Chapter 175: Taxes and Adoption

Lynch never considered paying too little in taxes something to be proud of—he never had.

There was once a wealthy man who proudly declared that he always reported his income in full. His income came primarily from employing himself and drawing a modest salary. Some even wrote articles praising him, calling him the conscience of society.

But no one ever mentioned how much he actually paid in taxes—because it was embarrassingly low and saying it aloud would ruin his image.

Paying too little in taxes could damage one’s public image. Lynch didn’t want to become someone rejected by the mainstream, namely the lower and middle classes. He avoided that path.

He believed that with greater wealth and ability came greater responsibility and the need to set an example.

Vera had always known his stance. He had even considered paying full taxes at one point.

Now, she asked with curiosity, “How much income am I dealing with? I might need a plan.”

“Not much,” Lynch said casually. “A little over a million in cash, and some shares.”

That kind of statement was infuriating. If that wasn’t much, then what was?

Vera rolled her eyes. Still, she enjoyed working with Lynch. There was no rigid hierarchy, and they often joked with each other.

Their closeness went beyond that of ordinary colleagues, but never crossed any line. She liked how natural it felt.

Using her expertise, Vera designed a tax plan for Lynch that she believed was both legal and advantageous. The idea was to reclassify the income as capital increase, which would be treated as investment income and, since Lynch wouldn’t be personally benefiting yet, it wouldn’t be taxed.

The company also wouldn’t owe taxes on it, since it wasn’t revenue or sales income—therefore no tax liability.

Of course, this required a few legal tricks. Once done, the money would be deposited into the corporate account of a company wholly owned by Lynch. Amusingly, Lynch was the sole member of this company.

Then Lynch could spend company funds freely, under the company’s name, on personal expenses. As the sole shareholder, he wouldn’t hold himself accountable.

When he felt the time was right, he could even bankrupt the company and, through some maneuvering, acquire all of its assets in his personal name at a minimal cost. Usually, the assets would end up with a bank.

This process—legal and clean—allowed taxable assets to flow into personal hands with no legal consequences. Even the federal tax bureau would struggle to act.

Morally questionable, perhaps—but for capitalists, morality only existed at charity galas meant to save money.

In daily life?

Forget it. Morality doesn’t make money, so they don’t keep it around.

Lynch didn’t comment. Vera knew he hadn’t accepted her idealistic plan. It wasn’t the first time. She used to be unsettled by this, but now she was used to it.

Lynch’s assertiveness was different from others—more acceptable. Maybe only Vera thought so.

She came up with a new plan. Lynch would need to pay taxes in two parts: on the cash and on the cross-held shares. Overall, she could help him reduce the tax rate legally and reasonably.

“Rough estimate—you’ll be paying at least a 16% tax rate on this deal,” she said. It could have been lower, but Lynch refused.

Lynch nodded in satisfaction. “Please be thorough. I want all the tax documentation well preserved.”

“Of course,” Vera replied. She was used to Lynch’s obsession with detail. Every receipt had to be accounted for, preserved—as if he expected an audit at any moment.

With that handled, Vera returned to her work. She managed both the company’s and Lynch’s personal financial accounts. The company didn’t seem large, but there was plenty going on.

Branches were being set up across the country, with constant inflows and outflows. She reviewed most of them personally.

Not long after Vera left, two teenagers, around fourteen or fifteen, knocked on Lynch’s office door.

They looked healthier than before. Life had improved lately, and Lynch had come to an agreement with their orphanage to adopt them.

Under federal law, unmarried individuals couldn’t adopt. People questioned whether they had the knowledge to raise children—or suspected their motives.

Especially after a certain single middle-aged man had adopted and murdered multiple young girls, shaking the world. Since then, strict standards had been enforced.

But that only applied when people had the time and energy to care about marginalized groups. Right now wasn’t such a time.

In the end, the orphanage agreed to Lynch’s request. None of the children he adopted were girls, avoiding the most sensitive social concern. Though harm to boys also occurred, society tended to ignore it.

The two boys were there to pass along a message—the orphanage director wanted to speak to Lynch about the remaining details.

Soon after, Lynch took a car with the two boys to the St. Sunlight Orphanage in Sabin. It had originally been a monastery, later converted. Many such orphanages in the Federation had similar histories.

Several monasteries had taken on orphanage duties. As capitalism commodified everything, these places changed form—but some traditions remained, like the director in a habit, and nuns acting as staff.

“Welcome, kind Mr. Lynch!” The director hurried out, slightly out of breath.

He looked to be in his fifties, bald, wearing round black-rimmed glasses, with deep nasolabial folds that made him appear stern and intimidating.

Even when he smiled, it didn’t seem like a real smile—more like an odd, unreadable expression.

The old monastery was covered in moss and vines. It felt historical. Some people watched from afar, not daring to approach, quickly leaving when met with the nuns’ gaze.

Clearly, the director and the nuns held strong authority here.

Lynch shook hands with him. Guided by the director, they entered his office, which displayed photos of previous directors and perhaps some notable figures, along with donation records.

“Please, have a seat,” the director said formally. A young nun brought them a mild floral tea. It had a gentle aroma, not overpowering, and was affordable—many people liked it.

After a brief pause, the director spoke. “Mr. Lynch, to be honest, I still don’t support your adoption proposal. You’re too young, not up to standard…”

He trailed off—maybe because Lynch didn’t react, or maybe he realized how pointless the statement was. He sighed.

Just as he was about to continue, Lynch pulled a check from his pocket and placed it on the table.

At moments like this, no words had more weight than a check. The director’s eyes locked on it. He reached out, then pulled back. Lynch pressed the corner down with his teacup.

“A cashier’s check. Redeemable at any bank. Transferable to any account the holder designates,” Lynch said evenly, meeting the director’s eyes. “Let’s skip the pointless lines we both know by heart. Just give me the paperwork. No one will ever know how much is on that check.”

This time, Lynch would only leave with the adoption documents—documents that would later allow these children to register for social security. Without them, it would be nearly impossible for them to obtain social security numbers. That was why, even after gaining their freedom, they still had to rely on the orphanage.

The director made a weak attempt to defend himself. “It’s not what you think!” But he quickly returned to his desk and handed Lynch the prepared adoption papers.

This was a secret deal few people knew about. On the surface, Lynch was adopting one child—but in reality, it was more than that. It was all for show.

Those children had been working as child laborers for a long time and rarely returned to the orphanage. Once they turned sixteen, they would leave for good. This created room for manipulation—no one in the orphanage would know whether a child had actually been adopted or was simply working outside, except for the director.

Lynch glanced through the stack of adoption certificates. After confirming there were no major issues, he casually lifted his cup and took a sip, freeing the corner of the check it had been holding down.

The check immediately fell into the director’s hand. He looked at the figure on it, a satisfied glint appearing in his eyes.

Of course, even an orphanage director needed a degree of acting skill. He discreetly tucked the check into his coat pocket, removed his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, and squeezed out a few tears. “I really hate to part with these children.”

A faint, mocking smirk appeared on Lynch’s lips. “You’re truly a compassionate man.”