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"What do you want?" Lynch broke off another piece of the pastry on the table and popped it into his mouth.

Mishahaya gave a restrained smile. "It's not about what I want—it's about what our people want."

He paused, licking his lips before continuing. "Mr. Lynch, the market environment in the Baylor Federation is far more open than ours. In your business dealings there, have you ever encountered scammers?"

Lynch nodded. "Yes, I have."

In the Baylor Federation, financial fraud related to commerce was rampant and growing increasingly sophisticated, especially when it came to bank-related schemes. Bogus checks, forged promissory notes, and all manner of crimes exploiting loopholes in the system—no one understood the legal gaps in the federation's laws better than these swindlers, nor were they more familiar with the flaws in banking regulations.

From conversations between Lynch and Joegleman, last year alone, GoldenExchange Bank had encountered fraudulent checks totaling over 4.6 million thors. And that was just one bank. The empire had six major banks, along with countless regional ones. In reality, the number of scams people fell victim to far exceeded what they read about in newspapers or imagined.

Mishahaya's smile deepened with meaning. "We've encountered them too…" His tone carried a hint of nostalgia, but then it hardened abruptly. "We've met many con artists who came here under the guise of investors, deceiving us out of food, drink, and money. They promised us bright futures, only to betray our hopes for development and crush the aspirations of our people."

"Such tragedies shouldn't repeat themselves. What we're asking you to do is simple, Mr. Lynch. Simply deposit a sum of money into one of our designated banks, and the public will believe that you are different from those past fraudsters."

Mishahaya lifted his cup and took a large gulp of the overly sweet tea inside. After setting it down, he wiped the remaining droplets from his lips with a handkerchief, casually pressing it against his mouth. "Of course," he added nonchalantly, "this is merely my suggestion."

He stared at Lynch, his face expressionless, yet his eyes churned with unspoken thoughts. It was a peculiar sensation—one difficult to describe. Eyes couldn't physically make gestures or change color, but through eye contact and subtle shifts in gaze, humans could sense emotions hidden beneath the surface.

Lynch looked back at him, asking bluntly, "Is this protection money?"

"Protection money?" Mishahaya's voice rose sharply, eyebrows arching as if genuinely shocked by the accusation. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"

"The funds you deposit in our bank will remain untouched. Only you will have control over them. All we're doing is assuring the public that you're a legitimate investor—that your capital has arrived, at least partially. These funds won't leave with you when you depart. That's all."

"You can view this as a gentleman's agreement or as a guarantee, but it is absolutely not protection money. We don't extort merchants. Nagalier is a civilized nation."

Lynch maintained his polite smile, nodding agreeably as though he approved. He placed the nibbled pastry back onto the plate and brushed his hands together. "How much?"

Mishahaya licked his lips again—whether because the sugary residue from the tea was drying or because the excessive sweetness made him thirsty, it was unclear. Either way, the gesture was impolite. Back in the Federation, ladies observing from afar would gasp behind their fans, whispering incredulously, "Look at him—he's so rude."

"One hundred million galiars, or its equivalent in Federal Thor," Mishahaya declared boldly, adding, "If you choose to deposit Federal Thor, we may offer a slight discount."

Nagalier's foreign exchange reserves weren't substantial, but the ruling class indulged in plenty of cross-border spending. While using the official exchange rate wouldn't leave them severely disadvantaged, the problem lay in the fact that no international bank honored Nagalier's self-proclaimed rates; everything fluctuated according to market forces.

Mishahaya knew this well, which is why he suggested reducing the amount for foreign currency deposits—essentially cutting out the difference between the official and actual exchange rates.

"That's roughly…" Lynch furrowed his brow, mentally calculating. "One point thirteen million Federal thors"

Mishahaya regarded Lynch with surprise. He'd expected outright refusal, after which he planned to inform Lynch that rejecting their demands would result in being barred from leaving the country.

Despite the armed guards accompanying Lynch—forty-some men carrying guns—they were still vastly outnumbered. Even if each guard could take on a hundred Nagalier soldiers, four thousand troops would suffice to subdue them. Nagalier wasn't short on expendable citizens eager to serve as cannon fodder in exchange for perceived privilege.

Thus, Mishahaya never considered the possibility of Lynch refusing. Yet equally unexpected was Lynch's calm reaction. Not only did he calculate the exchange rate without hesitation, but his composure left Mishahaya momentarily flustered.

After several seconds, Mishahaya recalculated and confirmed the figure. Nodding slowly, he said, "Indeed, your arithmetic skills are commendable."

"There's nothing to boast about," Lynch replied smoothly. "I can deposit the funds..."

Before he finished speaking, Mishahaya's face lit up with satisfaction. This young man was proving easier to manipulate than anticipated. Without even issuing threats, Lynch had seemingly acquiesced, signaling an opportunity to extract even more wealth, technology, and resources from him.

But the second half of Lynch's sentence froze Mishahaya's expression solid.

"...but if I deposit the money into your specified bank, what do I get in return?"

Mishahaya wanted to ask what Lynch meant. Though he understood every word individually, their combined implication eluded him entirely.

As Mishahaya sat speechless, Lynch chuckled softly. A gentle breeze swept through the garden, carrying the faint scent of flowers and rustling the plants. Dappled sunlight filtered through the swaying leaves, briefly illuminating Lynch's face before Mishahaya averted his gaze—the brightness was too intense.

The sunlight was blinding, but so was Lynch's smile.

"Mr. Mishahaya, you asked me to demonstrate sincerity. I find your request reasonable, and I'm willing to comply. But where is your sincerity?"

Leaning back in his chair, Lynch crossed his legs and lit a cigarette. In an instant, the dynamic shifted. Smoke curled between them, obscuring their line of sight. Lynch's grin grew sardonic, hovering somewhere between amusement and mockery.

"Sincerity should be mutual, Mr. Mishahaya. Don't you agree?"

Not easy to deal with.

That thought flashed through Mishahaya's mind immediately. Lynch was proving to be a formidable opponent. Without hesitation, he had accepted what could only be described as an unreasonable demand, only to turn the tables in one swift move. The pressure Mishahaya had exerted earlier now rebounded tenfold.

After all, Lynch had agreed to such an excessive demand. If his "sincerity" didn't match up, Lynch could easily choose not to honor his own commitments, since he would have already appeared unreasonable by failing to reciprocate.

Mishahaya stared intently at Lynch, but the smoke clouding the air distorted his vision, making Lynch seem almost unreal despite the mere two-meter distance between them.

After a minute of tense silence, Mishahaya cracked first. Losing control of the conversation, he felt sweat trickle down his temples. Unable to bear the mounting tension, he blurted out, "What do you want?"

Lynch shrugged indifferently. "Sincerity—or exclusive trading rights."

He flicked ash from his cigarette, unconcerned as some drifted onto his clothes. Fixing Mishahaya with a steady gaze, he spoke quickly but clearly. "Exclusive trading rights, sole distribution rights—whichever term makes sense to you, use it."

"I'll deposit the money. If a million Federal thor isn't enough, I'll put in two million, three million, or more. But in return, you must sign an exclusive trade agreement with me. For the next twenty years, all export businesses in the Magura province and any goods categories I specify will be exclusively operated by me. I set the prices, establish the sales rules, and retain the authority to review, supervise, and enforce compliance."

He tilted his head slightly. "Now it's your turn to show sincerity, Mr. Mishahaya."

Beads of sweat formed along Mishahaya's temples. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead, hesitating to respond. Lynch's demands were outrageous—but then again, so were his own.

If he refused, Lynch wouldn't deposit the money, trapping Mishahaya in a vicious cycle. The initial plan had been straightforward: secure part of Lynch's funds, label them as "investment security," and return them once Lynch completed his investments. Until then, the money would remain inaccessible—and Lynch might even need to add more.

But now, the burden of resolution no longer rested solely on Lynch—it weighed heavily on Mishahaya and the influential figures backing him.

"I can't make that decision..." Mishahaya admitted finally.

Without missing a beat, Lynch stood up. He flicked away his cigarette butt, brushed off stray ash from his clothing, and glanced at his watch. "My apologies, Mr. Mishahaya. Find someone who can make decisions to speak with me. And…" He adjusted his cuff casually, "I have other matters to attend to, so I won't keep you company any longer."

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