Lynch left after nine in the evening. Normally, Mr. Wadrick, as the host, should have shown the noble courtesy of inviting Lynch to stay the night, especially since it was late and leaving then would breach social etiquette.
In the past, when transportation was difficult and society less stable, traveling at night was dangerous whether by carriage, driving, or on foot. Hosts would always insist guests stay overnight to avoid risk.
Though society was safer now, the custom remained mostly symbolic, and guests often declined to stay.
But Wadrick didn’t make a polite offer to keep Lynch. He was uncertain about Lynch’s intentions—what if Lynch really stayed? Wadrick had just rejected his own daughter, and if they t again the next morning, who knew what might happen.
So he smiled with a please leave soon look and silently watched Lynch’s carriage depart before returning to his room and then to Severella’s.
He even complained to the butler, “Our house really needs an elevator. I know so think it’s inappropriate for a house like this, but I’m getting old. Climbing stairs is exhausting!”
The butler promised to arrange it soon—new designs, renovations, and elevator installation.
On the fourth floor, Wadrick found Severella, who looked like she’d just been crying. As a father, he had to comfort her.
“You shouldn’t be sad over soone who doesn’t like you. Besides your mother and , no one else will be heartbroken over you,” Wadrick said, his words unexpectedly tender despite his status.
Severella shook her head, staring at him. “I’m not sad because Lynch rejected . What hurts is that talented people would rather soil themselves to avoid , while those who just want to father your grandchild line up outside like wild dogs.”
“I’m upset for myself—good people won’t accept , and the only ones who do are wild dogs!”
Wadrick was montarily speechless. “People say strange things when upset. You don’t need to tear yourself down like this.”
“Not choosing you is his loss, not yours!” he said firmly, unwilling to argue with his emotional daughter.
Severella shot back quickly and sharply, “He left with a smile while I sat here crying. I’m not sure whose loss it really is.”
“Uh… alright, looks like you need to calm down first,” he raised his hands in surrender. He could only continue this talk after she cooled off, or he’d go crazy.
He left her with the housekeeper to prevent any impulsive actions, then he and his wife left the room.
On their way back, both felt somber.
As lady of the house, Wadrick’s wife softly said, “Actually, Lynch hasn’t done badly…”
In their circle, only a few stayed clean; most were complicated, like her brothers—beyond complicated, chaotic.
Compared to those ssy but worthless people, Lynch scored high.
Wadrick shook his head. “It’s not that simple. Lynch has his own people; so do we. You’re oversimplifying things. Have you forgotten what happened when we first married?”
His wife recalled. “Sorry, I did think it was simple. Seeing her cry like that… as a mother, it hurts.”
“She’ll be fine—she’s my daughter.”
Early in their marriage, their two families fought fiercely over who would lead the new household.
Wadrick was the leader, but what about the board mbers, the chairman?
Who would manage each business? Two sets of leaders? What to do with the extras?
One misstep could bring chaos and shake the family’s foundation. Luckily, Wadrick’s skill managed these issues. But if Severella chose a powerful husband to form a strong alliance, conflict was inevitable. 𝘳𝙖ŊổᛒĘŜ
Lynch’s dominance wouldn’t allow outsiders into his inner circle. That ant people Wadrick and Severella trusted could be pushed out or attacked by Lynch’s faction, sparking fierce conflict.
If they lost, Severella couldn’t protect them. Clearly, she wasn’t Lynch’s match.
Wadrick’s life’s work—his business empire—could collapse quickly.
Those holding core secrets might defect in groups, join rivals, or start their own ventures. Wadrick’s legacy could vanish—that was his greatest fear.
He had always thought Severella’s husband could be from a big family but must not be too strong to overshadow her. Only then could their legacy continue.
Severella’s earlier point was valid: talented n would avoid her, or else Wadrick would suppress and train them to be docile.
Only those content with comfort and a prestigious na were her best prospects.
His wife wanted to say more but remained silent.
Wadrick was stubborn; his countless successes built his confidence and firmness in judgnt.
The next day, Lynch’s photo topped major newspapers: a young man amassing ten billion Valier in two years—shaking the entire Federation.
Even if converted to Federation Sol, it was around eighty to ninety million, still staggering.
Five shipping containers filled to overflowing with cash.
The dia frenzy was intense. So dug into Lynch’s past—his bold gamble on shifting Federation-Gephra relations, successfully buying war bonds low.
Each business plan seed almost magical, like a divine prodigy’s. Though there were occasional losses, they were rare and negligible compared to profits.
Major dia, TV stations, and show producers scrambled to invite Lynch.
The Federation’s biggest TV station offered 600,000 Sol for a less-than-two-hour talk show appearance.
This was partly due to sponsors and advertisers willing to foot much of the bill if Lynch appeared.
The first show Lynch appeared on was Ora 90, a ninety-minute talk program.
The host was a woman who went by the stage na Ora. Reportedly, she ca from a powerful political family.
Her strong background made her fearless against any backlash; from the start, she planned to challenge guests without holding back.
She asked sharp, tough questions that made guests uncomfortable, exposing the masks of powerful figures or tearing open their wounds.
Male guests storming off in anger and female guests breaking down in tears beca the show’s biggest highlights.
Her strong background made her immune to backlash and gave her invitations an irresistible weight. In just six months, the show beca the Federation’s hottest program, as people loved watching powerful figures reveal their vulnerable sides.
At 8:45 p.m., Lynch arrived at the studio, about twenty minutes before going on air.
From 9 to 11 p.m. was pri ti, when major shows competed fiercely for ratings.
To maximize the effect, Lynch’s appearance was live. If any mishaps occurred, ads might interrupt, but there was no chance to edit.
Showing guests’ truest selves live was the show’s hallmark. Compared to pre-recorded sobbing or angry exits, live monts felt far more genuine.
Before going on, the director told Lynch, “Mr. Lynch, I must remind you again—there’s no script, no plan, no teleprompter. Everything is a natural conversation.”
“If you get asked sothing you can’t answer, you can refuse… Sotis the host provokes guests, so don’t fall for it!”
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