Chapter 109: Humanitarian Aid for a Family in Distress

After skimming through the Trade Journal, Lynch picked up a local newspaper. Most of the information in the Trade Journal focused on macroeconomic trends, which weren’t particularly useful to him at the moment.

Local papers, on the other hand, provided more relevant updates about the area—information that helped him keep a closer pulse on local developments.

For example, several factories had recently gone bankrupt, putting large numbers of workers out on the streets and worsening an already unstable security situation.

Or a report about a male housecat that had somehow gotten pregnant, with its swollen belly looking ready to burst. The cat’s owner even hired a nurse to care for it.

Another story detailed a dairy worker claiming he was abducted by aliens who took a tuft of his leg hair before returning him. With an artist’s help, he even drew the spaceship and the aliens.

Then there was news that caught Lynch’s attention. He flipped to the local news section and found a small piece mentioning that Michael, the former head of the Tax Bureau’s investigative unit—who had recently been transferred to a different prison—had confessed to pressuring his son into taking responsibility for some of his own crimes to evade legal consequences.

Michael admitted his wrongdoing to prison authorities, and the court had ruled on it just yesterday.

His son, Little Michael, was acquitted and released. Michael himself had his sentence extended by forty months. With the added time, even if Director Johnson wanted to invoke the “Special Talent Requisition Act” to pull Michael out of prison, the chances of success were slim.

Seven years from now, no one even knew where Director Johnson would be. Maybe he’d rise to a position in the state office and still have the power to do it. But maybe he wouldn’t. After all, a warehouse clerk—even one who’s nominally promoted to the state tax office—wouldn’t have that kind of influence.

It was a deal that could be seen as worthwhile or not, depending on one’s perspective.

To the Michael family, it was clearly worth it. Their son had been released early and even received a not guilty verdict.

The state court considered several contextual factors. Since Michael was both father and superior to Little Michael, the latter would have had a hard time refusing the request. Given his young age, the court dismissed the charges of obstruction and perjury, ruling him not guilty on humanitarian grounds.

That ruling erased the blemish on Little Michael’s record. His life path had shifted.

As Lynch clicked his tongue in a mix of frustration and faint humanitarian sympathy for Michael’s situation, the doorbell rang.

He set down the newspaper, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stood up to head toward the living room. The maid quickly cleared the table before going to open the door.

Good jobs were hard to come by these days—especially ones that involved only light cleaning and paid well.

Whenever Lynch wasn’t home, she spent her time lounging on the couch watching TV, yet still received a decent salary. She valued this job and had even considered speaking to Lynch privately about staying on longer.

The front door soon opened, and when Director Johnson saw the maid’s attire, he froze for a moment before quickly looking away.

Who knew what strange preferences people had? If staring too long caused Lynch to take offense or led to an accident, Johnson knew it’d be hard to explain his way out.

After a brief exchange, the maid led Johnson to the living room and then left.

“I just saw you in the paper,” Lynch said, shaking Johnson’s hand and sitting back down, crossing his legs and smiling. “What can I do for you?”

It seemed like a polite and normal greeting, but Johnson sensed something deeper—an unspoken quality, maybe pride, or perhaps arrogance. Hard to define.

His words and expressions were just formalities. Johnson was sure of it.

He ignored the theatrics and asked curiously, “I was in the paper?”

According to unwritten rules, heads of local authorities rarely appeared in public or in the media without prior consent, to maintain a sense of mystique and avoid unnecessary trouble.

There were too many lunatics out there, people who didn’t care about rules and just did whatever they wanted, even harassing officials they believed had wronged them—regardless of whether that was actually the case.

Lynch nodded. “I saw that Michael’s sentence was extended…”

At that, Johnson scratched his head and gave a wry smile. “I knew I couldn’t hide it from you. That was my doing. And it’s related to why I’m here.”

Lynch gave a slight nod, signaling him to continue. He already had a guess as to Johnson’s purpose but wasn’t going to say it aloud. Sometimes saying something yourself gave it more weight; other times, it diminished the impact.

Michael was in prison. His son had just been released. His wife probably had no idea how to handle this sudden shift in their lives. No one in that family had the means to change their situation.

The only one who could—and had the right to—was Michael’s old superior: Director Johnson.

Lynch didn’t suspect it was Michael’s former colleagues. No matter the circumstances, they wouldn’t involve themselves with Michael again. Only Johnson was different.

He was a softhearted man. Whether that was good or bad was hard to say.

After a long pause, Johnson sighed helplessly. “I visited Michael a few days ago. He said he’s letting it go. He regrets how he treated you and asked me to apologize on his behalf. He hopes you’ll forgive him…”

Lynch gave a nod, indicating he’d heard, but his expression didn’t change. He seemed indifferent.

Which made sense. Ten years from now, Michael would be a former convict, and Lynch would likely be an even more powerful figure. Their lives would never intersect again. Why should he care?

But there were still things that needed resolution. Johnson pushed on awkwardly, “We spent quite a bit… Little Michael will need to transfer schools, and there are other expenses…”

He rubbed his hands nervously. He wasn’t necessarily a great man, but he had never broken the law—let alone taken the initiative like this.

Lynch now felt the timing was right to respond. “There’s nothing between me and Michael. No friendship, no favors owed. Even if his wife and child end up begging on the street, it’s their own doing.”

“But…” he shifted tone, “you and I are good friends. If you’re in trouble, I’m willing to help. Not because of Michael’s pathetic apologies, but because of you, Director Johnson.”

Johnson’s emotions were mixed—annoyed, resigned, and oddly… proud?

After all, anyone would feel pleased when their worth was acknowledged—especially in a way that elevated them.

“I don’t know…” Johnson muttered.

Lynch pulled out his checkbook, wrote down a number, and handed it over. “On your behalf, and out of humanitarian concern, I’m willing to support this unfortunate family. But this money needs to be used properly and distributed in parts. Can you take on that responsibility, Director Johnson?”

With a rip, the check was torn from the book and held in Lynch’s hand, awaiting an answer.