The Shadow Tycoon
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 125: A Rose With a Price
William once again became the subject of coverage on the first three pages of the newspaper, an honor most ordinary people would never receive. A lucky few might make the papers after death through an obituary, but aside from that, the vast majority would go their entire lives without ever seeing their names in print.
The value of a human life can be immense, yet somehow it never outweighs the weight of a newspaper. That was amusing, or perhaps it was simply the truth.
A policy is never approved merely because everyone agrees it sounds reasonable. It takes time. It requires consideration for every corner of society.
First comes the advance messaging, allowing the public to gradually become familiar with the issue and the policy itself. Then comes deeper and deeper coverage, repeated again and again, guiding people from curiosity to acceptance, and from acceptance to habit. Once that happens, few people feel the policy is particularly objectionable.
Even those who dislike it usually just dislike it. They do not react as though they have been violated. The first violation always provokes outrage. Emotions run hot. But after enough repetitions, people stop caring.
That was why newspapers were covering William’s Secondhand Auction initiative on such a massive scale. The goal was normalization, helping those who might dislike the idea gradually accept it.
Article after article described the program as a policy that provided enormous benefits and convenience to ordinary citizens. They emphasized that local businessman William was willing to shoulder the responsibility himself. Not only would he sell secondhand goods at reasonable prices, but he would also purchase unused items from households and redirect them into the hands of people who actually needed them.
Spend less money. Get more value. That was the message the newspapers were selling, and quite a few people found it genuinely appealing.
It wasn’t only the newspapers in Sabine City. Papers in several major cities across the state had begun pushing the same narrative, while advertising space William had purchased started carrying notices about secondhand goods buyback programs.
After a certain period of time, the Economic Trade Company would gradually establish branch offices throughout the state and begin collecting goods.
For many families, it offered a glimmer of hope. Things they had once bought impulsively and considered worthless might now be turned back into cash. During an economic downturn, that extra money could help them hold on a little longer. As a result, more and more people found themselves hoping that Interstellar Trading Company would successfully establish operations in their communities.
A great many people saw those newspaper stories.
So many, in fact, that an “old woman” saw them too.
She looked to be in her fifties, though in reality she was only in her forties.
A woman from an ordinary family could never compare herself to the ladies of high society. She had neither the money nor the time to care for her skin, maintain her appearance, and preserve her youth.
The burdens of life and the endless grind of daily existence had long since numbed her. Sometimes that numbness looked, to outsiders, almost like cold indifference.
As she stared at the photograph of William, young, handsome, and brimming with confidence, regret surfaced in her heart for the first time. She had been the one who broke up the relationship between her daughter and that handsome young man.
If only they had waited a little longer...
She raised her head and looked at her daughter sitting across the table, a young woman already beginning to show the wear that life inflicted on ordinary people. For a moment she felt as though she were looking at herself twenty years earlier.
Then she quietly lowered the newspaper.
Neither mother nor daughter spoke.
Yet their eyes lingered on the same face printed on the page.
They both knew him.
William.
Several minutes later, heavy footsteps sounded from inside the house.
A burly middle-aged man emerged from a room, yawning. He scratched at his tangled hair and muttered that he ought to shave his head bald. Otherwise, he didn’t have time to deal with his hair every day.
Almost every ordinary household had someone like him.
People who were always busy, so busy they could barely take care of themselves, yet somehow idle enough to spend hours stretched across a sofa with cheap food in hand, grinning foolishly at a flickering television screen.
The older woman hurried to her feet and brought him breakfast.
A plate of chopped meat topped with a slightly congealed fried egg.
Eleanor had inherited her cooking skills from her mother, though she was somewhat better at it.
The middle-aged man nodded with satisfaction.
The moment he opened his mouth, the stale fermentation of a night’s worth of breath spread around the table in a nauseating wave.
He didn’t notice it himself.
Instead, he cheerfully began eating his hearty breakfast.
A breakfast rich in meat and eggs could keep a person energized throughout the day and provide the strength needed for hard work.
Most ordinary families served meals like this in the morning, meals piled high with meat.
The people who received such breakfasts were usually the pillars of their households. Most performed physically demanding labor and genuinely needed the calories.
Sometimes people blindly worshipped what they imagined to be the lifestyle of high society.
They talked about eating more vegetables and maintaining healthier habits.
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