Chapter 909: Wealth and Power

Because Lynch was seen as a source of trouble, the residents of the community wanted him to move out and stop disturbing the peace of the hillside villa district.

This was the honest sentiment of many wealthy people living there—they didn’t want the area to turn into a public space because of one person. What they wanted was peace and privacy.

Too many unrelated people coming and going was a serious invasion of their rights, not to mention the reporters who had been sneaking in lately. Who knew what compromising photos they might take?

With the situation becoming increasingly tense over the past two days, the residents had a discussion and reached a conclusion: Lynch had to go.

Once he was gone, everything would return to normal.

No more agents lurking around, no more reporters hiding in the bushes, no more intimidating professional bodyguards.

It wasn’t that they were unwilling to have Lynch as a neighbor—it was simply that he didn’t belong here.

But this tactic of community exclusion didn’t seem to work on Lynch.

“You said… refuse?” the manager asked, incredulous. “I’m not saying you can’t refuse, Mr. Lynch.”

“But if you reject this request, they may take legal action.”

The manager quickly distanced himself from responsibility. “As per usual practice, they might pursue this through litigation.”

He no longer mentioned the community service company—he simply said they.

There was no doubt who they referred to: the other residents.

Lynch, cigarette between his lips, leaned back on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other, chin tilted slightly upward, a carefree smile on his face. “Whatever. If they think a lawsuit will help, then let them sue.”

Lawsuits were only useful for intimidating people who couldn’t afford lawyers. In the Federation, the legal system often blurred the line between rule of law and rule of man.

Litigation was just about convincing a judge to take your side—from illegal parking to murder, it was all the same game.

If you could convince the judge you were innocent—or justified—then you were innocent.

That’s why lawyers held so much power. They were one of the most lucrative professions in the Federation.

Because they held the key to a person’s innocence—if they could convince the judge.

But ordinary people couldn’t afford them. Court-appointed lawyers were useless. An average person going up against a rich one in court was guaranteed to lose.

Lynch, however, wasn’t ordinary. He was rich—rich enough to drag the case out for twenty years if he wanted.

The manager gave a bitter smile. “There’s no need to take it that far.”

Lynch let out a short laugh, cutting him off. “You’ve already picked a side.”

He paused briefly, then continued before the manager could respond. “I’m not unreasonable. Tell those residents who think I don’t belong here—they can either sell their houses to me, or I’ll target their companies.”

“Life is long. Sooner or later, everyone has to make decisions that aren’t theirs to make.”

The manager froze again. He thought he’d already seen the arrogance and wealth of the rich—but only now did he truly understand what it meant to be powerful.

Not just rich—domineering.

There were more than forty different villas in the hillside district. The cheapest cost at least $1.3 million, the most expensive over $10 million. Altogether, the entire area was worth at least a billion.

Even big real estate developers or corporate giants might struggle to buy all of it—but Lynch looked like he could pay in full, anytime.

The manager silently marveled—no wonder he’s called the “Billion-Sol Man.” A hint of envy and admiration crept into his heart. His smile subtly shifted.

His brows drooped slightly outward, giving him a more submissive, humble look.

“Mr. Lynch, I’ll pass on your message. If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave.”

Lynch gave a small nod. The manager left with a sycophantic smile, bent over at the waist, groveling as he exited.

After he left, Austin couldn’t help but ask, “Are you really going to buy all those houses?”

Ever since Lynch had seen through her identity, she had changed—mentally and emotionally.

At the very least, she wouldn’t have asked such a question before. She used to try to maintain her cover, but now she didn’t care. She was already exposed.

Lynch tilted his head toward her. “If they’re willing to sell, why not?”

“No matter how the Federation develops in the future, Eminence will always be this size—and there will only ever be one hillside villa district in the city.”

“Every house here has enormous potential for appreciation. Maybe in ten years, even adding a zero won’t be enough to buy one.”

Of course, Lynch was exaggerating. If war broke out, many industries would suffer, and real estate would definitely be one of them. Still, even during wartime, housing prices would be higher than now.

And the hillside villas weren’t just real estate investments—they were symbols of status.

Living on the hillside was on a whole different level than living at the foot of the hill. The rarity and impossibility of expansion made every home here a status marker.

Owning more meant more options—whether selling or gifting, it was always a good move.

Austin didn’t understand much about that, nor did she comment on how the rich spent their money.

Later that evening, Penny returned from outside.

She looked much better than she had a few days ago—no longer as gloomy or drained as when she first came back.

As soon as she came in, she flopped onto the couch, rubbing her feet. “A bunch of film studios have been asking if I’m available lately…”

The girl seemed a little proud. Although she had gone through unprecedented fear and trauma, she had also gained unexpected benefits.

Having shared a dramatic and emotional adventure with Lynch—and with Lynch writing a book about it—Penny’s standing in the film industry was about to rise even further.

Now, before she truly blew up, some studios were hoping to sign her early—locking in a project at a lower cost to save money down the line.

No one was stupid, including her talent agency.

They knew a contract wasn’t likely, but they still needed to show up and maintain relationships. That’s what people call connections and networking.

Lynch nodded and turned on the TV to watch the evening news.

The first story was about aliens. Reports from various regions claimed sightings, plunging the entire Federation into a strange atmosphere.

People were under a lot of pressure during this time, especially regarding employment.

The Great Depression had dragged on for three years. Although the economy was starting to recover, employment rates hadn’t bounced back to their previous highs.

According to the Social Services Bureau, many areas still had unemployment rates hovering around ten percent—some even higher.

Eminence’s unemployment rate was relatively low at seven percent, but that number was misleading due to the city’s unique circumstances.

Pressure from work, family, daily life, education, healthcare—all of it traced back to money.

Those who say money isn’t everything should really step forward now and explain why every helpless situation seems to revolve around it.

The greater the pressure, the more people needed to vent. The film industry’s booming growth would likely continue for a long time.

Besides that, worker clubs and factory clubs were popping up rapidly. People were looking for ways to decompress.

Aliens might just be the perfect outlet—anything absurd could be pinned on them, turning it into a national spectacle.

“Do aliens really exist?” Penny asked, trying again to get Lynch’s attention, now picking up on the TV topic.

Lynch nodded. “I’m an alien.”

The girl giggled mischievously. Her hand crept up onto Lynch’s leg as if nothing had happened. With an innocent look, she asked, “What kind of alien are you?”

Lynch glanced down and sighed. “What you need right now is rest. The doctor said you need proper rest before you’ll fully recover.”

These doctors could practically diagnose your soul, but regardless, rest was never the wrong prescription.

Penny’s eyes darted playfully. Suddenly, she shouted, “I’m thirsty! I want juice—raspberry flavor!”

Lynch looked her over again. She was wearing a pink dress, not very long—just to the knee.

Her agency had crafted her image as the pure, sweet girl next door—delicate and gentle.

She glanced down at her outfit. “What?”

Lynch shook his head. “Nothing. Just curious about your taste in juice.”

Raspberries… people who don’t like them say they taste like trash; people who do are obsessed with their unique flavor.

Soon, the maid came over carrying the juice. Lynch was a bit surprised they even had raspberry juice on hand.

Just as the maid was about to hand her the glass, Penny suddenly reached out and tickled the maid’s waist.

In an instant, the juice spilled—on her, on the sofa, and the carpet.

Penny cried out gleefully, “Look, she made a mess! We have to punish her!”