Chapter 892: Changes in the Military Landscape

When Lynch pushed the door open, everyone in the room stood up.

“This is one of the most famous writers on the West Coast…”

Penny’s agent had already arrived. She hadn’t flown over; after the cruise incident a few days ago, she came to the West Coast and had been waiting for news ever since.

Fortunately, Penny returned safely, but she locked herself in the bathroom for a long time, and her mental state didn’t look good.

That’s understandable—being confined in a small, sealed space for two days, and not in winter. Penny blocked air circulation, so the temperature where she was was clearly higher than elsewhere.

Moreover, the ventilation shaft was right above a murder scene. The corpse before her slowly dried out. That terrifying sight haunted her whenever she closed her eyes.

She needed rest—real rest.

Lynch looked at a gentleman by the sofa.

He wore a loosely fitted hat favored by many painters and writers, with a button on top.

Wearing a hat indoors in such a formal setting is rude, so the man had taken it off, holding it in his hand.

The hat not only represented his identity but also hid minor issues, like thinning hair.

“Nice to meet you…” Lynch shook his hand, then glanced around at the others.

There was also a young woman in the room, sitting before a portable typewriter.

Though called portable, it weighed over ten pounds. As life and work in the Federation sped up, mobile offices were becoming part of future visions.

Portable typewriters were part of that trend but clearly weren’t a lasting success and would eventually be phased out.

Lynch didn’t interact physically with the young woman, only greeted her politely as a gentleman should.

“I will recount everything that happened on the ship. You help me record and organize it, then selectively rework it. Is that okay?”

Many wealthy people’s autobiographies aren’t actually written by themselves, or even narrated by them, but created by assistants or commissioned writers based on life and work events.

Naturally, some strange or dramatic elements might be added, which is normal.

Biography is a literary form; once created, it inevitably carries subjective coloring.

The famous writer nodded, glanced at the girl sitting by the desk, and asked, “Mr. Lynch, can she be credited as co-author?”

Lynch looked at the girl again—a typical Federation little lady.

The little lady and the big lady are two distinct images, which some people struggle to tell apart, but it’s simple.

A Federation little lady is a refined middle-class girl—good looks, good manners, stylish and considerate, polite—the ideal modern woman.

A Federation big lady, on the other hand, might be a girl from a small town or ordinary neighborhood, wearing a tank top early in the morning, stretching in the sun without caring if she’s accidentally exposed.

Of course, both must be pretty, well-shaped, with golden or at least blonde hair.

Seeing Lynch’s confusion, the writer explained, “She’s my daughter.”

Lynch nodded, “No problem. I agree.”

The writer sighed in relief.

His daughter was at a critical stage—about to graduate college.

After graduation, she had two choices: work with him on writing and publishing or join a writing-related organization like a newspaper or magazine.

Either way, she needed a strong recommendation and résumé.

Without those, it’s not impossible, but much harder.

Two freelance writers: one has co-authored an autobiography for a notable Federation figure; the other has no experience.

If both are otherwise similar, who would the publisher pick?

Undoubtedly, the one with experience, especially if a little gossip about a beautiful female author and a famous client can boost sales.

Besides, this client was Lynch—I co-wrote Mr. Lynch’s autobiography is a lifetime claim to fame.

For such a harmless favor that could make new friends, Lynch never said no.

With Lynch’s approval, the writer and his daughter were excited. Lynch began narrating his harrowing sea ordeal.

He was a great storyteller, making the tale thrilling and suspenseful. Though adventure stories were fading from the mainstream, it depended on who the story involved.

Ordinary or fictional stories don’t attract attention; Lynch’s audience was large and eager—a win-win.

After more than an hour, it ended. The writer asked many questions for details, which would become part of the story.

When it was over, the agent escorted the father and daughter out.

In the elevator, the writer put his arm around his daughter’s shoulder, glanced at her new leather boots, and asked, “Do you like Mr. Lynch?”

He’s young, handsome, rich, talkative, humorous—I even enjoy talking to him.

The girl shook her head as if startled, “No, I don’t like him at all.”

The writer looked forward again and stroked her head like when she was a child. “Good girl…”

Upstairs.

“Mr. Lynch…” The agent seemed moved. “I don’t know what to say, but thank you so much for taking care of Penny.”

“She’s not always an obedient girl. I know she has her little temper, but I want to thank you for what you’ve done.”

She spoke sincerely, because Penny played a significant role in Lynch’s story.

It was no surprise that The Lynch Adventures: Stormy Voyage would be adapted into a film, with Penny undoubtedly cast as the lead—after all, the story was based on her.

With Lynch’s influence, she was more than qualified to challenge the top female stars of the Federation.

Even if she didn’t succeed, her career would take a major step forward.

It seemed like Lynch didn’t do much, but just saying a few words is something many people spend their whole lives trying to get from someone influential.

Lynch waved his hand, “She helped me out a bit, too…”

Meanwhile, along the Marilo coastline, Beret jumped off the speedboat looking utterly disheveled.

They’d encountered pursuers near the Marilo waters—some locals, likely tipped off, who had been searching for Beret and his group.

Others were Federation hunters.

He knew the Federation wouldn’t let him go, and neither would the wealthy elites, but he hadn’t expected them to arrive so quickly!

They even deployed a cruiser against them. Worse still, drones buzzing overhead were guiding the Federation forces.

Even if he hid, those devices could still relay signals to the ground. All he could do was run back as fast as possible.

There was nowhere to hide at sea; only the speed of the boat gave him a chance to escape.

Finally on land, feeling the solid ground beneath his feet, he sighed in relief.

This was Marilo, no longer under Federation control. If the Federation wanted to launch a strike here, they’d need permission from the local government.

But Marilo’s puppet government hadn’t been in control for years and didn’t dare intervene. Even if the Federation wanted to act, the puppet government wouldn’t agree.

After all, the Federation forces come and go; the puppet government remains. If they allowed the Federation to eliminate Beret this time, what about the next time when they might target warlords?

Beret had calculated this well. He also knew not to linger too long on the beach.

At this moment, he was immensely grateful for Lynch’s physique. He was soaked through, and without the waterproof envelope, all the checks might have been ruined!

Ink was still water-based back then; once wet, it was ruined for good.

The buzzing overhead interrupted his thoughts again. He called his men and slipped into the dense forest, casually watching the planes overhead as he departed.

Soon, Blackstone Security’s speedboat arrived. To Marilo, it looked like a Federation cruiser, but it was actually a decommissioned ship Blackstone bought from the navy.

The navy had an expansion plan with funding approved, so phasing out old equipment was expected.

The ship sold for $3.8 million. It was clearly old—its naval guns were rusted solid.

After the cruiser neared the shore, it launched speedboats. Blackstone’s operatives began landing.

Onboard, a sergeant coordinated with nearby towns.

Plane takeoffs and landings needed smooth runways, which couldn’t be built in time. The best solution was borrowing wide roads or open warehouse areas.

Once the takeoff issue was resolved, the sergeant planned to launch a military strike on Beret’s group.

He also hired two professional photographers.

Lynch instructed him to coordinate with the planes. With aerial support constantly guiding them at sea, the sergeant realized the military landscape was about to change.

And he would be the one driving that change.