Blackstone Code

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Perhaps it was the desire to leave a good impression on his new boss, or perhaps it was an unconscious effort to prove his worth—either way, Liam's attitude had shifted without him even realizing it.

"Radio technology is one of the most widely used cutting-edge innovations today," he said, tilting his head slightly. All around them, nearly every invention seemed to have some connection to radio waves.

People believed that radio technology could change the world—and indeed, it already had. But beyond that, they trusted it would continue to reshape the planet for the better.

"I'm no expert in this field," Liam admitted, "but this inventor is seeking at least ten thousand bucks in funding through small yellow sheets to support his research. If you're interested in either the technology or the person behind it, I suggest contacting him directly."

The small yellow sheets Liam was selling came with a seventy-five percent markup. In simpler terms, if Lynch wanted to acquire partial rights to the invention by purchasing these sheets, he'd end up paying nearly double what he would by dealing directly with the inventor—about ten thousand bucks more.

Liam was determined to demonstrate his value, and Lynch's subtle encouragement gave him hope. Just a few words from Lynch made Liam feel as though the era itself had extended its hand toward him.

He wasn't some naive young graduate fresh out of school. He understood that his worth lay in creating value for Lynch—and this was precisely how he intended to do so.

"May I see those small yellow sheets?" Lynch asked suddenly. Liam hesitated for a moment but quickly recovered. "Of course, Mr. Lynch."

He opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of low-quality, yellow-backed securities. To cut costs, stock brokerage firms avoided using premium glossy paper or expensive printing techniques, let alone any anti-counterfeiting measures. If they did use such materials, they might actually lose money.

Not all small yellow sheets sold out completely; some remained unsold, while others weren't purchased at all. To mitigate risk and maximize profits, brokers sometimes pressured salespeople like Liam to buy the leftover shares themselves—a condition for keeping their jobs.

It sounded absurd, but this sort of thing happened every day. For brokerage firms, swindling money from desperate entrepreneurs, uninformed investors, or even their own sales staff amounted to the same thing. As long as cash flowed into company coffers, they cared little about anyone else's plight.

If Liam failed to sell off his quota by month's end, he faced two grim options: unemployment or shelling out his own money to purchase the remaining shares.

This was Lynch's first encounter with small yellow sheets. Holding one felt akin to handling cheap poster paper meant for hastily printed announcements—it seemed flimsy and easily torn.

"It looks fragile," Lynch remarked, shaking one lightly. The sheet emitted a faint crackling sound—an oddity.

Liam chuckled awkwardly. "We don't concern ourselves with what happens after they're sold."

"How many have you sold?" Lynch inquired.

Liam hesitated, then confessed, "Only a hundred shares so far. The rest are still here..."

One hundred shares amounted to thirty-five bucks, netting Liam five bucks. His claim of earning over a thousand monthly was merely a conversational tactic—a sleight of hand.

Lynch didn't reproach him. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully. "A hundred shares? Trivial. Now, take me to meet this inventor. Perhaps we'll have a pleasant conversation."

Shortly thereafter, they approached a booth where a presentation had just concluded. A man in his late thirties was packing up his equipment, his expression tinged with frustration.

Noticing their approach, he glanced sideways before resuming his task.

"You seem angry," Lynch quipped with a smile.

The comment ignited the inventor's temper. He spun around, glaring fiercely. "If someone called your invention a piece of crap, wouldn't you be angry too?"

"If you're here to mock me, I won't hesitate to throw a punch—or two." His voice carried across the room, drawing curious stares. Pointing toward the exit, he barked, "Leave. Get out of my sight."

Liam immediately stepped forward, pulling the inventor aside and whispering something. A minute later, the inventor returned to Lynch, visibly embarrassed, offering an apology for his earlier outburst.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lynch. I didn't recognize you, and..." He trailed off, unsure how to proceed. Apologizing, he realized, was an art form in itself.

"No need to apologize. I understand. Now, do you have time to discuss your inventions?"

"Of course, yes, absolutely, Mr. Lynch."

During their ensuing conversation, the inventor elaborated on his work. Misuse of radio technology among civilians had become rampant, particularly with unregulated private radio stations. In response, the government imposed restrictions on frequency usage and transmitter power to ensure these rogue broadcasts didn't interfere with legitimate communications.

With official channels hogging most frequencies and licensed commercial stations occupying others, non-allocated bands grew chaotic and overcrowded.

The inventor was among the victims. Frequent interference ruined his plans to profit from running a personal radio station.

Perhaps out of spite—or maybe curiosity—he began researching radio triangulation and successfully reported several illicit stations broadcasting questionable content. This led him to ponder: if he could locate private radio transmitters, why not larger devices?

Say... military machines?

Thus began his journey as an inventor. Like many creators, he believed fervently in the value of his ideas. Should his invention find application in warfare systems, it promised immense wealth.

To fund his dream, he sold his house, divorced his wife, and retreated to live alone on a mountain, where fewer radio signals interfered with his experiments.

Eventually, however, his funds ran dry. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on No(ᴠ)ᴇlFire.nᴇt

Twelve hundred bucks—the last of his savings—represented his final hope.

"...By analyzing signal delays across multiple receivers, we can continuously refine our calculations to determine precise direction and distance," he concluded proudly, beaming with confidence.

But Lynch remained silent, posing instead a single question: "I'm no expert, but tell me this: all your methods rely on detecting signals emitted by targets. What if the target practices radio silence—emitting no signals whatsoever? How do we locate it then?"

The inventor froze, his unkempt beard and stunned expression making him appear almost comical.

Lynch's query exposed the glaring flaw in his research. Yes, his entire system assumed targets emitted constant signals. He hadn't considered silent adversaries because his focus had been hunting disruptive private stations. Faced now with a practical challenge, he found himself utterly stumped.

Minutes passed in silence. Finally, the inventor slumped, defeated. Shaking his head, he murmured, "I'm sorry, Mr. Lynch. I don't know how to solve that. I've failed."

"They were right. My invention is worthless."

His divorce, the sale of his home, his solitary existence on the mountain—all rendered meaningless by a single sentence from Lynch. He felt himself crumbling.

Yet at that moment, Lynch spoke again. "I'll buy all the shares you've issued through the brokerage firm."

The inventor blinked, startled. "You don't need to pity me, Mr. Lynch. My work holds no value."

"Then let's make it valuable." Lynch retrieved a checkbook, scribbled a figure, and handed it to Liam. "I never disappoint those who trust me and collaborate with me."

Turning to Liam, he added, "Take your commission, finish your assignment cleanly, and leave your current job. You have my card. Come find me when you're ready."

Without waiting for Liam's response, he addressed the inventor once more. "Your research isn't entirely useless. At least we've solved part of the problem."

"Do you know about bats?"

"Consult a biologist. Learn how they hunt. I guarantee it'll inspire new ideas for your work. And consider this my initial investment in you."

Watching both men overwhelmed with gratitude, Lynch couldn't help but marvel. What a wonderful time to be alive.

His actions weren't purely altruistic; gaining loyalty was part of his strategy. But more importantly, he sought to eliminate potential headaches down the line.

The inventor's shares held legal weight, backed by contracts between him and the brokerage firm. Each small yellow sheet represented a fraction of ownership.

Until the invention proved profitable, the sheets were essentially worthless. But should success come, they'd transform into significant liabilities.

Buying them cost little upfront, yet failing to secure them could result in far greater losses for Lynch later.

Technically speaking, acquiring the sheets equated to paying ten thousand bucks to the brokerage firm, with the remainder going to the inventor and Liam's commission.

In the grand scheme, this expenditure was well worth it.

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