Blackstone Code

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"Is this all?" The deputy minister stood in front of the mirror in his hotel room, adjusting his attire as he prepared for the evening banquet. Though only a few hours had passed since he last donned the outfit, minor imperfections were already beginning to show.

Of course, these issues would be invisible to most people. For instance, tiny threads at the seams where fabric panels were stitched together—only detectable under a magnifying glass due to overly enthusiastic movements. Or the faint wrinkle that had formed on the inner elbow of his sleeve. Perhaps the shoulder pads had shifted slightly out of place and required readjustment.

These were minute details, but for someone who prided himself on perfection, even the smallest flaw was unacceptable. Two tailors with reading glasses hovered around him, inspecting every inch of his suit.

Through the reflection in the mirror, the deputy minister's gaze lingered briefly on Lynch's face before returning to his own image. He tilted his chin upward, exuding an air of quiet vanity.

"I think I understand your point, Mr. Lynch," he said, his tone laced with polite indifference. "I appreciate your diligence in pointing out such matters, but frankly, these are things we should overlook. They aren't worth mentioning."

"This is a diplomatic exchange between two nations—a gathering of merchants, nothing more. These people can neither alter nor influence any decisions made by us."

"Still, I must thank you, Mr. Lynch. I've always believed that attitude determines success."

After Lynch bid farewell and left the room, the deputy minister allowed a flicker of disdain to cross his face, quickly concealing it behind a practiced mask. He knew Lynch was close to Mr. Truman, which was precisely why he disliked him—an instinctive aversion.

And truthfully, he genuinely considered the information Lynch provided unimportant. Establishing diplomatic relations with Nagalier was a directive from the presidential palace, confirmed by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Once national power was set into motion, the influence of merchants became negligible. Perhaps they held some sway in the past, but not anymore.

……

Upon leaving the room, Lynch sought out Mr. Truman. He felt it prudent to inform him of the matter, sensing a starkly different response here.

"This is significant," Truman said, rising abruptly from his seat. He had been resting after spending the morning enjoying the sea breeze, but now he couldn't sit still.

Pacing back and forth across the room, he stopped to look at Lynch. "This news is crucial. Lately, I've been pondering something: why are certain media outlets opposing our stance?"

He briefly outlined his thoughts. While the federal government hadn't aggressively promoted its diplomatic engagements with Nagalier, there had been positive coverage nonetheless. Yet, some media channels persistently undermined these efforts, smearing the Nagalier government and criticizing the potential harm of establishing ties with such a nation.

Some even claimed that Nagalier would become a burden dragging down the federation's progress. With so many existing problems within the federation, taking on a poorer and less developed country would only worsen living conditions for everyone.

Such rhetoric found fertile ground among those eager to stand out by embracing contrarian views. Conspiratorial thinking dominated their perspectives, whether regarding politics or everyday life. To them, the government was inherently corrupt, and officials irredeemably evil.

Give them a plausible narrative, no matter how flimsy, and they could stir up chaos effortlessly. After all, the federation prided itself on freedom.

If protests erupted during this diplomatic mission—demonstrations against establishing relations, attacks on the delegation's convoy, or insults hurled at representatives and their homeland—the entire endeavor could collapse without much effort. It wouldn't cost much—just enough money to rally a group of gullible followers willing to act as pawns.

"I'll handle this immediately," Truman declared, striding toward the telephone. Picking up the receiver, he dialed the Baylor Federation's National Security Council. Without looking up, he added, "Close the door when you leave. And what's the name of that person again?"

"Pretton."

---

Meanwhile, the man they were discussing—Mr. Pretton—had already arrived in the Baylor Federation and spent over a week in Bupayne.

"I like it here," he mused, dressed in attire perfectly suited for a tourist: a trendy yet informal floral shirt paired with tailored shorts—a style gaining popularity despite its awkwardness. Not everyone could endure sweltering heat while wearing full formalwear, especially not overweight individuals prone to heatstroke if overdressed.

Tailored shorts offered a compromise—they resembled regular shorts but mimicked the design of formal trousers. Though Lynch found them somewhat incongruous, they were undeniably fashionable.

Pretton lounged on a water-filled sofa, patting its surface and watching ripples spread amusingly beneath him. Around him sat several key partners—or major shareholders—of Pretton Trading House.

From the moment Lynch appeared in Nagalier, Pretton had taken notice of the young man. Unlike other opportunists flocking to Nagalier seeking refuge from failed ventures in their home countries, Lynch stood apart. Most businessmen arriving in Nagalier carried debts and desperation; Lynch, however, thrived domestically in the Baylor Federation.

Pretton's investigations revealed Lynch's prosperous enterprises back home, confirming his suspicions. This wasn't just another merchant trying to settle old scores or escape financial ruin. No, Lynch was a predator—a wolf stalking larger prey.

Unlike typical traders content with repaying debts and amassing wealth in Nagalier, Lynch aimed higher. A third-party probe confirmed this: Lynch showed no interest in joining Pretton Trading House or earning steady profits through quotas. Their paths diverged fundamentally.

When whispers began circulating in Nagalier about engaging more actively with developed nations to transition from agrarian roots to partial industrialization, Pretton suspected Lynch's handiwork. Thus, he traveled to the federation upon receiving further intelligence.

As an internationally renowned businessman, Pretton wielded connections here. Over recent days, he signed countless checks, funneling funds to conservative parties, socialist factions, media outlets, and activists alike, spreading propaganda against establishing ties with Nagalier.

Indeed, he liked this place—and meant every word. In Gevra, accepting bribes invited scrutiny and fear of imperial oversight. Here, donations labeled "political contributions" enjoyed legal protection. Politicians obliged donors openly, a concept unimaginable in stricter regimes.

Born into a monarchy, Pretton admired this laissez-faire environment, envying local entrepreneurs thriving amidst complacent governance.

"A relaxed atmosphere, open-minded citizens, and a hands-off government make this ideal for commerce. Unfortunately, we discovered it too late."

"But that won't stop me from enjoying it. Look at this water sofa and bed! Remind me to take some back when we leave—I never want to sleep on springs again."

Pretton chuckled, marveling at his surroundings. "If not for those traitors betraying my friendship, I might never have come here. Should I thank them?"

His companions laughed politely, though the joke fell flat.

Gradually, Pretton sobered, staring silently at familiar faces on television. Despite his denials, Pretton Trading House represented Nagalier's third ruling class alongside political and religious authorities. His pride stemmed from knowing both politicians and clerics relied on him occasionally—but now, that pride faced dissolution.

Should Nagalier establish diplomatic ties with the Baylor Federation, Pretton Trading House's relevance would crumble. Orders could bypass them entirely, rendering their decades-long enterprise obsolete overnight.

He refused to let that happen. Using every resource at his disposal, Pretton vowed to thwart this impending catastrophe.

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