.”

The couple was stunned. They had assumed giving the hijackers what they wanted would make them leave.

But they had confused hijackers with workers. Though they saw both as lower-class failures, there was a crucial difference.

Workers protest when dissatisfied. They go on strike, then sit down at the negotiating table with the help of a union. Give them a little of what they want, and they’ll go back to work.

But hijackers are different. Once they get what they want, they won’t just walk away. They’ll erase every connection to their crime before disappearing.

Betting that hijackers will leave quietly after getting paid?

Better to gamble on surviving the ordeal.

The wealthy man let out a heavy sigh, the doubt in his eyes replaced by gratitude. “Mr. Lynch, thank you for saving us.”

Lynch gave a warm, sincere smile. “No need to thank me. It’s the right thing to do. I’m one of you—we should all stand together.”

“If anyone misunderstands me in the future, just help explain it.”

The man nodded. “What should we do now?”

“I need you to write something for me,” Lynch said, placing a sheet of paper on the table. “I’ll dictate—you write it down. Then write me a check for one million.”