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Happy moments always seemed fleeting. By dinnertime, Katherine's mood had visibly dimmed.

"Are you leaving right after dinner?" she asked Lynch, her voice tinged with reluctance. "Can't you stay a little longer?"

Lynch shook his head as he neatly sliced through his food with a fork and knife. "No, I have a train to Bentleigh tonight."

Bentleigh was about to host its annual week-long Fashion Week extravaganza in just three days. It would draw trendsetters from across the Federation and even neighboring countries, all vying for attention in an explosion of creativity and glamour. For the fashion world, it was the event of the year—a spectacle that demanded attendance from social elites who thrived on media exposure and public admiration. And naturally, their presence at such events only reinforced their status while offering them perks in return—a classic win-win scenario.

Lynch had received numerous invitations to attend, thanks to the runaway success of The Adventures of Lynch, his memoir-turned-blockbuster adaptation, along with his position as the second-largest shareholder of Fox Studios. These credentials placed him squarely within the orbit of high society.

He'd politely declined most of the offers—except one. Severella's invitation was impossible to refuse. She'd helped him more than once, and this marked her first request for his company. Besides, Severella was no ordinary girl; her family background and social standing ensured she wouldn't miss such a prestigious gathering. Like many others in their circle, she needed a partner who could match her stature—and Lynch fit the bill perfectly.

In the current landscape of the Federation, few peers could rival Lynch's accomplishments. Some might boast unparalleled family connections, but surpassing Lynch required far more than pedigree alone.

When Katherine heard the name "Bentleigh," her eyes briefly lit up before dimming again. "Too bad I still have classes," she murmured wistfully.

There was truth in what she said. Skills and knowledge, much like muscles, grew weak without consistent use. After two years of monotonous work and life, Katherine had already forgotten much of what she once knew. Catching up meant working harder than ever, and academics were now her sole anchor.

She wanted to go, desperately so. But missing seven days of school would mean sacrificing at least twelve major lectures and countless hours of study time. The cost of falling behind outweighed the allure of indulgence. Bentleigh wasn't going anywhere, nor was Fashion Week disappearing anytime soon. She could wait.

"I hope you have a great time," she said, carefully avoiding the question of whether Lynch had a companion. Asking outright would feel awkward and spoil the moment.

Lynch nodded graciously, accepting her well-wishes. "If I see anything that suits you, I'll make sure someone brings it back for you."

After dinner, Lynch escorted Katherine to her apartment—a boutique residence he'd purchased near Kurland State University. Apartments weren't inherently synonymous with squalor or cheapness. While most urban dwellings carried those connotations, some stood apart as bastions of luxury and exclusivity.

Lynch owned a standalone house in Kurland, which he'd initially considered letting Katherine occupy. However, given her circumstances—young, independent, and vulnerable—he opted instead for a secure, elite apartment building populated by society's crème de la crème. Located just three streets away from the commercial hub of Kurland City, the area had undergone rapid development, transforming former outskirts into bustling city centers.

With base rent starting at 75 bucks per month (total costs ranging between 95-125 bucks), living here signified financial stability and upward mobility. Through a friend named Hart, Lynch purchased one unit for 175,000 bucks, ensuring Katherine wouldn't need to worry about additional fees beyond utilities and maintenance. His generous "salary" arrangement allowed her to live comfortably on her own.

As they entered the lobby, two security guards stationed in the front office immediately stood up upon seeing Lynch. They recognized him—not just from recent news coverage but also from prior visits alongside the building's owner. He was unmistakably important.

Yet, Lynch greeted them warmly, engaging in casual conversation about the slowly stabilizing economy and hints of societal recovery. His demeanor exuded humility, making everyone feel at ease despite his obvious stature.

About half an hour later, as Lynch exited the elevator, the same guards leapt to their feet, visibly nervous. Smiling gently, Lynch gestured for them to relax. Just as he reached the doorway, one guard hesitated before calling out, "Mr. Lynch…"

Stopping mid-step, Lynch turned around, his expression patient and inviting. Sometimes, even the smallest gestures from influential figures left lasting impressions.

Money, indeed, worked wonders.

"Yes, Mr. Lynch? Your neck…" the guard trailed off, pointing to his own chin. Startled, Lynch pulled out a white silk handkerchief and dabbed at his throat, revealing faint traces of red.

"I must've missed that while tidying up," he chuckled, thanking the guard and tilting his head slightly. "Anything else?"

"No, sir…"

But the guard hadn't finished speaking. Lynch waited patiently, knowing full well that even seemingly insignificant individuals held power in unexpected ways.

After a brief pause, the older guard sheepishly scratched his head. "My daughter is a huge fan of yours. She loves your adventure book. I was wondering…"

"Of course! Why not?" Lynch approached the window, taking the notebook and pen offered by the delighted guard.

"And our little princess's name?" he asked with a warm smile.

"Helen, Mr. Lynch. Her name is Helen." The guard couldn't believe it—such a towering figure pausing to fulfill a humble request felt almost surreal.

Quickly, Lynch penned a heartfelt message: To our beautiful Princess Helen, may joy forever accompany you — Lynch. Handing the notebook back, he asked, "Anything else?"

"No, no, thank you so much, Mr. Lynch! This is incredible!" The guard beamed, imagining his daughter's delight when she saw the autograph. Moments like these brought rare joy to his otherwise mundane life.

With a polite nod, Lynch bid farewell and stepped outside. The guards remained standing, watching until his car vanished from sight before finally sitting down with awe-filled sighs.

"That's why some people succeed, and others…" One guard carefully cut out the signed page, tucking it safely away.

What began as a simple request ended with heartfelt gratitude. Little did the guard know, Lynch rarely hesitated to grant favors that cost him nothing. Moreover, adding a personalized note prevented misuse—a lesson history had taught him well. A single careless signature could ignite lawsuits, as past scandals proved.

Meanwhile, on the seventh floor, Katherine leaned against her windowsill, watching Lynch's car disappear into the night. Pulling herself upright, she stretched lazily. Though momentarily disheartened, determination surged within her. She vowed to catch up to him—to reclaim the connection they once shared.

That evening, Lynch boarded a southbound train to Bentleigh, where another girl awaited his arrival. Gazing at the starlit sky outside his window, his mind drifted into serene emptiness—a rare reprieve from his busy life.

At the same moment in Bupayne, another man wished desperately for such peace of mind—but found none.

"…Yes, I assure you, this has nothing to do with you… I'll adjust my approach… Goodbye."

Truman sighed heavily as he hung up the phone. Earlier that morning, armed with Lynch's intel, he'd ordered the National Security Council to investigate the three implicated foundations. Less than twelve hours later, over twenty key lobbyists and prominent fixers had bombarded him with calls.

He'd stirred a hornet's nest—and he knew it. The real heavyweights hadn't even made their move yet.

Before the phone settled back onto its cradle, it rang again. Reaching for it, Truman's gaze fell upon a document atop his desk. One name leapt out: Healthy Federal People Foundation.

The words seemed to mock him.

"Damn it."

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