Chapter 12: In a Society with Rules and Order, Intelligence Crushes All

“Do you have Michael’s family information?”

After wandering outside for a while and confirming no one was following him, Lynch entered Mr. Fox’s basement office.

A hint of pity for the weak showed on his face—this was the greatest tragedy for people like Mr. Fox in this era.

They were wealthy—not as rich as major capitalists, but far beyond ordinary small business owners—yet they couldn’t even afford a decent office.

They had to stay hidden; neither their business nor their wealth was protected by law—in fact, it attracted legal scrutiny. So they worked in this damp, moldy underground space.

The mold stains in the corner and the yellowed panels almost made Lynch laugh. If he had this much money and resources, he would have taken off long ago.

Lynch’s business with Mr. Fox was still in the honeymoon phase. Providing over ten thousand in small change daily, Lynch had become Mr. Fox’s focus recently.

At first, Mr. Fox doubted Lynch could manage it, but over time Lynch sped up, now delivering small change three to four times a day.

Although fewer times than the first day’s ten-plus runs, the total amount grew, helping Mr. Fox quickly convert that cash into bank-depositable money.

Before leaving work each day, Lynch reported the income so tax officials could watch them empty coin boxes from washing machines and deposit the cash.

Large deposits required tax proof to be accepted by banks, confirming the money’s legality.

This meant Mr. Fox’s money laundering sped up; in a few months, he could rent a prime storefront downtown and work in a lavish environment.

Their relationship remained good. Lynch earned money, and Mr. Fox avoided trouble—an ideal arrangement.

Today, Lynch’s first question upon arrival was about Michael’s family information. After repeated harassment and even a punch from Michael, Lynch would not pretend nothing happened; he wanted revenge.

Mr. Fox frowned, then relaxed. “You shouldn’t pick fights with him. You know he’s ‘licensed.’ In the end, he’ll never be the one to suffer.”

Licensed didn’t mean car licenses but those working for the federal government with law enforcement authority. These people were dangerous and naturally saw themselves as a collective.

When you target one, you might face the entire group.

There was a story: a lawyer got a parking ticket from a mounted police officer. He joked he wouldn’t pay and would make the officer apologize. Friends doubted him.

Soon, the lawyer sued the local police, won after a fierce trial, paid no fines, and the officer publicly apologized in court and to the media.

But that wasn’t the end.

The lawyer lost his life. From that day on, police in seventeen states watched him.

On highways, he was forcibly stopped eleven times by different patrol units on his route, searched and photographed each time.

And that wasn’t all.

He lived in fear; police found excuses to harass him, like reports of screams or break-ins at his home.

His repaired front door was repeatedly broken down, followed by riot police storming in, dragging him and his wife out into the yard.

So here, it’s best not to fight those with licenses. If Lynch angered that entire group, his life would become a nightmare—especially since he was up against the tax bureau.

The tax bureau tracked every transaction and encouraged others to report him. One verified case, and Lynch would rot in prison.

But Lynch smiled. “I just want to send a gift to smooth things over. He won’t think I’m insulting him, right?”

Mr. Fox hesitated, unsure if Lynch was serious or joking. Either way, he said what needed to be said—Lynch would find out eventually.

Better to say it now than cause friction later.

Lynch carefully recorded Michael’s information, chatted more with Mr. Fox, and if nothing changed, in two to three months Mr. Fox’s money would be safely in the bank.

That was good, but Mr. Fox had a new problem. “Lynch, my friend, I know you’re smart. How do you think I can make my business legitimate?”

He smiled. “I finally got rid of some trouble and don’t want to fall back in. Maybe you have ideas I haven’t thought of?”

Mr. Fox’s business was essentially lending money at interest, but his rates exceeded federal legal limits.

Some contracts even included illegal compound interest, making his business awkward. Even if he collected money, he couldn’t deposit it in banks.

If transactions went through banks, opponents could present contracts and bank records to convict Mr. Fox—the interest rates were illegal.

He’d face investigations from prosecutors and tax officials, and the loans would be unrecoverable. The law wouldn’t recognize the contracts or support any legal claim for the money or interest.

This problem plagued most in his line of work. Without solving it, their money laundering efforts remained gray at best.

Lynch didn’t answer, just shrugged. He knew how to solve it but wouldn’t say now.

After chatting with Mr. Fox, Lynch left satisfied, wandered briefly, then went to Michael’s home.

Michael lived in an upscale Sabin City neighborhood with a nice family.

His wife was attractive and young-looking, probably a full-time homemaker, focused on husband and kids, spending spare time watching TV and socializing with other housewives.

His son, Michael Jr., was a high schooler at a nearby private school, average grades, several girlfriends, interested in everything except studying.

A simple, typical lower-tier privileged family.