"This is Mr. Lynch..."
Manson entered the room with a guy carrying a briefcase. With the backing of the Bupen Grand Hotel suite, everyone who entered here seemed more respectful.
Perhaps it was because Lynch could still bring out money today, or it might be for the sake of the hotel.
The guy who came in was wearing very high-end formal attire, although it gave the impression that it hadn't been carefully maintained for a while.
Every piece of quality clothing requires careful care; some even need specialized manual handling. These clothes are no stronger than babies and require suitable temperature and even humidity for storage.
He sat down cautiously, a somewhat ingratiating smile on his face, fearing he might displease Lynch. He then placed the briefcase in front of him on the coffee table between the two and opened it.
Inside, neatly stacked war bonds emitted a "scent" like cash; it was the smell of special dyes.
