Chapter 1072: The President is Not Human

The President is also human. Who would deny it?

But the President is certainly not an ordinary person. When Lance made that statement, it implied that he, too, was no longer ordinary.

Driven by Lance's composure, Barbara instinctively followed him into the large room within the Vice President's estate.

As the servants pushed open one half of the hall door, a more real and vivid upper-class society appeared before Barbara.

She had seen many of the people here—in newspapers, magazines, and even the latest television programs.

Their every appearance signaled a change in Federal policy. They were the true major figures.

Yet, they seemed very familiar with Lance?

"Aha... Lance!" Not far from the door, a man who looked to be in his fifties, slightly bald, with a large beard, turned to see who entered and spotted Lance.

He immediately stopped talking to the person next to him, shouted Lance's name with slight exaggeration, and walked straight over.

Barbara also recognized this man. Was he some high-ranking official in the Federal government?

She couldn't quite recall, but he was definitely a senior official.

The slightly bald man shook hands with Lance, his gaze briefly resting on Barbara before moving away.

While Barbara was indeed beautiful, the world was filled with countless pretty girls. These girls were not only pretty but also young.

Of course, there were also women Barbara's age, and older.

This was the benefit of power. Whatever you desired—as long as it existed in this world and you could afford the price—you could obtain it.

This was why so many people relentlessly pursued power, wealth, and status.

The world only shows its best side to the strong, and its most brutal side to the weak, especially the weak at the bottom.

From this perspective, the world itself was a bully who picked on the weak!

There was a look in the bald man's eyes. Lance looked at Barbara. "Help me get a drink. I want to have a toast with Mr. Rick."

Barbara immediately understood that Lance wanted her to create some distance. She instantly released Lance's arm, then looked at "Mr. Rick." "Sir, would you like a drink as well?"

Mr. Rick nodded matter-of-factly. "Of course. How could I refuse Lance's offer of a drink?"

"Would you mind getting one for me too, Madam?"

Barbara slightly lifted the hem of her skirt in acknowledgment, then turned and walked away toward the server holding a tray in the hall.

In truth, if they wanted anything, they only needed to raise a hand slightly, and someone would immediately approach. But this was a socializing event, not purely for pleasure. It was necessary to give certain individuals some relative privacy.

"What you did in Rapa was brilliant. If a similar opportunity arises, I hope you will remember me."

Mr. Rick's face held a knowing smile. Lance knew he was referring to the Hope Mining harvesting scheme manipulated by CEO Edward.

It was a huge amount of money—hundreds of millions. Lance only received less than ten percent; the rest was largely distributed among others in the Senator Cleveland camp.

The simplest way to keep these people satisfied was to fill their pockets. That way, they wouldn't look for other sources of income to satisfy their appetites.

Mr. Rick's job was to provide solutions for international affairs under the Secretary of State, making him a high-level International Affairs Consultant.

Whether this job was important was debatable. Ultimately, the person who decided whether to use his proposed strategy was not him.

But to say he wasn't important would also be inaccurate. He needed to continuously provide the President and the Secretary of State with solutions that favored Senator Cleveland's side, helping the Senator's faction gain benefits or seize an advantage.

It sounded, as stated before, like he wasn't the one making the final choice.

But another factor was involved: neither the President nor the Secretary of State had the time or energy to personally handle every single matter.

They had many duties daily, including playing golf and attending engagements, so they couldn't personally handle every piece of work during their working hours.

These tasks were eventually delegated, often as requests for advisory opinions, to those who could provide solutions, such as Mr. Rick.

He would provide a solution favorable to the Senator's plan, and if there were no major issues, the Secretary of State or the President would directly approve it without much discussion.

They simply didn't have that much spare time.

He also served as an important channel for relaying messages to the Senator's faction.

Lance didn't know exactly how much money he was allocated, but it certainly wasn't too much, nor was it too little, much like his job and responsibilities—neither high nor low.

But it was a considerable sum for him, even if only four to five hundred thousand dollars, or seven to eight hundred thousand.

Judging by Rick's expression, he was already anticipating the next opportunity and was very satisfied with his income.

He didn't release Lance's hand, and Lance understood his intent.

Sometimes, people in high society don't possess superior moral character compared to those at the bottom. The meaning behind Mr. Rick not letting go of Lance's hand was, "If you don't agree to my request, I won't let go."

Lance nodded. "No problem. If there is another good opportunity, I will notify you."

"Wonderful!" Rick shook Lance's hand twice before letting go. "If you're free next week, we could sit down and chat. The Secretary of State recently assigned some new tasks, and they concern you."

Lance's expression subtly changed. He thought of something. "Are you referring to the Yalan issues?"

Rick looked like he knew Lance would guess. "Yes. The Makan Ambassador is negotiating with us, and the ambassadors of two other countries are also engaging. You are now the expert in this area. Perhaps you could provide us with some mature ideas."

This was a form of reciprocity, assuming Lance could profit from it.

He did not refuse and readily accepted.

At that moment, he looked toward Barbara in the distance. Barbara immediately selected two glasses of wine from a nearby server and walked over.

She had actually stopped the server earlier and casually asked about the types of wine and their flavors.

Anyone attending tonight's dinner would not be an ordinary person. Although the waiter was confused about why the lady asked such pointless questions, he dared not leave.

He answered patiently. Barbara was clearly distracted until she saw Lance look at her. She then said "Thank you" and walked toward Lance with two glasses of wine.

Lance took the glasses from her, handing one to Mr. Rick. They touched glasses. "See you later."

Mr. Rick took a sip of his wine. "See you later."

He placed the glass on a nearby table. Someone would come to collect the unfinished drink, clean the glass, refill it, and put it back on a tray for the servers to circulate again.

"Who was he?" Barbara asked immediately after Mr. Rick left.

Lance briefly explained his general duties. This left Barbara somewhat bewildered. "The people you know are so complicated!"

"I think so too!" Soon, a second man approached. Following almost the same script, Lance greeted him warmly, then momentarily excused Barbara so the man could privately thank Lance for helping them strike it rich.

The money wasn't trivial; it was essentially a windfall. Although everyone knew Senator Cleveland was the one who ultimately decided the distribution, the profit ultimately originated from Lance.

Lance was currently in high demand, and showing appropriate goodwill helped them build a relationship with him.

After a period of socializing, things quieted down around Lance.

The true focus of the dinner was the representatives from Slad and Dantra, along with the President, who stood between them.

Some businessmen were also present, having sponsored all the evening's expenses, including the liquor, food, and staffing.

Lance and Barbara moved to a less crowded area, listening to the President's speech.

"...War brings deep harm to the entire world. Regardless of why we started fighting or joined the conflict before, now, it is over!"

"I have never longed for the arrival of peace so intensely, and I'm experiencing the preciousness of peace for the first time!"

"I am delighted that our three parties were able to facilitate this armistice agreement in such a short time. This demonstrates that we all recognize the destruction and pain caused by war. It is time to end all of this!"

He then turned, picked up a glass of wine from his aide, and raised it slightly. "I propose we drink a toast together to the arrival of peace!"

Everyone in the room raised their glasses, passionately shouting "Cheers to peace," and toasted together, led by the President.

The atmosphere was excellent. After setting down his glass, the President took out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. He had a beard, and some liquor might have inadvertently landed on it, making him look less... presentable.

This was Lance's first time observing the President up close. He had a full beard that was dark brown and quite substantial.

Furthermore, he was very tall and more imposing than he appeared in newspaper photos.

Honestly, he looked more like... a general than a president.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our task tonight is to fully relax and rejoice. Please look after yourselves, and above all, enjoy this moment!"

"I have some other matters to attend to and must excuse myself for a moment."

The President was, after all, the President. He couldn't truly socialize casually with everyone here. Everyone watched as the President left the hall, but some knew he had only left the main room, not the house or the evening's event.

Lance then noticed the President's staff constantly appearing in the hall, finding specific individuals, speaking quietly to them, and then escorting them out.

Clearly, the President was continuing his socializing in another room, but these engagements were more private.

A while later, Lance was chatting with a real estate developer about the future of real estate in the Federation when the President's aide walked over, interrupting their conversation.

"Mr. White, I apologize for interrupting your conversation. The President would like to see you."

Lance glanced at the aide and nodded. He then apologized to the real estate developer he was speaking with. "I might need to step away for a moment."

The real estate developer was no fool; he knew exactly why Lance was leaving and what he was going to do.

It would be utterly stupid if he didn't accept Lance's apology or tried to stop him.

"It's been very insightful talking to you. Please go ahead, Mr. White."

Lance shook his hand again and said "Thank you." He tidied his jacket, patted Barbara's hand, signaling her to wait, and followed the President's aide through a small side door.

After walking down a short corridor, they entered a room.

The President was sitting on a sofa and talking on the phone.

Seeing Lance enter, he gestured for him to sit down without immediately putting down the receiver. "Write down your thoughts as a report and have someone send it to my office. I don't have time to hear you explain it over the phone or any other way."

"I don't know when I'll have time to deal with all this, but what you said just now on the phone—only those specific things—I believe are necessary and appropriate."

"The specifics will have to wait until I read your report and discuss it with others before a decision can be made."

"I have other business here. That's all for now. Talk later."

He hung up, then took out his handkerchief and wiped his large beard.

He clearly liked and took great care of his beard.

Perhaps to avoid saliva spilling out while speaking or clinging to his whiskers, he constantly wiped his beard.

This was likely a problem all men with large beards faced; if they accidentally dirtied their beard, they often couldn't see it and had to proactively clean it repeatedly.

The President showed no intention of shaking Lance's hand. As the nominal supreme ruler of the country, granting Lance a private audience was already a huge honor.

"Jeffrey told me about you, discussing your role in these affairs. You are a very talented young man, Lance."

"I hope I may call you Lance?"

Lance shook his head. He leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees, his torso slightly bent forward.

"Of course, Mr. President. It is my honor!"

The President enjoyed Lance's response. "They said you are a man who knows how to speak well. I wasn't entirely convinced, but it seems they were right on that point."

"You are very young and possess intelligence beyond your years. The Federation needs young people like you."

"I believe you will become a role model for the youth!"

He paused. "Jeffrey spoke to me earlier about awarding you a Gold Heart Medal..."

Lance straightened his body. The Gold Heart Medal held extraordinary significance. To some extent, it represented a kind of political defense.

For someone who had made a major contribution to the country, even a Supreme Court Justice would have to consider the meaning and value of this medal before sentencing him.

It could be a "get-out-of-death-free card." If, by chance, he were arrested and fabricated evidence was used against him, the Gold Heart Medal could ensure he would at worst receive a prison sentence of a few thousand years.

As long as he wasn't killed immediately, he would always find a way to escape and make a comeback. That was why he valued the medal highly, far more than he let on to Senator Cleveland.

"I... I don't know how to discuss this with you. In principle, I agree with Jeffrey's request. Awarding you a Gold Heart Medal is no problem for us."

"You know, a Gold Heart Medal costs only a few dozen dollars to produce."

"But, Lance, you are different from others."

"Your identity is very complex. You're an immigrant... oh, you are a Federal citizen now."

"Then there's the fact that you're a gang leader and involved in criminal businesses."

"I know you've done a lot for the Federation, but if I award it to you, how do you think... people will react?"

Lance did not answer immediately, instead pondering the President's motive and reason for this conversation.

After about twenty seconds, he finally spoke slowly. "I heard that it can be awarded without a public announcement."

"But there will be a record!" the President countered, pointing out another possibility of a non-public award. "Every Gold Heart Medal manufactured and awarded has a record: for what actions and to whom."

"People pay attention to these things—people on our side, and people not on our side."

"They will use this as a means to attack me, attack Jeffrey, and attack you."

"Once public opinion is mobilized, we will be put in a very passive position!"

After all that, the President was essentially telling Lance that the Gold Heart Medal was off the table.

As for the reason, Lance believed the President's explanation wasn't the real one.

Lance showed no disappointment or hesitation. A slight smile surfaced on his face. "In that case, of course, your and the Senator's interests come first."

The President looked surprised, but then smiled broadly. He stood up and walked to Lance, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm very happy you feel that way. It proves you are a man of mature thought."

"I will have them compensate you in other ways. How about a tax exemption?"

Lance smiled and nodded. "Good. That is exactly what I need!"

The President laughed heartily, patting Lance's shoulder. "You will become a remarkable man, Lance."

Lance wore a humble expression. "May your words come true, Mr. President!"