Chapter 312:
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"Father, did everything go well?"
As soon as Simon stepped into his house, he was greeted by his younger son's inquiry. Simon had two sons—one from his legal wife back in his ho country, the elder of the two, and another from a local woman here in Nagalier.
In this era, people often referred to rchants who ventured abroad as "adventurous speculators." So even called themselves "descendants of adventurers." But deep down, they all knew the truth.
Few ventured out purely for ambition; most were driven by necessity. The world was still unsafe, travel inconvenient, and it wasn't an age where one could reach most corners of the globe within a day or two. It was a backward ti, fraught with danger.
If given the choice, no one would willingly leave behind the familiar comforts of ho to risk their lives in unfamiliar lands. Yet, they had no other option—they were failures, including Simon himself.
Simon had once owned a processing plant, but poor managent led to its collapse. Bankrupt and desperate, he left his family behind and set off alone to rebuild his life. His wife and firstborn remained in their holand while he wandered across countries for over twenty years, finally finding opportunity in Nagalier.
To better integrate into local society, Simon married a native woman and fathered another son. This second marriage helped him gain acceptance among the locals and provided so advantages for his business. His original family back ho knew about this arrangent. Though there were occasional complaints, they mostly stayed silent—after all, their livelihood depended entirely on the monthly remittances Simon sent them.
His new family in Nagalier also knew about his first wife and child. But here, such arrangents weren't uncommon. In the local culture, capable n often took care of multiple won and sired many children—it was seen as normal, even admirable. Both families coexisted separately, rarely interacting beyond a few formal encounters.
Simon glanced at his younger son waiting by the door. His expression remained unchanged as he handed over his briefcase without answering. After changing his shoes, he walked straight into his study.
The younger son followed closely behind. Once inside the study, Simon finally shook his head. "You don't need to know about these matters. How is your schooling coming along?"
The boy clenched his jaw slightly, lowering his head with a proud smile. "My teacher says I should be able to get into Nagalier National University!"
Nagalier National University was the top institution in the country, attended by the children of the ruling elite. To ensure the best education, many of its teachers were recruited from abroad. Locals held contradictory views: wary of foreign influences yet envious of what outsiders brought, especially in education. Foreign educators were often considered superior, giving the university imnse prestige.
Simon's younger son excelled academically, working hard and benefiting from his wealthy background. Teachers treated him with extra patience, sotis offering private tutoring. He consistently outperford his peers. Over the years, he'd strived to prove his worth to Simon, driven by his father's high expectations.
He avoided indulgences like early romance, alcohol, or smoking, keeping himself fit despite Simon's occasional disdain for overweight individuals—even though Simon himself wasn't exactly slim. Religion held little sway over him either. All he wanted was to show Simon that he was his finest son. Nothing more.
But sotis, effort alone isn't enough to overco prejudice.
Simon frowned. "National University? To , it's nothing but a third-rate school. If getting into a diocre university makes you so proud, then your future is already limited."
He paused, waving dismissively. "Enough. Go do your work. I have business to attend to."
The younger son forced a smile, placed the briefcase on the desk, bowed deeply, and left the room.
Simon saw the boy's efforts, but deep down, he viewed him differently—a "bastard," if you will. Harsh as it sounded, it sumd up the situation accurately. The younger son was a product of convenience, born not out of love but necessity, a tool to ingratiate Simon with local powers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't change that reality. From the start, Simon never truly regarded him as his own flesh and blood.
The boy's darker skin, distinct features, and mannerisms reminded Simon daily of his utilitarian origins. And when soone is fundantally rejected at their core, even the smallest imperfections are magnified and despised.
As the door closed softly behind him, the younger son clenched his fists tightly. For a fleeting mont, his face betrayed frustration before smoothing into a practiced smile. He resolved to keep trying. One day, he believed, his father would see him for who he truly was.
Inside the study, Simon paid no mind to his son's inner turmoil. What concerned him now was Lynch's attitude.
Lynch's stance troubled him. If Lynch reached an agreent with the Provincial Governor, it wouldn't just an losing business—it could bring serious trouble. International traders weren't as easily fooled as the locals, whose contracts were loose and informal. In international trade, delivery tis were precise to the minute. A single delay could trigger claims under the contract. With Lynch cutting off his supply chain, Simon faced not only lost profits but potential lawsuits.
He couldn't afford to sit idle.
Picking up the phone, Simon dialed Pretton's number. Nagalier had a rudintary communication network, though international lines were nonexistent. The call connected quickly, and Pretton's smooth voice ca through the receiver.
"How did things go with Lynch?" Pretton asked—a question Simon's younger son had posed earlier.
To Pretton, the outco seed inevitable. Lynch didn't have many options, so his tone carried a casual ease.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Pretton," Simon began, wiping sweat from his brow. "Mr. Lynch said he needs ti to consider... He seems rather indifferent to our proposal."
"Indifferent?" Pretton's voice shifted slightly. Just as Simon thought this might bode well, disappointnt struck again.
Pretton chuckled audibly. "What an interesting young man. Did you know he's only twenty-one? You can't negotiate with him the way we do. We're not on the sa 'frequency.'"
"But don't worry, Simon. Young people dislike rules and love challenging authority—it's in their nature. After hitting a few walls, he'll learn how to make choices."
"Keep
updated on any developnts..."
Pretton was a busy man. He didn't have ti to waste discussing provincial trade agents. Hanging up, Simon stared blankly at the silent phone before placing it back on the cradle. Perhaps Pretton was right; things would resolve themselves eventually.
Sitting at his desk, Simon's thoughts wandered. He recalled the envy in his friends' eyes during visits back ho. He thought of the distant relationship with his elder son, who only smiled when presented with checks. He rembered the private investigator's report about his first wife's affair—a fact he chose to ignore. And then there was his younger wife here, and their son, whose presence irritated him daily.
Lost in these musings, Simon drifted off to sleep without realizing it.
---
anwhile, starting the day after Lynch returned, local rchants began flocking to him, eager to showcase their goods. Mishahaya's words to Lynch hadn't just caught the attention of big players like Pretton—they'd ignited hope among the local traders.
Every year, Pretton Trading House set fixed acquisition prices, buying goods cheaply from local rchants and selling them globally at exorbitant rates. Despite knowing they were being exploited, the locals had no recourse. Other major traders adhered to the sa pricing system, ensuring maximum profits for everyone involved.
But now, sothing had shifted. For the first ti in years, the local rchants saw a glimr of hope—a chance to break free from the chains that bound them.
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