Chapter 886: Heading North

“Just about done,” Lynch said as he pulled out a stack of checks from his pocket. “There’s over seventy million here. After deducting my thirty million, we’ll split the rest fifty-fifty…”

He pulled out a dozen or so checks and handed them over. “Including my thirty million, you’re holding close to fifty million.”

“You’ve done well. Better than most people here—no, better than anyone here makes in a whole year!”

Beret looked stunned. He stared at Lynch for a few seconds before bursting into laughter, slapping the armrest and rocking back and forth.

“I knew you were a hell of a guy. Sharp mind. Come work with me!”

“You just said it yourself—this deal made more than anyone else here earns in a year.”

“Your brain, my gun…” He paused to emphasize his point, pulling the gun from his waistband and waving it a few times.

“We’d make the perfect team. We’ll rule Marilo together!”

There was a gleam of wild ambition in Beret’s silvery-grey eyes.

Marilo was torn by war and overrun by warlords, but real power still lay with the Maloris.

The Malorians had ruled Marilo for a long time, and the upper class had amassed huge wealth—not the ones in the slums, but the elites.

That’s why most of the major warlord factions were led by Malorians. Only two had Marilan leaders.

He wanted to be the third.

Maybe even the last one standing.

He looked at Lynch with passion and hope—but Lynch had no intention of agreeing.

Slowly, Beret grew disappointed. He sighed. “I knew it. You Federals—always looking down on people.”

He suddenly picked up his utensils and started eating again, chewing what he considered delicious beef. Blood and saliva sprayed from his mouth as he talked, disgusting to watch.

“Leave all the checks.”

“If I say no, are you going to pull that gun on me again?”

Beret snorted a laugh and spat a chunk of beef onto the table. He grabbed a napkin to wipe his mouth, still laughing loudly.

“You’re a likeable guy. Really. I’m starting to like you.”

“As for your question… who knows?”

Lynch shrugged casually. He pulled out a waterproof envelope and neatly packed all the checks into it.

Once done, he looked at Beret. “Where’s my check?”

Beret was about to eat again, but glanced at the messy table and gave up. “What are you trying to do?”

“This is a waterproof envelope, made by the bank for emergencies. Even if it sinks into the sea, as long as it’s not too deep and doesn’t stay long, it’ll be fine.”

“The moisture in the air is enough. If you just keep it in your pocket or anywhere exposed…”

Lynch pulled out one check, rubbed the signature with his finger right in front of Beret.

The signature quickly blurred.

Beret froze, then shot to his feet. “What the hell are you doing?!”

He rushed over and snatched the check. The signature was now unreadable. Even without ever cashing one, he knew it was worthless.

“Look what the fuck you just did! That was a million!”

Beret’s temper flared fast. But this time, he didn’t threaten Lynch with his gun—he knew it wouldn’t work.

Lynch waited until his outburst was over, then said calmly, “Just showing you how it works. You can refuse my suggestion, but you’ll face the consequences.”

Beret hesitated, then finally took the check from his jacket pocket and handed it over.

Lynch placed it in the waterproof envelope, sealed it, and held it briefly over a lighter’s flame to heat the edge, then quickly pressed it shut.

A glue strip inside softened and bonded. Once it cooled, it hardened again, creating a sealed, isolated chamber inside.

“There’s nearly a hundred million in here. Take good care of it,” Lynch said seriously. “It’s bright yellow so it can be spotted easily.”

“Keep it safe. That kind of money is enough to get you killed a hundred times over by your own men.”

Beret listened carefully. He wasn’t particularly smart—otherwise, he wouldn’t be here—but he could recognize when smarter people gave good advice.

Looking at Lynch’s serious expression, thinking about all the money in the envelope, Beret felt Lynch wasn’t lying.

He nodded forcefully, then, facing away from his men, shoved the envelope into his underwear.

Lynch’s expression soured slightly. Beret noticed and chuckled.

“Don’t give me that look, friend. It’s mine now, remember?”

After stashing the envelope, he reached out to pat Lynch on the shoulder. Lynch dodged immediately.

Beret laughed again. “You really are something. Still not interested in working with me?”

Lynch shook his head. “You can’t afford me. If you survive long enough and build real wealth, maybe we can talk business someday.”

He didn’t sugarcoat it—he didn’t think Beret would live that long. But Beret wasn’t angry.

That’s the thing about unpredictable men—they don’t get offended by normal comments, though they can still explode over nothing.

“There will be a day,” Beret said, pulling his hand back and looking at Lynch. In that moment, he seemed like a different man.

That much money was enough for him to build a force that couldn’t be ignored.

“Take him away.”

Beret ordered Lynch to be taken away. Watching Lynch’s figure disappear into the distance, he sniffed his fingers—there was an indescribably foul stench.

He shivered instinctively. “Goddamn it.”

Everyone was locked in their rooms. Soon after, gunfire erupted from the lower deck. The wealthy passengers on the upper deck knew exactly what was happening.

They were slaughtering the Malorians. No one spoke up or did anything. That silence confirmed to Lynch—and a few others—that the raiders were leaving.

Before their departure, the raiders destroyed the boiler and generator. The entire ship plunged into darkness.

Just after dusk, Beret left with the loot and that small envelope. A constant sense of danger surrounded him, making him eager to escape.

At 6:30, Lynch left his room. The cruise ship was deserted.

He quietly walked to the first deck, gathered anything he could find into a pile, and set it on fire.

The flames spread quickly. From above, the fire was clearly visible in the dark.

“Fire spotted ahead in the distance—likely the cruise ship. Increase speed.”

In the sky, the pilot pulled the control stick. The plane banked sharply, turning in a quarter-circle toward the fire.

Lynch dragged over a chair, sat beside the fire, smoking and deep in thought.

The checks Beret took couldn’t be cashed either.

When certain things were in Lynch’s hands, they were valid proof. But once they fell into the wrong hands, they became worthless.

So Lynch hadn’t lost anything—he was just annoyed. He had given Beret a choice, and Beret made the wrong one.

The rumble from the distant sky told Lynch the rescue vessels were nearby. About an hour later, a Federal Navy cruiser arrived, along with personnel from Blackstone Security.

“Mr. Lynch…”

The Navy captain spotted Lynch on the deck, smoking. The sergeant and the others noticed too and hurried over.

Lynch shared what they wanted to hear. “No casualties. Everyone’s in the upper cabins. Most of the original crew were likely killed.”

“It’s too dark now to know which direction they went. Notify the airplane—they might still be able to spot them.”

He stood up with the help of the chair and motioned for the sergeant to follow him. The two stepped aside.

“An idiot took my money. You’re going to help me get it back.”

The sergeant froze briefly, then nodded. “When do I move?”

Lynch gave him a once-over. “You’ll stay in the rear and coordinate. No need to be on the front lines.”

The sergeant was about to argue or at least express willingness to be in the field, even if he wouldn’t be. It was a matter of attitude.

But Lynch didn’t give him the chance. “Think about your wife. If something happens to you, some guy will spend your pension screwing your wife and beating your kid.”

“You just make sure this mission gets done from the rear. I trust you.”

“Deploy more people. We need to move faster than the others.”

Lynch took his final drag from the cigarette, then flicked the butt into the sea. “This mission’s nature is special. I want airplane support during the operation.”

“But however you do it, make sure the airplane’s role is clear.” He patted the sergeant’s arm. “Understood?”

The sergeant nodded. “Understood, boss.”

Lynch turned and headed toward the warship. “Now, tell the Navy to send a separate speedboat to pick me up. I’ve got a meeting with the top brass.”