Chapter 531: 0529 Everything will be fine.
A man in a torn undershirt sat up from a creaking bed, his face full of despair.
What should have been a light-colored silk-like duvet cover had turned black, especially at both ends of the blanket, glossy black, coated with a layer of black grime.
Whenever he couldn’t tolerate it himself, he would change the blanket, but at this point, it didn’t mean much for him to change it or not.
He stretched lazily, scratched the itching hair under his armpits, and shivered right after. It hadn’t felt cold when he first got out of bed, but now he could feel it.
There was actually heating in the room. He shared the same heating pipeline with his neighbors to maintain indoor temperatures, which was a new initiative this winter.
The mayor wanted to prevent some people who suddenly got poor from freezing to death from lack of cold resistance experience on some morning, so they provided public heating services for some who needed it. Its effect wasn’t very good though; sometimes, it would stop for a while in the middle of the night.
But it was already decent, at least it kept people from shivering while sleeping.
He put on clothes that hadn’t been washed for a long time, exuding a strong smell, squeezed himself into the small bathroom, and began to clean up.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he said to himself, "Everything will get better."
Yes, everything will get better.
When the disaster had its warnings, he said this to himself. Back then, he still lived in a luxurious villa, surrounded by restless servants, and his wife, almost thirty years younger than him, looked at him with adoring eyes, as if everything he said was the truth.
When the disaster truly occurred, he also said this, everything will get better.
At that time he dismissed all the servants at home, unable to continue spending what little cash he had to pay for those expensive wages.
The wife, almost thirty years younger, looked at him suspiciously, seemingly uncertain whether what he said was true or deceiving himself.
After the disaster had happened for a while, he still said this: everything will get better.
His villa was repossessed by the bank. He was driven out by people from the bank and his wife, almost thirty years younger, almost immediately took him to court, filed for divorce claiming he couldn’t provide sufficient sexual satisfaction.
Eventually, he didn’t confront his wife, who had spent countless nights praising him for being "amazing", in court, because he couldn’t afford a lawyer, which would only worsen his situation.
Almost everything had been taken from him, fortunately, he still had this small house, which the government used to settle him in after pulling some strings to qualify.
Other than a factory and heaps of inventory from unfulfilled orders, he had nothing!
At this moment, when he got up daily facing the mirror, he would say the same sentence, "Everything will get better!"
He believed in this; didn’t the newspaper say the Federation had found ways to revitalize the economy? The joint development work between the Federation and Nagariel had made unprecedented progress, the dividends from helping other countries’ development would be enough for the Federation to quickly return to its pre-recession economic state, society would become the beautiful Human World again.
By then, he could live in a big house again, hire countless servants, then find a wife forty years younger, exhausting her every day till he finally rested.
Returning to his senses, he looked at his bearded self in the mirror and nodded vigorously, "Yes, everything will get better!"
He struggled once more to squeeze out of the small doorway...This almost rent-free apartment was not meant for enjoying life, but merely to give people a place to survive, so space cutbacks were only natural.
He walked to the living room window, opened it, and the cold air immediately rushed in, forcing him to wrap his clothes tighter.
Through the window, the bright sunshine came in, even in winter, providing a momentary warmth.
He walked beside the door, picked up a newspaper from the ground, then brewed himself the cheapest coffee — crushing the cheapest coffee beans with stones, no need for filtering, directly boiling them in the pot. This coffee couldn’t be called coffee, it should be called boiled bean water, but this was his only beverage.
He casually placed a small bag of relief food from the aid station in the coffee pot for heating, the aluminum packaging allowed it to be heated without worrying about any issues.
A few minutes later, he sat at the table with the coffee pot, bathing in sunlight, savoring the coffee, reading the latest newspaper, and squeezing the mashed relief food into his mouth.
"Hello, Mr. Jonathan..."
Someone walked past his window in the hallway, greeted him, he warmly responded with a smile, "Good morning, Mr. Anderson..."
Watching Mr. Anderson’s back, Jonathan shook his head. Mr. Anderson was also a factory owner, someone he had heard of before, and even more wealthy than him.
Later, in order to quickly rid himself of debt, Jonathan sold everything, including his factory. If he hadn’t done so, he thought the loan would have been a mountain crushing him.
Even if the bank wasn’t in a hurry for him to repay the loan, just the annual interest alone was enough to take his breath away. He lost, and he admitted defeat, so he sold everything then started over. Now, Mr. Anderson has become an insurance salesperson, working hard to find an opportunity to rise again.
Unlike Mr. Anderson, Jonathan didn’t sell his factory. He made a gamble based on a feeling and idea he couldn’t quite articulate.
So many people went bankrupt, and the Federation would definitely have the bank delay the loan collection, maybe even offer low or zero interest, otherwise many people might not survive.
He gambled correctly. He now had nothing and owed a large sum, but at least he still had a chance.
In fact, he’d been searching for an opportunity all along. Reading newspapers daily was his way of seeking opportunities, learning a lot from them, like the development of Nagariel.
He had a mysterious intuition, knowing that he would soon become wealthy again.
The development of Nagariel would certainly lead to a vigorous demand for material goods in that rapidly prospering society. By slightly lowering the prices, he could easily sell those leftover orders from his factory to active international traders.
And once he received some return on capital, showing the bank his ability and potential to profit for them, he could attempt to take another loan and restart production!
That day, it wouldn’t be too far off, and he always believed it.
After eating the flatbread, he rinsed his mouth with the last bit of coffee and swallowed it all. The flatbread meal was unpalatable, but it was his final lifeline now, he wouldn’t waste a single bit of food!
As he was about to take a stroll outside, a young man, sharply dressed and carrying a briefcase, suddenly stood at the doorway.
The young man’s hair was thickly slicked with pomade, so much so that not a single strand strayed out of place in the chilly wind.
From the young man’s attire, Jonathan’s first thought was that he was with the bank. Bank people liked carrying those briefcases that looked like suitcase but pretended to be document bags.
They had many documents to carry with them, and some of these documents were indeed quite important, necessitating storage in a briefcase rather than a document bag.
"Over here!" Jonathan didn’t hesitate long before he called out to the young man.
The young man was startled, stepped back to look at the door, glanced at the neighboring units again, and only approached after confirming Jonathan was indeed the occupant of the room.
"Mr. Jonathan?" he inquired uncertainly, as if still somewhat skeptical.
Jonathan smoothed his disheveled hair, "Don’t I look like him?"
Perhaps it was his demeanor, or the air left from his once prosperous days, that convinced the young man. Smiling slightly, he said, "Good, it’s you in person. I’m a special agent from the Golden Exchange Bank..."
As he spoke, he opened the briefcase, which wasn’t completely filled with documents; it was divided into two sections.
On the left was a recording device, the latest model, with the drawback of no speakers, meaning the user couldn’t know the recording results until a playback on another machine with speakers.
On the right were heaps of documents, sealed in different folders with various labeled stamps on top.
The young man casually pressed the record button and started speaking while opening the first document, "Mr. Jonathan, from this moment, our conversation will be recorded, to be submitted as valid evidence to the court if necessary."
"To ensure this recording’s legality and validity, I must inform you that it’s functioning and all our conversation will be meticulously recorded on tape. Do you understand its purpose now?"
"You can respond with yes, or no, or should I explain it again?"
Jonathan suddenly became a bit nervous. He didn’t know what this process implied, but his heart pounded uncontrollably. He swallowed, "I understand it’s recording, our conversation is being recorded, right?"
The young man nodded with satisfaction, "Yes, that’s correct. Before we start our formal discussion...," he glanced inside and decided to finish the conversation in the corridor, "I must formally perform an inquiry process according to protocol. You can refuse to answer, including stopping our negotiation, but the existing recording will serve as evidence of your refusal to communicate, and be submitted to the court and judge if necessary. Understand?"
The constant mention of courts and judges made Mr. Jonathan more nervous.