"Gentlen, we will be written into textbooks, we will beco people that every banker, every rchant in the future must know!"
Sitting at the head of the table, Mr. Herbs had lost his royal prince deanor and his graceful air; he was rely a drunken reveler.
The alcohol made his mind a bit out of control, but he didn’t care if he looked ridiculous from the perspective of others, as they were even more laughable. He only wanted to indulge recklessly for a while.
With so much money made, if this couldn’t allow him pleasure, then what about being written into history books or textbooks?
He clearly felt a bit dizzy, yet his spirit was unprecedentedly lively and excited, "Think about it, gentlen, how will people in the future evaluate us?"
"Excellent bankers? Or successful bankers?"
Under his influence, the atmosphere in the room beca unprecedentedly fervent; people were all watching him. To be written into history books and textbooks positively was definitely a realm that capitalists pursued.
People cannot achieve eternal life, but a spirit, a theory, a few glorious deeds can help a person achieve eternal life. Capitalists also want "eternal life," which is a pursuit of every intelligent being.
"Lynch will be underneath us, like a clown highlighting our greatness, gentlen, let’s drink this cup down to the dregs (let us enjoy drinking this cup of fine wine), in celebration of our place in history!"
"Cheers!"
"Cheers!!"
The frenzied people raised their glasses high and gulped down the alcoholic beverages; so drank while vomiting, so fell back into their chairs after drinking, but soon beca frenzied again.
With profits in the billions, this might be the most dazzling mont of their lives, and after concluding this business, so of them could retire directly!
A lot of the money in the bankers’ hands is not their own, or rather most bankers are "poor," with only a small portion of the wealth they hold being theirs.
For instance, Mr. Herbs is the richest one here, but about fifty percent of the money he holds belongs to the King, who lives like a poor man wearing cheap coarse cloth all day long, living a ager life as if he were a lower-class person!
His own money is just a small fraction, most of it belongs to the King and so ministers. Other bankers are the sa; their money cos from so investors.
If they hadn’t missed this opportunity... no, they couldn’t miss it, they already persuaded Gafura’s Minister of Finance to side with them in this matter, and Emperor Gafura approved of this notion, they were certain to win.
They used other people’s capital to multiply their wealth several tis or even dozens of tis, and they could completely retire directly.
This amount of money is too much, so much that everyone’s heart at this mont is excited, is joyous!
Those gentlen who vomited a lot casually pulled out a few ten Fla notes from their pockets and threw them on their vomit, presumably, the cleaners not only won’t curse at them for vomiting everywhere but will also thank them for their generosity, this is the value of money and the joy it brings.
The revelry continued; in this place, a group of people were drunkenly reveling, but they did not stop there. These bankers, averaging over forty-five years of age, still wanted to continue the revelry.
They found a famous nightclub and dove in, calling all the girls to drink with them.
This was sothing worth celebrating; it couldn’t be just them being happy, others should be happy too.
So had discontent towards these noisy gentlen, but it vanished quickly with the notice "All expenses are covered by Mr. Herbs," so even sent their greetings via the waiters—if fortunate, they’d like to have a drink with Mr. Herbs.
Overall, after a night of endless swinging and madness, people began to pay the price for the night’s madness the next day, Herbs smiled bitterly as he struggled out of the entwined limbs; his body was sore, his age no longer allowed him to crusade like a young chap, most of the ti he just lay quietly, but last night, he felt like he went back to his twentieth sumr...
Now, he started to regret it.
"Really shouldn’t have drunk!" he complained once, yelled a couple of tis, and imdiately his butler ca in.
Seeing a hint of difficult-to-hide smile on the butler’s face, Herbs complained, "You should have stopped ...", he said and stopped because he knew no one would have been able to stop him then, "Alright, laugh if you want, damn it, help up, my back is hurting terribly!"
Under the butler’s assistance, Mr. Herbs stood up, changed his clothes and exhaled heavily, "I have a bit of a headache."
He said this as he walked out, the harmful effects of alcoholic beverages on the brain hadn’t been discovered by people, but they soon would.
Once out the door, two well-dressed young n stood up; they were the "brokers" of those girls, these people saw the wealth of Mr. Herbs and his friends yesterday, hence were particularly respectful now, bowing their heads and greeted Mr. Herbs.
"Don’t worry, I’m not an unreasonable bastard, I may look terrible, but I’m a man of integrity!" he pulled out his checkbook, wrote a set of numbers and his na on it, then handed it over.
Under the gaze of the two young n, Mr. Herbs quickly left the place.
"What’s my schedule for today?" Mr. Herbs asked while sitting in the back seat of the car, watching the street scene outside, feeling the strength of this country.
"You have an interview with a financial magazine at two o’clock, lasting about forty minutes to an hour, then there’s an afternoon tea salon, ending at around four-thirty to five o’clock, no later than five. Then you’ll have so rest ti, in the evening you have dinner with the Minister of Finance..."
The butler neatly arranged the whole day’s schedule; normally, Mr. Herbs would comnt on or modify the itinerary, in short, he’d express his thoughts and attitude on the day’s schedule.
This habit had persisted for decades and wasn’t easy to change, yet today Mr. Herbs said nothing, causing the butler to turn around curiously for a glance.
Mr. Herbs held the Civilization Staff’s head with both hands, a golden lion’s head the size of a child’s fist, plain without any gemstone adornnt.
Every country has its style; in the Federation, Mr. Herbs’ Civilization Staff had a hawk-like head and was adorned with gems.
The hawk embodies the Federation’s yearning for freedom and adventure, and colorful gemstones wouldn’t make Federals think it was unsteady; they liked that kind of Civilization Staff.
While in Gafura, a monarchical state, where the social atmosphere is relatively solemn, the solid gold, unadorned lion aligns more with this place’s aesthetic.
Such Civilization Staffs of different styles appropriate to different locations, Mr. Herbs owned many.
At this mont, his hands were stacked upon each other pressing on the head of the Civilization Staff, yet his eyes were gazing at the street outside the car window, seemingly contemplating sothing.
The butler dared not disturb, raising the partition glass between the driver’s seat and the back compartnt, providing Mr. Herbs with the most quiet environnt possible.
At this mont, Mr. Herbs was considering a question—Is Lynch an idiot?
After the frenzied outburst, so repressed emotions were released, and he began reflecting on the question: is Lynch an idiot?
Federation people used all kinds of titles to praise Lynch, even calling him the leader of the new generation in the Federation; in short, he was excellent at everything.
Young, handso, cultured, friendly with people from all walks of life, such a person might seem overly packaged, but was he an idiot?
Could he not know what he was doing?
If he did know, why did he do it?
This question inexplicably surged into his mind, making him faintly uneasy; everything seed too smooth for him, smooth as if Lynch was his long-lost father intentionally sending him a fortune.
But he knew this couldn’t be true; there surely hid secrets unknown to people.
He held firm one point, that all actions ultimately aim for personal gain, no one could be foolish enough to selflessly give themselves away, even if such people existed, they wouldn’t beco successful rchants, successful capitalists.
Yet, he couldn’t pinpoint any flaw anywhere, the only risk in Lynch’s dealings with him and others lay in whether Gafura would allow him to cash his bonds before June, in that case, Lynch wouldn’t need to pay any interest.
But he couldn’t take the money Mr. Herbs and others lent him; that money was borrowed, not exchanged. By the contract’s expiry date, he had to repay everyone this amount, or they wouldn’t only repossess those bonds but sue him.
Lynch’s risk was too high, but where was his profit?
Almost invisible, which was very abnormal; there must be sothing wrong, it’s just that Mr. Herbs montarily couldn’t identify it.
The sudden worries left his expression not as relaxed as yesterday, ultimately he still convinced himself, this matter shouldn’t encounter any issues beyond his plan.
After all, Gafura’s Minister of Finance has been "persuaded" by him, plus through the mouth of the Minister of Finance, he similarly persuaded Emperor Gafura.
With a country’s emperor supporting this view, others, even if they intended to change this outco, shouldn’t find it an easy task, should they?
As he thought of this, he exhaled, maybe everything was just his nerves?
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