The storm triggered by Richard’s death was still raging. For the nobility, a single death usually meant nothing—they wouldn’t care, nor be dragged into it.

But the issue was that before Richard committed suicide, he wrote a confession letter. It was this letter that pulled the nobles into the fray.

Truthfully, there wasn’t anything particularly terrifying in its contents. The Ministry of Internal Affairs had already examined it, and its contents had leaked. Most nobles already knew what was written.

It was nothing more than a confession of greed and obsession with money, which drove him to make reckless decisions. It detailed his fear and despair in the face of ruin. What ultimately pushed him to suicide was his suspicion that someone was surveilling his hidden residence.

The mounting pressure finally broke him. He chose to end his life with his own hands.

His life was short, and he had little of substance to show. He didn’t want to be imprisoned, interrogated, and eventually die in a cell or be executed after enduring endless suffering.

Hanging himself was the only way he could preserve some dignity—his final act of control over his life.

Beyond that, the letter also mentioned certain individuals and events—like how he exploited legal loopholes to get the company listed.

Handwriting experts at the Ministry of Internal Affairs confirmed the letter matched Richard’s handwriting. Though there were slight differences, they fell within acceptable variation.

Handwriting naturally changes with emotion and state of mind. People write more freely when elated, and under extreme stress and fear—as before a suicide—handwriting can change significantly.

The results confirmed the letter’s authenticity.

Crucially, the letter named several people—all of them subordinates of the Minister of Finance.

In any country, finance is of utmost importance. In the Federation, it’s managed by the Ministry of Finance—a post that dates back to its founding.

In the Gephra Empire, it’s overseen by the Minister of Finance. However, this position hasn’t always been a formal one.

Records show that while the Empire has long had a so-called Minister of Finance, the role was often overlooked, as it was traditionally held concurrently by the Prime Minister.

This became a long-standing tradition.

After all, the Prime Minister, as the Emperor’s key assistant, needs enough authority to govern effectively.

But in recent years, for various reasons, the Minister of Finance became a standalone position.

Sometimes the Emperor appointed one, sometimes he didn’t. As a result, the Prime Minister’s power fluctuated—without the Finance Minister’s approval, his ideas remained just that.

The Finance Minister could effectively neuter the Prime Minister. Only a Prime Minister who also held the finance portfolio would be recognized by the nobility as a true power-holder.

Without it, the Prime Minister was just a figurehead—needing approval from the Emperor, and then again from the Finance Minister, who might still reject the plan. In the end, the decision would be made by the Finance Minister and the Emperor. That made the Prime Minister little more than a ceremonial mascot.

Now that several of the Finance Minister’s top aides were named in Richard’s suicide letter, the aristocracy pounced like sharks smelling blood.

The Prime Minister rushed to the palace. No one knew what he and the Emperor discussed, but on the third day after the incident, he appeared at the Privy Council.

Since Lynch had been restricted from leaving the island, he had nothing better to do and also headed to the Privy Council.

Many influential nobles viewed the Privy Council as a retirement home. The nobles here had no real power, and neither did their families. They had long been sidelined from the center of authority—and things were only getting worse.

In a few years, they might not even have the right to see the Emperor. They were essentially ordinary people with noble titles—no longer rulers of anything.

These former power-holders, now and forever exiled from influence, had the strongest obsession and resentment toward power.

You could see it in how they constantly stirred up trouble for the Emperor—despite masking it well.

The Prime Minister arrived around noon—too early, and no one would be there.

Most nobles didn’t rise before 9:30 a.m. Waking before 9 was unthinkably early. After a light wash and grooming, they’d gather at the Privy Council, chat, enjoy a free gourmet lunch, then spend the afternoon in idle gossip. That was a day.

It was the life the commoners dreamed of—and one the nobles lived with quiet bitterness.

The Prime Minister’s arrival caused a minor stir—it was the first time in over a decade he had appeared in the backwater Privy Council. The elder nobles were clearly surprised.

He didn’t stay long—just toured the premises with a few major nobles and then told everyone to avoid going out, as it was unsafe. Then he left.

It seemed like he came just to show his face. But by saying nothing, he had said everything.

The nobles had no power, but that didn’t mean they lacked political instinct.

It might sound contradictory, but power and politics are not the same thing.

When used well, political acumen can be even more effective than raw authority.

In fact, even before the Prime Minister arrived, they were already debating one question: Could this crisis bring down the Minister of Finance?

In Gephra, it was rare—almost impossible—for a hereditary noble with real power to fall. It might not happen in decades or centuries.

But if one did fall, a vast amount of power would be released.

Power always stokes desire.

The most common opinion was that the Prime Minister would make his move. If he didn’t, he’d remain a mascot—attending events in the Emperor’s name, parroting others’ views, with no real say of his own.

Only by seizing control of the treasury could he become a true Prime Minister.

To do that, he needed the Emperor’s support, and the recognition of more nobles. He’d also have to argue that misplacing financial authority would lead to disaster—pressuring the Emperor into granting him control.

This wouldn’t be easy. He’d have to fight other ministers—like the Minister of the Army, who wanted out but had nowhere to go; or members of the Privy Council, nobles with titles but no real power; and of course, the Emperor himself.

Even the common people knew—whoever held the purse strings was the head of the house. The Emperor wanted to control the treasury, which was why the financial ministry was made independent in the first place.

The Prime Minister would have to defeat all three factions to become a true Chancellor of Power. His appearance was a declaration of intent.

During the afternoon salon, this became the main topic of conversation.

“I don’t think the Minister of Finance will be taken down so easily…” said a noble who looked about forty, though he was nearly sixty—offering what sounded like an insightful take.

“We all know that, ultimately, the final decision rests with His Majesty. If he chooses to turn a blind eye, or even sacrifices the Finance Minister’s subordinates to protect him, that might actually serve the Emperor’s interests better.”

“Once those subordinates are removed and replaced with his own people, the Emperor could sideline the Finance Minister and take full control of the treasury…”

This view was widely agreed upon. If the Emperor held the treasury in his own hands, he would essentially have the means to become a dictator.

With control over the military, the treasury, and a coalition of nobles backing him, the Empire might soon witness its most powerful monarch in history.

As they discussed this, the nobles spoke of the Emperor and his ministers without any hesitation or fear—just as casually as they would discuss any other noble.

Someone interrupted, “If we can see all this coming, don’t you think the ministers see it too?”

That was the purpose of the salon—to express one’s thoughts and exchange ideas freely.

The nearby nobles all nodded in agreement. It was true.

If the Emperor’s power swelled, it meant the nobles’ power would shrink.

Sometimes the nobles aligned with the Emperor, especially when facing a strong political adversary—like a powerful Chancellor.

Other times, the nobles banded together to contain the Emperor’s influence, preventing the rise of a dictator or tyrant.

In the end, it was all about power.

There’s only so much of it. The more it’s divided, the less each person has. No one wants to be perpetually suppressed, so power must be distributed—not too much, not too little—a careful balance.

If the Emperor showed signs of trying to seize absolute power, it was likely the other ministers would unite against him.

All afternoon, the nobles engaged in lively and intense debate. This was their source of joy—and also a sign that some among them might soon re-enter the political stage because of this upheaval.

Lynch, as an outsider, sat quietly on the sidelines. No one asked for his opinion. He was a newborn, still unfamiliar with the names of most nobles. Asking for his thoughts would’ve been pointless.

Though he didn’t participate, listening to their conversations gradually helped him piece things together.

At 9 p.m., during prime time, a political talk show unexpectedly launched a direct attack on the Minister of Finance…