Chapter 898: Golden Experience

Capitalists are always well-dressed and impeccably polite. They present their best side to the public, to the point that many not-so-bright citizens mistakenly believe that capital itself is just as polite.

But capital is never polite. That image is just a disguise—like predators hiding in the dark, evolving seemingly fragile features to lure in prey before striking.

In a brightly lit room, traders were rapidly operating a multitude of different accounts.

To swallow EveryMoment, they had borrowed thousands of stock accounts from brokerage firms.

Yes, brokerage firms often do this. Clients authorize brokers to fully manage their accounts, including buying and selling.

This means, when necessary, the firm can trade using these accounts without client consent—buying or selling at will.

There were scandals like this in recent years. A client might see potential in a stock and want to buy, but if the broker disagreed, they would only pretend to buy it.

When the stock dropped, they’d lecture the client about the importance of cutting losses.

If the client agreed, the broker would use underhanded methods to siphon the money from the client’s account into their own.

This practice is called black trading in Eminence. It’s not a real financial transaction—it’s a fabricated, formal-looking scam.

But brokers aren’t always right. If they’re wrong, they have to cover the client’s profits with their own losses. The more the client earns, the more the broker loses. So they try to convince clients not to sell.

If clients don’t sell, no cash-out occurs, and that means more time for the market to shift.

If the stock eventually crashes, the broker might even make a profit.

If a client insists on selling and the broker’s loss is minor, they’ll reluctantly accept it. But if the loss is tens or hundreds of thousands, it can turn into a serious issue.

Behind every exposed black trade scandal is always a stock defying the market—rising when everything else is falling. Its relentless rise drives brokers to ruin.

Besides this, brokers also make money by temporarily leasing these accounts to other companies.

This is illegal, but also a known unspoken rule in Eminence.

In capital warfare, ambush is key—but unlike real-world combat, there’s no way to hide soldiers in unseen places.

In finance, capital flows are all too obvious to the trained eye.

So they need help: someone to break the funds into smaller accounts, scatter them, and later re-consolidate when the time is right.

Whether it’s legal doesn’t matter. The accounts are technically under brokerage management. If anything goes wrong, it’s the brokerage’s problem.

“Boss, we’ve taken in 9%. Others are doing the same. I think it’s time to move.”

“There’s no point in waiting any longer.”

But the man called boss wasn’t the real boss.

Even though EveryMoment’s valuation had hit a historic low, it’s still a company worth hundreds of millions, and the next phase of the battle would be even fiercer.

The boss hesitated. “Let’s keep acquiring… I need to think about this.”

He returned to a side room. Some fools believed him when he said he needed quiet to reflect and rest.

But the smart ones knew what he was really doing—reporting to someone higher up, someone with the power to make the final call.

Just before the market closed, a newly established company suddenly announced it held more than 7% of EveryMoment’s shares and would launch a takeover bid.

The entire Eminence market was shaken.

Even more shocking—five minutes later, another just-formed company declared it held 10% of EveryMoment and would also begin a takeover.

Suddenly, EveryMoment became the hottest topic among Eminence’s financial community. From high-end cafés to fine restaurants, roadside grills to even homeless people in Eminence Park—everyone was talking about it.

Not just because of EveryMoment’s size—buying it would cost billions—but because in a country with just over 200 companies per capita, a billion-Sol acquisition could dominate headlines for weeks.

“Mr. Lynch, there’s a call for you…” A young maid approached Lynch and bowed, showing him respect.

Ever since the day she was beaten up” her life had changed completely.

Not her preferences or desires—her circumstances.

The community service company made her a full employee. Along with a raise, she now had insurance.

Some say insurance is the greatest scam ever created by politicians and capitalists.

Social insurance can only be paid by employers—an often-criticized rule.

In other words, if someone wants social insurance, including future retirement benefits, they must work for capitalists—only capitalists are allowed to pay into the system.

In a Federation where wealth means heaven and poverty means hell, those who lose the ability to work are quickly discarded by society.

Banks will evict them from their homes for failing to pay property taxes or basic expenses. Their houses will be auctioned.

Whatever money they have left will soon run out. In the end, they’ll live out their days in public parks.

But retirement insurance changes everything. There are three levels, each with different payouts. The highest tier allows a retired corporate employee to do nothing and still collect nearly 800 a month.

Even those on the lowest tier can receive nearly 200 a month.

It’s enough to sustain a basic life.

But there’s a catch—a 30-year contribution period. Though there are rumors the new president might reduce it to 20–25 years, the odds are slim and opposition is strong.

How many thirty-year spans does a person get in life?

That’s why at 18, after graduation, one must enter the workforce immediately—there’s no time to waste.

College graduates have it even worse. After graduation, they can’t freely switch jobs. If they go a few years without working, their pension contributions will be completely cut off—and with that, their security in old age.

The young girl had made some intermittent contributions before. She never felt the urgency—until now.

The community was now paying for her mid-tier insurance. If she kept this job long-term, she could expect to receive around 350 per month in retirement benefits, based on current purchasing power.

Combined with the extra money Penny gave her, the whole world suddenly felt alive.

Lynch looked at the maid without any embarrassment. They were both adults. If she didn’t agree, she could have spoken up.

Lynch had never been the kind to force anyone. He simply wouldn’t.

Her silence and lack of resistance meant she had accepted the arrangement.

“Tell them I’m not here,” Lynch said, shaking his head and continuing to watch TV.

The maid turned and walked to the phone, casually brushed off the caller, and hung up.

The person on the other end knew Lynch was home but clearly realized he didn’t want to take the call. It was obvious.

If Lynch truly hadn’t been home, the maid wouldn’t have had to check if he wanted to answer. Her going to ask meant he was definitely there—he just didn’t want to respond.

“Is that something Penny asked you to wear?”

While the maid was cleaning nearby, Lynch caught a glimpse of the collar around her neck. It looked like the kind a puppy would wear—except hers didn’t have a name tag.

Her cheeks flushed red. She shook her head. “I heard from Miss Penny that you like this sort of thing, so I…” She bit her lip and didn’t finish.

Some things are easier to do than to say. When people do them, they convince themselves it’s just a physical reaction—but saying it out loud implies a shift in mindset. She wasn’t ready for that yet. It was a complicated feeling.

Back in school, many people had pursued her. Back then, she felt like the entire Federation revolved around her.

But now, she saw the world for what it was. If giving up a little in a small way meant living better, with more dignity in society, she was willing.

“Did the community service company give you a new contract?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I was just about to tell you, Mr. Lynch. Thank you so much for speaking on my behalf…”

To her, it could change her entire future. But for Lynch, it wasn’t even a bother. The community service company was proud to have Mr. Lynch associated with their work.

Damn this capitalist society.

This sweet, intoxicating capitalist experience.