"There's nothing here..."
Another investigator, unaware of what happened here, threw out all the worn clothes from two boxes, including the wooden crates used to store them, which were also broken into several pieces.
There are no coins or small change, let alone the hundreds, thousands indicated in the tip; there's not even a single coin.
The first reaction of the investigator already engaged in a subtle standoff was disbelief. They had conducted a thorough investigation, and it was clear that this young man named Lynch was exchanging small change on a massive scale in ways beyond imagining.
No one before Lynch had ever engaged in such a financially losing proposition to exchange small change. He was the pioneer, and the Sabin City Tax Bureau investigators believed he was doing this to aid Fox.
During this time, Lynch had only interacted with Fox and no one else. In addition, there was a significant increase in the reported tax amount for the laundromats under Fox's name in the past few days. The Sabin Tax Bureau considered Lynch the "key player."
Actually, someone had been watching him since the day before yesterday. Following his pattern of actions, he should be delivering the collected coins to the laundromat now, ostensibly to do laundry, but actually engaging in illegal transactions.
Then he would continue to exchange small change until he amassed a certain amount again.
As long as they caught him with those coins, marked them, and let Lynch take the coins to the laundromat, the entire chain of evidence would be complete.
Once Fox starts reporting his tax situation, a special envoy will be arranged immediately to check the submitted documents and catch him red-handed to send him to prison.
Everything was perfectly calculated, yet this is where the problem arose. Apart from a pile of old clothes, there wasn't a single coin on the car. Where did the money go?
In a short span of three, four, five, six, seven, or eight seconds, the investigator's gaze showed brief confusion. Immediately, he turned back to Lynch, pointed at him, and said, "Be careful..."
Saying this, he patted the lapel of his trench coat and quickly left with another investigator. They had to rush to another location.
Their extensive work experience prevented them from pinning all hopes on this group alone. Another team was raiding Lynch's current temporary residence. If there was no money here, then it had to be in his room.
However, the investigator felt that things couldn't be that simple. This young man Lynch...he was somewhat inscrutable, not at all like a young man fresh out of the ivory tower who still holds this world in awe.
Lynch watched the two investigators leave the alley, spat on the ground, bent over to pick up the clothes, and then pushed his cart out of the alley.
The sunlight shone on his face, and there was no sign of having been humiliated or punched, as if nothing had happened, his smile unchanged.
A few minutes later, he arrived at the laundromat, went straight into the storeroom at the back of the laundromat. Two young men greeted him and then took tools to start dismantling the cart.
The cart was quite large, with a sturdy steel pipe structure lined with wire, making it see-through. Hence, the investigator didn't bother to check the cart carefully.
The laundromat manager handed over a cigarette, lit it for Lynch, and apologized. "I'm very sorry, I know what just happened, but we didn't help you..."
Lynch's gaze skipped over the manager's shoulder, watching the two workers lift the cart's dismantled steel pipes with effort and tilt them toward a basket.
Clinking metal sounds followed as various coins poured out of the pipes like running water.
Lynch withdrew his gaze and looked at the manager. He shrugged indifferently, "It's okay, I have to deal with them; that's why I refused. I don't like trouble."
Mr. Fox, during this period, had expressed his desire to recruit Lynch more than once. He was willing to offer Lynch an extremely high salary of three thousand a month.
In society where the average monthly income was only two to three hundred, ten times the average monthly wage was tempting for many, but not Lynch.
He knew that someone like Fox, who treads the gray lines, would never escape certain people's surveillance. Once he agreed, he would become one of them, watched no matter what he did in the future.
By not joining, it was another story. His youth, his "shallowness," would prevent people from noticing him too much.
When people started to notice him, he would have almost completed his initial capital accumulation.
Furthermore, he didn't care for someone who lends money to the poor in a small city.
The manager smiled, said nothing more, and instead, Lynch asked again, "Who was the one who hit me?"
He looked down, dragging on his cigarette, his gaze averted. His hair and the smoke masked his eyes, preventing the manager from discerning his true emotions.
"Michael, head of the Sabin City Federal Tax Bureau investigation team. He's a troublesome guy; you'd better not have any inappropriate thoughts," the manager kindly reminded.
The Federation Tax Bureau functions as its own entity, with not only investigators but agents and special agents, and even maintains its own militarized force.
It sounds absurd and ridiculous, but it's a fact—a formal, complete, professionally military-trained unit aimed at certain types of armed tax resistance.
As a result, most would advise newcomers that you could do most things you wanted, but by the seventh of every month, one must report to the local tax bureau, or else...
Michael, as the head of the Sabin City Federal Tax Bureau investigation team, held a mid-level position even if it wasn't the highest.
Even someone like Fox didn't want to, without reason, offend such a person. For tax investigators like those, everyone has a flaw.
Since no one can accurately remember every income and tax ratio, missing a decimal point or an error beyond a couple of decimal places could land you in prison.
Lynch nodded, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. "I know, I'll give way if I see him next time..."
The manager patted Lynch on the shoulder and didn't continue the topic. "How much this time?"
"Excluding the change, four thousand five hundred!"
The manager was initially a little stunned before he chuckled and pulled out some bundles of cash tied with a rubber band from his pocket.
All in five and ten-dollar notes, these were also quite worn and easily spent.
For the entire society, these five and ten-dollar notes were like the coins in the laundromat; no one could possibly describe the journey of each coin that landed there.
The tax bureau could only clean this money by the laundromat's reported tax amounts and then witness its deposit in the bank.
Lynch rolled up the cash and placed it back in the cart. He waited until his dirty clothes were washed before taking them and then pushed the cart away.
Meanwhile, on the other side, a group had just raided Lynch's temporary residence and found not a single penny or anything of value.
Failing to obtain any concrete evidence and alarming Lynch and Fox would bring them more trouble, potentially even halting the investigation.