Blackstone Code Chapter 746: Confrontation

“This is… unbelievable!”

In the office of the Second Enforcent Division of the Ministry of Internal Security, Imperial Capital Branch of the Gephra Empire, Lynch stared at the docunts in his hand in disbelief.

His expression showed just the right amount of grief and shock—no, it wasn’t just for show. It was genuine.

That was truly what he felt at this mont.

He placed the docunts back on the table, crossed his legs, and lit a cigarette.

Lynch didn’t smoke to get a nicotine boost or trigger dopamine release. What he needed was a prop—sothing small, ordinary, and capable of diverting attention at any ti.

A cigarette, a pen, a nail clipper—they all worked. But compared to the latter two, cigarettes drew less suspicion, making them easier to use.

Strangely, most people paid little attention to a cigarette in soone’s hand during a conversation. They would simply overlook it.

But the mont ash dropped to the floor, onto a file, or got stubbed out in an ashtray, it would instantly pull people’s focus—even if just for a second or two.

But it worked. Their minds would wander— This jerk dropped ash on my file, or Doesn’t he realize that ash is about to fall? or eventually, Finally done, I was about to lose it.

These tiny tricks could have powerful effects. When people’s attention was diverted, they often reacted instinctively, nearly reflexively.

Everyone had these reflexes, but trained individuals could suppress them with logic. Only when their focus wavered did those instincts resurface.

Also, ideas—true thoughts—don’t appear instantly. There’s always a process, and that process can be interrupted.

Like when a mother is walking toward her child while saying sothing, but if the child asks her to repeat it, she might instantly forget what she was just saying or even what she intended to do.

These small distractions could achieve the sa result—if tid right.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Lynch raised his cigarette. The internal affairs prosecutor sitting across from him shook his head.

Internal affairs prosecutors were a special breed—like the Security Council, focused on cases threatening national security. But these were limited to dostic issues involving governnt officials or nobles.

If no officials or nobles were involved, the case would go to the Seventh Police Unit—often referred to as the emperor’s hounds.

Gephrans could be odd like that. They deeply respected and adored their emperor, yet at tis showed extre cynicism. This contradiction was part of their national character.

“Baron Lynch, do you know this Mr. Richard?” The prosecutor’s expression was neutral—like soone freshly out of bed. No emotion, no clues.

Lynch nodded, picked up the docunts again, and glanced over them. “Richard was once one of my business partners. But later, due to…”—he shook his head—“…so ideological differences, we stopped working together.”

“You don’t think I did it, do you?” Lynch laughed—a hearty, relaxed laugh, not the least bit nervous.

That response made the prosecutor realize that if Lynch had done it, they were facing a formidable opponent. He acted like soone professionally trained. No tells in his facial muscles, his eyes, his pupils, or his micro-expressions. No flaws.

That ant either he was innocent—or this had been ticulously planned.

But it didn’t quite add up. The prosecutor had read Lynch’s file. He wasn’t trained by federal intelligence services. His history was far too well-docunted.

So well-docunted, in fact, that no real intelligence operative could ever fake it so cleanly.

His file covered every step of his life—down to the high school he attended and which class he was in.

Anyone investigating could contact his old classmates or their parents, show them photos, and verify Lynch’s identity.

With the right questions and tifra, it would be easy to check whether he’d ever gone missing or been in contact with certain agencies.

Normally, spy backgrounds are fuzzy, not this detailed and consistent.

Of course, what the prosecutor didn’t know was that in another world, Lynch had undergone the harshest interrogations and survived more than a dozen techniques. This level of questioning was no more than small talk to him.

The prosecutor refocused. He pulled out a few photos and placed them on the desk. “After arriving in the Empire, you t with Richard several tis. What did you talk about?”

Lynch glanced at the photos. They were clear, well-angled, and frad to highlight Lynch’s face.

They were taken of him, but Richard was also in the shots.

“I already said—we ended our partnership in the Federation due to differences. When I ca here for the ennoblent, I happened to run into him. So we chatted.”

“You don’t think I’m the type who always hopes his forr partners end up worse off than him, or go bankrupt, do you?”

His clean face bore a naturally trustworthy smile. “I just heard his company was going public. I congratulated him on his success.”

The prosecutor stared at Lynch. Seeing that the current line of questioning led nowhere, he decided to step it up. “We found a letter in Richard’s breast pocket. Would you like to know what it said?”

Lynch nodded. “I’m curious.”

“You don’t want to read it?” The prosecutor followed up quickly, trying to cut off Lynch’s ti to think.

But that trick…

Lynch responded just as fast. “Can you casually show a key piece of evidence like that to a civilian?”

The prosecutor: “Or is it that you already know what was written on it?”

Lynch laughed again. “You shouldn’t be a prosecutor. Maybe a warlock—or a psychic would suit you better.”

Neither man avoided the other’s gaze. But then, the prosecutor’s attention was drawn to a bit of falling ash on the table. In that brief mont—less than half a second—their eyes broke contact and didn’t et again.

Troubling. The prosecutor remained uneasy about Lynch.

He frowned slightly as he returned to his thoughts. Lynch was a noble. Even though internal affairs targeted nobles and officials, without solid evidence, they couldn’t touch a noble.

Otherwise, if the Privy Council nobles raised a fuss, even the emperor would have to back down.

That brief exchange made the prosecutor rethink things. He had planned to ask more aggressive questions, but realized—it wasn’t the right ti.

“Baron Lynch, this case involves national security. Until the investigation concludes, you are not permitted to leave the Empire. I hope you understand.”

“If anything cos up, I’ll contact you. Of course, if you find any leads or useful information, feel free to call .”

The prosecutor handed over a business card. Lynch casually stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and carefully put the card away—or at least made it look that way.

“Well then?” Lynch spoke with a tone that hinted it was ti to wrap things up.

The prosecutor wasn’t eager to end the questioning. The first three days after a case breaks are the golden window for solving it. If the suspect isn’t caught in that ti, evidence loses value, and the perpetrator becos more ntally stable and harder to crack.

But after having his montum broken twice, the prosecutor realized pressing on would be pointless. He stood up and walked Lynch to the door. “Thank you for your cooperation, Baron Lynch. I apologize for taking up your personal ti.”

Lynch’s smile didn’t fade. He shook the prosecutor’s hand with a slight, casual movent. “I may not be a citizen of the Empire, but I respect its laws and care about its security. If you need anything from , don’t hesitate to call.”

“You definitely know my number.” There was a faint trace of sarcasm in his voice, but it wasn’t overbearing.

Lynch didn’t give the prosecutor his card, nor did he provide his address or phone number—but both of them knew Lynch wasn’t wrong.

The prosecutor nodded and let go of his hand.

Watching Lynch’s back as he walked away, the prosecutor remained convinced—no matter what, Lynch was involved in this case.

Richard’s death caused massive upheaval. After its IPO, Harmony Capital’s market value had reached nearly 600 million (Gaels), and the fifth round of gold bonds was still selling like wildfire.

Now, reports surfaced that Harmony Capital had falsified its data, possibly running a high-level scam, and that its largest shareholder had allegedly committed suicide out of guilt. The entire nation was shaken.

Protests had already begun in the capital, with people demanding the governnt use Harmony Capital’s funds to reimburse buyers of the fifth round of bonds.

But investors from earlier rounds disagreed, and people from across the country were heading to the capital.

The case rocked not only the Empire—but the entire world.

The next day, The Federal Tis reported the incident. Including losses in the stock market, Harmony Capital had created a financial black hole of over one billion Federal Sols.

The Federation’s second-phase submarine budget had only been approved for seven hundred million.