Darkstone Code
Chapter 64 - 0064 The New Birth of Gaitenau Company

Chapter 64: 0064 The New Birth of Gaitenau Company

Lynch’s method is quite unique. Before Jogriman has a clear and definite target, he won’t reveal anything about this matter to anyone.

Speaking casually would only let those who shouldn’t know find out about something that can be considered a scandal or even corruption. First, he needs to keep silent himself, then observe the surroundings. Even if he finally confirms the target, he may not dare to face it.

But he will have a choice he’s very sure of in his heart and firmly believes is correct.

Recently, the only person he could conceivably have a "remunerative relationship" involving thirty thousand dollars is Lynch. Undoubtedly, this money must have been sent by Lynch. Without being able to speak up, it can’t be returned, so the money will sink into his pocket and become a peculiar kind of fact.

As a manager in the bank’s credit department, he has his ways of handling this money. Whether it’s deposited into an overseas account or legally funneled back into his account through investment or fund channels, to him, all are simple matters.

He flicked the check, put it in the drawer, and simultaneously understood this wasn’t the first nor the last time he would start to somewhat anticipate future collaboration with Lynch, this interesting young man. Those dealings are bound to be intriguing.

The most crucial aspect of such matters is the tacit silence!

In just a few days, Lynch drove a borrowed car into the bank’s internal parking lot early in the morning, where the money would be loaded onto the vehicle.

By the time he parked, three client managers who were liaising with him had been waiting for a while. The evident excitement on their faces was due to seeing $1.6 million in cash—160 bundles of hundred-dollar bills—which, when stacked together, was overwhelmingly shocking.

Most people, or rather a huge majority, have never seen so much money piled up in one place and can only imagine such a scene with comments of awe like "It must be stunning."

But facing these sums in reality produced a shock and thrill far exceeding their imaginations.

Even the three bank client managers, used to dealing with monetary transactions, had a brief moment of surprise upon seeing so much cash.

Eager and anticipating Lynch’s reaction, many expressed otherwise in the face of this fortune. It could ease their minor dissatisfaction with their earlier embarrassing conduct, and they could relish seeing others behave foolishly.

Yet they were bound to be disappointed because the man standing before them had seen not only $1.6 million, but even $16 million and $160 million in cash. This amount was merely a drizzle to him.

"Don’t you feel shocked?" one of the client managers couldn’t help but ask, wanting to explore whether Lynch’s calm demeanor was faked or genuine, emphasizing, "There’s $1.6 million here, one-point-six million!"

Seeing the client’s slightly fervent manner, Lynch just nodded calmly. He walked to where the money was placed on the steps, casually picked up a bundle.

The bills weren’t rolled up as favored by street vendors outside, but stacked together, secured with the strapping paper.

He riffled through the bills, the sound continuously rustling, the squeezed airflow carrying a thick ink scent—a bundle amounting to ten thousand!

He smiled slightly and threw the money back, "One point six million, sixteen thousand notes, combined to weigh about twenty kilograms..." He turned to look at the client manager, his expression and gaze as if asking, "Is there anything more you want me to say?"

Facing Lynch’s calmness, the client manager chuckled dryly, suddenly feeling a bit humiliated. Lynch’s words made him also feel that $1.6 million was just like so, nothing extraordinary.

The fervor on the surrounding staff and including the police’s faces quickly dissipated, suddenly feeling something indescribably awkward—a sentiment the female comrades might not have experienced, regrettably.

What was supposed to be a special affair turned into a hasty closure, quite disappointing.

The client manager asked, routinely out of courtesy, "Would you like to verify?"

Actually, he knew Lynch wouldn’t verify it. Firstly, this was a bank—there’d be no counterfeit money here. The cost of counterfeiting is too high and might not even be profitable.

With the sophistication required to produce counterfeit currency, it would be better to make fake cash checks, which are not only easier to produce but also more useful.

This was just a polite inquiry, yet he didn’t anticipate Lynch taking it seriously.

"Of course!" He picked up another bundle of bills, flicking them lightly, receiving obvious feedback with the first-touch contact between fingertips and the money.

This era’s fabrication technology is limited; never mind the various "lithographic plates," even copperplate engraving and corrosion plate techniques remain cutting-edge. Producing texture close to genuine currency isn’t quite possible.

They can only utilize ordinary printing techniques, making counterfeit bills easy for people to discern.

After randomly extracting about one-third of the money, Lynch indicated it was enough. A policeman, who had been watching nearby, solemnly signed his name on a form, acknowledging that Lynch checked and recognized these notes as genuine.

Don’t think of it as the bank being superfluous—they’re not protecting customers but themselves.

Ultimately, the money was packed into three briefcases. One case could only hold up to fifty thousand dollars, and this was because Lynch bought enlarged cases. Smaller ones would only hold twenty thousand.

This money was directly loaded onto his car, and two policemen escorted him back to Dyson Asset Management Company upon Lynch’s invitation.

This was an unobtrusive small roadside house, with not even a signboard. Lynch had no intention of putting up a sign—it was only a piece of toilet paper, used and discarded whenever necessary, not preserved perpetually.

Shortly after the police left, Mr. Fox personally brought people, entering through the back door. When they saw the three cases and an additional ten thousand dollars of cash in the room, everyone’s breathing became heavy and urgent.

"How much is here?" Mr. Fox, after handling money for half his life, felt like he returned to his state twenty years ago, youthful, excited, and energized.

He gently caressed the cash within the suitcase, carefully as if stroking a lover’s skin.

"One point six million exactly," Lynch approached the case, pulling out six bundles from the suitcase, placing them with another ten thousand, "This is my share."

Mr. Fox stared at Lynch, showing slight changes in his expression, first fierce, then softening quickly, nodding, "You deserve this!"

Lynch put the money aside, then returned to the office, somehow producing proof documents and handed them over.

"This is issued by the bank, and witnessed by the local police station, the cash withdrawal certificate. When you pay large sums of cash again, if anyone questions the legality of your cash, you can show them this."

"By the way, it’s best to make a copy; you’ll use it frequently!"

If Mr. Fox had expressed displeasure with Lynch taking money previously, Lynch would not have provided this proof. He has ways to make Mr. Fox spit out his share with interest.

Fortunately, faced with such a large sum, Mr. Fox maintained his integrity, avoiding much trouble.

While flipping through the proofs, Mr. Fox instinctively asked, "Does that mean I can have more money..." He looked up at Lynch, who nodded, causing Mr. Fox’s face to wrinkle into a smile.

He patted Lynch’s shoulder and added another bundle...two bundles to Lynch’s share as a reward.

With this documentation, his remaining money can see the light, and not only that, all his funds can, thanks to this proof and Lynch’s assistance.

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