Chapter 174: Low-Income Groups

Originally, Gap brought back copies of the original ledgers to use his spare time to make the accounts look more reasonable.

He didn’t see it as a crime. At the time, the Liston Group was still one of Sabin’s most important companies. As an accountant, he understood just how crucial the mutual dependence between corporations and government was.

It was even possible that City Hall would support Liston modifying its books internally to avoid being implicated in the EverBright Group scandal.

As for discrepancies between the two sets of accounts?

That wasn’t a problem—just a smear tactic by someone trying to destroy a pillar of the local economy, cause mass unemployment, and leave thousands of families without security.

Not only would City Hall and the mayor refuse to let that happen—the citizens of Sabin wouldn’t allow it either. This was the power of local protectionism.

Those conglomerates that never lost lawsuits in their own territory, or whose legal troubles never made it to court locally, weren’t above the law.

It was simply that their continued existence was worth more than their downfall.

Even if they were harmful to some capitalists, they were beneficial to the general public. So they had to exist.

But things were different now. City Hall and the state government were both dissatisfied with the corporation. What once seemed like harmless copies of the original ledgers in Gap’s hands had become a hot potato.

Logically, destroying them made more sense. Without the original ledgers, even if the company’s books were found suspicious, it would take a long time to investigate and verify anything—an extended process.

The legal procedures involved would be so drawn out that people would gradually forget. By the time anything was approved, the company might have already relocated, and some applications might never be granted.

But a voice inside Gap told him he had to keep the ledgers. As someone who worked with numbers, he had a habit of preparing for risk.

If something really did go wrong, he needed a backup.

The next day, Vela used her offshore bank account to open a cross-border settlement account with Prosperity Bank in Sabin. She then had the bank set up a safe deposit box under the offshore account, with access protected by a passcode.

This was a common service. There wasn’t a true international currency. Some regions had shared currency zones, but global trade still lacked a universal medium.

In cross-border trade, merchants often entrusted currency exchange and settlement to banks qualified for foreign exchange. Though most banks claimed to have these credentials, there were still differences in reliability.

Vela registered a corporate account, which made it easier to carry out legal tax avoidance for herself or clients. In the Baylor Federation, nearly every licensed accountant had access to a few such channels or accounts.

Thanks to Gap’s relatively successful career and high-level connections, Vela had also registered one.

She then deposited the ledgers and other sensitive evidence entrusted to her by Gap into the bank for safekeeping.

These safes were often protected by unique methods—seals, codes, or cleverly designed mechanisms like torn banknotes or hidden triggers, as seen in novels or films.

But most used passcodes. As long as someone had the right code, they could open the safe.

Likewise, without it, no one could open the safe easily—even if its contents were suspected to be illegal.

Even applying to the courts for access was a long process. The bank’s legal department would try to block court orders to preserve customer privacy, which was vital to the bank’s reputation.

After handling everything, Vela went to her office.

The finance department had doubled in size. Besides Vela, now the department head, she had hired over twenty employees.

Some worked in the main office; others were spread across various branch companies in key roles.

Despite how busy everyone was, they all smiled and greeted her when she passed by. It gave her a strange but satisfying feeling. She couldn’t describe it exactly, but it made her happy—her work and abilities were being recognized.

She had just sat down and glanced at a few documents waiting for her signature when her secretary knocked.

Every morning after she arrived, her secretary—also a younger alumna from her university—would bring her a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

In the Baylor Federation, networks like alumni associations, sororities, and fraternities were among the most trusted connections.

Vela hadn’t known this girl well before, barely even knew she existed. But when she needed a secretary, her first thought was to contact her university sorority.

They recommended the girl, and Vela accepted.

“Just set it there,” Vela said with a smile, seeing the admiration and nervousness on the girl’s face. The weight in her chest eased slightly.

The girl placed the cup and saucer on the corner of the desk, then relayed a message: Lynch had just come by and hoped Vela could visit his office when she had time.

Lynch rarely called Vela. If he needed something, he usually came in person. Vela had even teased him about it—there was no need to keep coming back and forth like that.

Part of it was that frequent visits could fuel gossip. Another part was that a simple phone call would be more efficient.

But what surprised Vela was Lynch’s reply:

“If people keep seeing you come into my office, what will they think?”

“They’ll say you used your looks to get your position. That’s unfair to you.”

“But if I come to your office, that won’t be a problem. People will just assume I’m interested in you. They won’t look at you with those disgusting assumptions.”

“We both know this society is full of injustice. We can’t change that, but we can try to avoid it.”

If not for the fact that she was married, older than Lynch, and already had a child, Vela might have considered him.

At the very least, he understood how to respect women. The way he thought about her feelings was something she had never experienced before—rare in this society.

A likable young man—it was hard not to like him. Though, of course, her feelings were purely platonic.

Vela nodded demurely. After the secretary left, she sipped her coffee, glanced at the files, then got up and went to Lynch’s office.

They were currently renting space from a financial firm that had been dissolved for violating regulations. The office would be auctioned off after legal issues were settled.

In the meantime, Lynch had leased it.

When Vela entered, some of the girls in the office gave her strange looks. Some looked at her with solidarity—as if she were a victim of workplace harassment.

Others, clearly interested in Lynch, glared with jealousy. Why him, and why her—someone who already had a child?

Vela instinctively closed the door behind her as she entered. She sat naturally across from Lynch, relaxed, without the nervousness of an employee meeting a superior.

She even joked, “Did you see the looks on those girls’ faces when I walked into your office? I think they all wished it was them instead of me.”

Lynch smiled, avoiding a topic that could easily lead to mutual embarrassment.

“I’ve finalized a deal with investors over in Kurland. Their funds will be arriving soon, and I’ll need you to handle my personal assets.”

Lynch had sold his shares at a mutually agreed price, so the money wasn’t going into the company’s accounts—it would be counted as his personal income.

Naturally, this meant taxes, and Vera also managed Lynch’s personal finances.

She nodded, made a note, and casually asked, “Do you want to do any tax mitigation?”

Lynch frowned slightly, then exhaled. “Just the usual. Nothing aggressive. Can’t pay too much, but it shouldn’t be too little either.”

There were many ways to reduce taxes. The Federation used both proportional and fixed-amount exemptions. The latter was more common, but the former allowed for more strategic maneuvering.

According to the federal tax bureau, individuals like Lynch, earning over fifty thousand a month, were expected to pay no less than fifty-five percent in various taxes. In reality, though, such individuals often paid very little.

With the right approach, and by exploiting legal loopholes, Lynch could even end up paying nothing at all—because officially, his income could be reported as zero.