"This is the best bar around here..." Lynch walked to the bar first, ordered a drink, then turned to Mr. Truman, "If you're just looking to have a drink!"

Strip clubs like this, which can open near upscale neighborhoods, always have deep backgrounds. Otherwise, frequent police inspections alone could shut down the club.

After all, solicitation is illegal in the Federation, and strip clubs are hotbeds—various girls showcasing the beauty of the human body, someone always can't resist, which is the value of the VIP boxes on the second floor.

With enough background, there is bound to be enough financial strength. So the boss behind this club surely doesn't just want to run a club for ordinary people.

The class of people is sure to bring a class of consumption. For ordinary folks, spending ten or twenty bucks for fun is normal, but this amount of money was never in the club operator's eyes from the start.

He's eyeing more upscale customers, those who spend three to five hundred or even three to five thousand every time they come. This makes everything here very high-end, and only this can attract those truly high-end clients.

Elegant rooms with a special fragrance, dim ambiguous lighting, and girls with masks on stage—all of this gives one the feeling of 'being rich is damn good.'

Mr. Truman smiled, shook his head, went to the bar, and ordered a drink.

After two sips, Mr. Truman clearly showed some desire to share his thoughts.

Sometimes Lynch wonders if the physique of Federation folks is a bit special, for just a couple of sips of an alcoholic beverage could rapidly change their state.

They ordered two bottles of alcohol and moved to a corner booth to sit down.

"I'm in a bad mood." Mr. Truman took another swig, showing a painful expression. He ordered strong liquor, and even though ice eased the fiery entrance of the strong liquor, gulping a whole mouthful still felt uncomfortable.

Then he slowly exhaled a breath of alcohol, "I've been suspended from work..."

Lynch was just about to take a gulp himself, holding the glass mid-air, "Temporarily?"

Mr. Truman nodded, "Temporarily, but there are other troubles. The Security Committee is going to reevaluate me, and the Internal Affairs Department has started investigating me. You know, these things are all connected."

He couldn't help but take another gulp then forcefully slammed the table!

The sound was loud, a bang, and few people in the club turned to look. An employee who was on duty was about to approach, but was blocked by a man in black.

The man in black opened his collar, revealing the weapon and badge inside. The club's employee tactfully left.

Mr. Truman's face in the booth was very unpleasant. He blocked the big consortiums from grabbing small and medium contracts, and in return, he was reported with a real name.

A third-rate merchant he never knew or dealt with brought some materials to accuse him of job-related crimes, abuse of power, and a bunch of other messy charges.

Actually, everyone knows, this is the consortiums' revenge against him, or a hidden warning. Yet the process still needs to be followed.

You can't ignore the boundaries of the law or disregard the rules and system just because everyone knows what's going on.

He's temporarily stopped from all current work, and can only resume after the investigation ends. As for how long that will take, it obviously won't be quick.

Verifying each accusation takes time. If each takes a week, investigating more than ten non-existent charges could halt him for months.

But, frustratingly, he has neither retaliatory means nor defense methods, just sulking.

What's even more infuriating is that the President is too weak in facing this issue. He even took the initiative to talk to Mr. Truman, asking him not to target those big consortiums too much.

Actually, Mr. Truman understands the President's reasons very well. The election is coming up, and these people hold many votes. At this crucial moment, anyone's honor or disgrace pales in comparison to the election's importance.

Only by stabilizing the election results, ensuring no mistakes, can other issues be discussed later.

Although Mr. Truman understands this in his heart, emotionally, he finds it difficult to accept.

"The only fortunate thing now is that I'm the 'only one,' they can't do without me. I understand very well, this time it's just their reminder, those bitches!"

Lynch glanced at his glass of wine. He doesn't understand why he has little reaction when drinking, but Mr. Truman and other Federation people quickly enter a 'state' after a sip. It's amazing.

His thoughts only flashed on this issue, then returned to the topic, "There's a saying, 'If you destroy a capitalist's means of profiteering, it's like killing their whole family. This unforgivable hatred.'"

"The current situation is just that. Capitalists always pursue profits, you just won't let them do so. Moreover, you're not 'hard' enough. Their means are actually quite mild, merely harassing you."

Lynch spoke the truth. Compared to more extreme methods, the consortiums' approach this time is quite gentle, which actually relates to the upcoming election.

Everyone doesn't think the President would have any opponents. As one of the President's most important staff members and a key government worker, going too far may even cause dissatisfaction from the President.

Truman is also his subordinate, going overboard means not giving him face.

Compared to Mr. Truman's "naivety," the current President is truly the one who's difficult to deal with.

He's neither warm nor cold, you never know if he's a turtle hiding its head or a coiled snake ready to strike, with the latter being more likely.

He won't directly show obvious likes or dislikes, but give him the chance, he might just strike.

That's why there was this small individual's real-name impeachment, which is only just an impeachment.

"I know!", Mr. Truman nodded, "I know everything you say is true. You're different from those people, Lynch, that's why I came to drink with you, and not someone else."

"Honestly, I'm disappointed in everyone, too disappointed."

"Whether it's the Cabinet or the capitalists, they're all disappointing; everyone seems to ignore those societal issues. It's one thing if they don't see them themselves, but they don't allow others to see them, too. I don't know what's wrong with this society, it shouldn't be this way."

"It's the same from top to bottom, from top to bottom it's all like this, I'm desperate!"

He downed a large glass of strong liquor in one gulp, then poured another for himself. His face began to redden as the alcohol took effect.

Watching him, Lynch couldn't help but sigh. This is what someone from the Military is like; the structure of their values is complete. If Mr. Truman wasn't a "candidate" from the Military, his values might be more inclined towards the traditional politician or capitalist, with nothing in his eyes but profit.

Only in a relatively closed environment, maintaining a certain kind of enthusiasm, could create someone like him.

Lynch nodded slightly, "This is the value of each one of our existences, Truman. We all hope this world becomes the most beautiful in our eyes and strive tirelessly towards that goal."

"Some people think if they have money, the world is beautiful, so they try to make money."

"Actually, we're the same. We all feel we're the only ones who are right, so we're working towards that direction as well."

"No one is absolutely wrong, and no one is necessarily right, wouldn't you say?"

Mr. Truman took another swig, looking at Lynch with bloodshot eyes, "Then what kind of world do you see as beautiful?"

"Me?", Lynch was a little surprised, he sighed softly, "Everyone has a job of their own, life is easy, familial relationships are harmonious, all industries develop in an orderly manner, the nation is robust, the people are wealthy, politics, military, economy, culture are all very developed..."

"Of course, if I could have a bit more money and higher social status than others, that would be my ideal world."

He felt a bit emotional, then looked at the distracted Mr. Truman.

A few seconds later, the latter suddenly snapped back, laughing and tapping the table, "I didn't expect you to be such a capitalist."

"I'm not a capitalist," Lynch shook his head denying his evaluation of himself.

"No... well, yes, you're a different kind of capitalist. It's the first time I've heard someone with such thoughts, strong country, wealthy people...?"

He exhaled a long breath, then took another drink, "I really hope your dream can come true, Lynch, you're truly different from others."

"Should I be happy that I'm different from others?"

"Of course!"

After that, the conversation between the two veered off serious topics, and they moved from the booth to the area around the strip club stage, since Lynch had exchanged so much change, he had to spend it.

This strip club is quite strategic in its operations. When they came in, they knew that every dancer here has a formal job outside, some are even university students.

They wore masks and simple clothing, with some background and introductions, what appears to be a very vulgar place suddenly had a touch of class.

During the process of venting emotions, an interesting event occurred. Perhaps the dancer saw the wad of cash sticking out of Mr. Truman's pocket and invited him onto the stage.

This is also a common small game during performances. Mr. Truman had drunk quite a bit, and alongside venting his emotions, he no longer had his usual calm demeanor.

The girl danced around him with movements of special significance, and he held a wad of cash in one hand, constantly flipping out the top bills with the other!

The continually flying bills rolled in the sealed, windless space, slowly drifting down as the atmosphere quickly reached its peak.

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