Chapter 785: The Fighter |
In the courtyard, Lynch saw Ms. Tracy wrapped in a thick fur coat, looking like a giant white snowball.
That coat wasn’t cheap. Lynch had seen similar ones before—probably worth seventeen or eighteen thousand. Not something the average person could afford.
The higher-ups in the Women’s Rights Protection Association were all wealthy, each backed by significant political clout. In the Federation, those who ran organizations and movements were never simple people.
But there were always fools willing to believe in them—people who, under their guidance, treated these causes as lifelong missions.
Lynch, however, never believed in any of it.
“Lynch!”
The moment she spotted him, Ms. Tracy called out his name with a trace of excitement and walked toward him briskly.
Unlike others, she didn’t address him as Mr. Lynch. That was her privilege. Her eyes sparkled with admiration.
In just two years, Lynch’s career had exploded. Even now, Ms. Tracy found it hard to believe he’d achieved all this on his own.
It was precisely because she knew who Lynch really was that his rise felt so remarkable.
Lynch stepped forward to greet her. “Ms. Tracy, I’m glad you could visit. When I was in York last time, they said you were away on business. A shame we couldn’t meet.”
She shook his hand briefly. “Last time…” She smiled. “Let’s talk inside.”
“Please,” Lynch said, leading her into the house.
A maid took her handbag, placed her hat on a display mannequin head meant for guests, and draped her luxurious coat over another mannequin.
Expensive garments like that were never hung on hooks—they’d lose their shape. Hats too.
Freed from her winter layers, Ms. Tracy relaxed. They sat by the sofa, and once coffee was served, they began to talk.
“My uncle was running for Archbishop at the time. I was helping with his campaign, so I wasn’t in York. I’m sorry we missed each other.” Her explanation was brief—but Lynch saw it more as a subtle flex, something instinctive for women like her.
He feigned surprise. “Archbishop? That’s incredible. Did he win?”
She nodded with a reserved, proud smile. “Of course. He won.”
As she spoke, her chin lifted slightly—this wasn’t a trivial accomplishment.
In the Federal Republic of Baylor, the Church held enormous influence. It might not make much noise in public, but that was by choice, not insignificance.
Religion remained a sensitive domain. Unless necessary, the Church rarely sought media attention.
But that didn’t mean it lacked power.
According to current estimates, nearly 80 million citizens in the Federation were followers—60 to 70 percent of the population.
Every city district had at least two or three churches. In major population centers, there could be several per district.
The Federation had over 170 cities and more than 1,200 churches—not counting the smaller interest groups.
In rural areas with low population density, a few dozen farming families might gather in a barn, hang a cross, and take turns playing pastor.
If these were counted as churches too, the total number would be beyond reckoning.
With such a massive presence, it made sense they kept a low media profile—something the federal government and capitalists preferred for the sake of social stability.
There were only nine Archbishops in the entire Federation—top figures within the Church. Ms. Tracy’s uncle becoming one was no small feat, and she had every right to be proud.
Lynch nodded knowingly. “That’s fantastic. I’d love to meet him if I ever get the chance.”
She smiled, clearly pleased with his attitude. “It’s no trouble. You’re welcome anytime.”
With that, the topic was closed.
About ten seconds passed before Ms. Tracy revealed the real reason for her visit. It was a common conversational tactic—start with a major accomplishment so the real request wouldn’t be turned down.
A subtle manipulation—but normal.
After thinking for a moment, she said softly, “I need your help, Lynch.”
Lynch straightened up. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s a little hard to bring up, but… when I thought about who could help, you were the first person that came to mind.” She showed a hint of embarrassment but didn’t directly answer his question. Instead, she began explaining the background.
“There are currently five women’s rights organizations in the Federation—we’re not the only one.”
“There are some…” she shrugged, “you know, people think we have ulterior motives. And, truthfully, a few bad actors have made us all look suspicious.”
“So, my friends and I discussed it. We want to clarify why our feminist movement is important, and why we’re not like the others.”
Her eyes sparkled, locked on Lynch. In essence, she was here for investment.
Now that her uncle had become a Archbishop, he held immense political influence—far more than her father ever needed. There would be plenty left over.
As the most favored girl in her family, Tracy had been given some advice from her uncle.
First, she should grow and formalize her women’s rights organization—ideally, absorb or eliminate the others.
If she could pull that off—and combine it with her uncle’s influence—she’d have a chance to enter politics, becoming the second politician in her family.
Until now, the Federation had never produced a high-ranking female politician. Yet elevating women to positions of power was undeniably the direction of the future.
At the very least, women needed representation at the top—female governors, female members of Congress. It was a natural trend in societal development.
Ms. Tracy was one of the founders of the feminist movement. With her powerful background, it wouldn’t be difficult for her to reach that level.
For politicians in the Federation, their own stupidity didn’t matter. It wouldn’t affect their careers. As long as they could manipulate and win over voters, even if they streaked naked down a busy street during the day, people would still vote for them.
Her family’s plan was simple and direct. There was no time to make a move now—this round had passed.
They intended for Ms. Tracy to run in the midterm presidential election four years from now, using it as her first step into politics.
Anyone in the Federation could run for president. There were no eligibility barriers. But few actually did it—because it wasn’t easy. It cost money.
At minimum, tens of millions. At most, hundreds of millions. And even then, it might not lead anywhere. So unless someone had backing from a major party, most ordinary people couldn’t afford to play that game.
Ms. Tracy’s run wouldn’t be about winning the presidency. It was about gaining exposure—setting the stage for a political career.
Although the election was still four years away, preparations had already begun—especially building momentum.
After listening, Lynch nodded in agreement. “These are real issues. If you want to change public perception, you’ll have to push out the illegitimate organizations. What’s your plan?”
“Expand our influence, hold more events, unite more people passionate about women’s rights, and strive to achieve gender equality as soon as possible,” Ms. Tracy replied smoothly.
Lynch pulled out his checkbook, uncapped his pen. “My schedule is packed, so I might not be able to attend every event. The only thing I can do well—and consistently—is fill out these little slips of paper. I hope you won’t refuse…”
Of course, she wouldn’t refuse. That was one of the reasons she came.
Still, she had to say something. She gently placed her hand on his wrist. “That’s not what I meant…” She paused, then added, “Your support alone means everything.”
Ms. Tracy’s Women’s Rights Protection Association was a nonprofit public organization—essentially a public fundraising foundation. That meant its finances had to be transparent when needed.
Who donated how much, and where that money went, all had to be made public.
If someone donated too much at once, people might start speculating about hidden deals behind the scenes.
Ms. Tracy’s words were a gentle hint, and Lynch understood. He quickly wrote out the check, tore it off, and handed it to her.
She looked at the check with delight. She’d expected to work harder for this donation—but Lynch had given it freely, without asking for anything in return.
“Thank you so much, Lynch. If women can truly rise in the future, part of that credit will be yours.”