Chapter 911: Me

“Forgive me for interrupting, Mr. Lynch—are you saying we’ll only do investments and nothing else?”

The question came from a well-known businessman, with personal assets exceeding twenty million federal sols—an impressive fortune in the Federation.

He had attended the Spring Tasting Expo for four years, contributing a million each year to gain access. It was a rare high-end business networking opportunity.

Even if no contracts were signed, the exposure alone in such a circle meant recognition.

And recognition meant social status and influence—both highly convertible into tangible assets.

If a poor man brought a house worth 100,000 to the bank as collateral, he might get a loan of 40,000 to 60,000 at most.

Aside from risk control against market volatility, the bank’s goal is still profit.

What’s strange is that despite banks making massive profits, many still view them as public service institutions that don’t earn money.

This is only because bankers have done a phenomenal job of shaping that image—so much so that people don’t even notice.

But if someone with wealth and status—regardless of how real the wealth is—took the same 100,000 property to the bank, they might get a loan of 60,000 to 80,000.

Banks might even accept no profit in exchange for long-term business with the wealthy.

The same item, in different hands, commands different value—just like the glass cups in Lynch’s home.

The man’s question drew immediate attention. Until this point, the Federation hadn’t seen a true investment company in the purest sense.

Most finance-related companies in Eminence focused on short-term profits—helping businesses raise capital, go public, or conducting acquisitions and breakups.

Those last two—acquire and dismantle—form the backbone of the current financial system. A literal shark tank.

Even EveryMoment was recently attacked by this behavior—acquisition followed by disassembly.

The acquirer walks away with the cash, leaving debt and ruin to the original shareholders—or just forces the company into bankruptcy.

These players are real sharks—tearing off the juiciest parts of any company they can feed from.

Pure investment, on the other hand, is rare. Even when it exists, it’s generally dominated by banks under insurance protections.

Take EveryMoment as an example—banks lent them money. Once they perceived risk, they demanded principal and interest. If they saw value, they’d convert the debt into equity and claim long-term dividends.

Beyond that? Nothing.

There are plenty of people with ideas in Eminence, but not a lot with money. That makes pure investment hard to do.

Lynch’s proposal sounded strange and surprising. And then came the inevitable question—can you really make money doing that?

Even though they’d already made their first profit without doing anything.

Lynch glanced at the man, then looked at the others. “Returns from investments alone are enough to make money. If we find other worthwhile opportunities, we can pursue them.”

Someone else spoke up. “But how do you control risk? If we give our money to someone unreliable, we might end up with nothing.”

This was everyone’s greatest concern—and the reason why no systematic investment companies existed.

There were asset management firms and all sorts of financial institutions, but no dedicated investment firms—because the risk was too unpredictable.

After the Great Depression, people had less money—and became more risk-averse. No one wanted to gamble on uncertain businesses with uncertain futures.

But in Lynch’s view, now was the golden age of investment.

He’d recently had a casual chat with Mr. Truman, who mentioned the military was interested in one of Lynch’s radio reconnaissance array investments—and might chip in some funding.

Even if it didn’t become a core defense project, hundreds of thousands or even a few million in research grants was still significant. And if the tech succeeded, and landed in a procurement deal—it would mean endless cashflow.

An arms race and ideological rivalry would soon ignite a tech boom across industries.

Countless bizarre and brilliant innovations were about to emerge—and all these dreamers lacked was startup capital.

This was the real golden age of investment. Pick just one right project, and you could eat for a lifetime.

As for the risk—

Lynch paused briefly. “Risk can be managed. The company will establish a dedicated evaluation body to assess projects. For major projects, I’ll personally make the call.”

“To make money, you must accept risk. There’s no such thing as a 100% safe, zero-risk profit.”

“The greater the gain, the greater the risk. When expected returns exceed risk, that’s when we invest.”

The man couldn’t help but say, “Isn’t that just speculation—what speculators do?”

“No, it’s completely different.”

Lynch gave a firm response. “Speculation is gambling. Speculators have no idea if their input will produce returns—like the gold rush during the Western expansion.”

“They didn’t know if there was gold or oil underground. They just bought land in a frenzy—and went bankrupt.”

“Maybe they thought the potential reward was worth it—but they miscalculated both risk and return.”

Back then, the Federation lured speculators and capital westward with rumors of gold and oil. A few struck it rich overnight—and that fantasy led to mass delusion.

People drew massive areas on maps, bought them, and searched for minerals—only to lose everything.

But the public only saw the few winners. Speculators, unaware and reckless, kept betting—only to end up bankrupt, even ruined.

Lynch paused slightly. “But we’re different. We’ll evaluate whether a project has real potential. We’ll analyze every detail, and invest only in those with the highest likelihood of success.”

“On this point, we’ve already kept the risk within an acceptable range, without sacrificing returns. That’s not speculation, and we are not speculators.”

His tone, laced with disdain, reassured most of the shareholders in the room. If Lynch had simply wanted a high-stakes gamble, none of them would have agreed to take part.

But hearing him now, they realized this wasn’t some impulsive idea—it had been planned.

Seeing that many were still deep in thought, Lynch raised the stakes.

“Beyond that, we can also help the companies we invest in achieve fast and efficient returns.”

“Our shareholders span virtually every industry across the Federation. With the resources we control, even if a dog started a company, we could take it public.”

“Support within and across industries will continue to reduce our investment risk and multiply our returns. It’s entirely possible for a few hundred thousand in investment to generate tens of millions—or more.”

“Maybe we can’t catch every miracle when it flashes by—but we can create miracles!”

Lynch’s words shook every shareholder in the room. As he said, if everyone supported a single company within their own industries, that company could easily pull off a miracle.

The Federation mainly judged a company by its profitability and cash flow—key factors for going public.

And those could be manipulated.

Take a cement company, for example—there are countless in the Federation, and not all are profitable.

But if everyone in this room directed their companies to buy cement from just one firm—even through partial exclusive supply agreements—investors would suddenly see that cement company as promising.

It could then go public, raise a fortune, and when the company was full, just find an excuse to terminate those agreements. Retail investors and Eminence’s market speculators would foot the bill. It actually seemed… viable.

No one in the room was a fool—they immediately grasped the value and implications. Some even looked at Lynch with a flicker of apprehension in their eyes.

Looking at that one young man—still standing.

Was this his plan all along?

Or just a decision sparked by the hostage incident?

Either way, he had succeeded.

Under normal circumstances, even if Lynch had offered bait, it wouldn’t have drawn so many people together.

Everyone had their own social circles, and those didn’t necessarily overlap with Lynch’s.

But because of a single hijacking, Lynch shamelessly extracted a million from them—and now was “returning” it in this way, bringing together successful people and wealthy elites from across industries.

That laid the foundation for real success. With this many powerful people united behind one goal, how could it fail?

Even God couldn’t stop them!

Lynch placed both hands on the edge of the table, leaning forward slightly with a sharp, aggressive presence. A breeze seemed to sweep through the room.

“And most importantly—there’s me…”

“And my eyes… can see the future.”