Chapter 30: Life’s Transitional Changes

“Mom!”

The hospital room door was suddenly pushed open by a young man. Mrs. Michael, resting on the bed, immediately sat up. The young man came to her side and hugged her, his face showing worry and fear.

He had met with the police early that morning. They told him about the attack on his mother the previous night. Fortunately, the community security arrived in time, and the attacker fled before harming Mrs. Michael.

After a night’s rest, Mrs. Michael had calmed down. She described the assailant’s appearance. The police suspected the attacker was someone familiar and thought young Michael might have some clues, such as having seen the person before.

With this in mind, and needing to notify the family, young Michael left school early to come here.

His worried expression vanished, replaced by anger and a fierce look. “I will find that person. I swear!”

Mrs. Michael didn’t want her son to take risks. Holding his hand and stroking his soft golden-brown hair—hereditary from Michael, appearing brownish in low light but golden in bright light—she said, “The police are more professional than you. We should trust them. See, I’m fine, and I don’t want you to get hurt!” She squeezed his hand tightly. “I’m doing well now. Don’t get involved.”

She still remembered the weapon in the man’s hand and his brutality. She didn’t want her child to become the next victim. But sometimes parents’ warnings don’t reach their children, especially boys like sixteen or seventeen-year-old Michael.

They think having a nearly adult body means they have adult wisdom and experience. They crave respect but often mess things up.

In this cycle, they are eager to prove they are mature and grown-up and don’t need parental control. So they do things their parents wouldn’t want to prove their parents aren’t always right.

Michael comforted his mother and promised not to investigate the attacker. He also agreed not to tell Michael about the incident for now.

Michael was still on a business trip, which was reportedly dangerous. If this incident affected him and caused irreparable harm, Mrs. Michael would never feel at ease. This was exactly what young Michael wanted to avoid.

He wanted to resolve this before Michael returned, proving he was grown-up and didn’t need to be restrained.

After seeing his mother, young Michael was invited by the police to the station. They showed him a wanted poster being printed.

“Have you seen this person?” the chief investigator asked, holding a coffee cup and pointing to the poster on the board.

Normally, cases like this wouldn’t be supervised by a chief. But Michael was licensed government personnel, so such family incidents received extra attention as a message to the public and federal tax bureau—to show they cared and deter potential criminals while protecting their interests.

Young Michael frowned at the poster. He didn’t know this person. Michael’s connection to the informant was very secretive, and there were other matters involved. Neither the informant nor Michael would reveal their relationship or involve young Michael.

Though unfamiliar with the man, Michael wore a thoughtful expression. The chief waited about four or five minutes before Michael shook his head. “He looks a bit familiar, but I can’t remember where I’ve seen him.”

The chief nodded without comment, asked a few more questions, and was about to dismiss Michael when he suddenly asked, “Can I take this with me? Maybe I’ll remember later.” He pointed to the wanted poster.

The Sabin City Police Department had printed hundreds of these to distribute statewide and to federal agencies. One more or less didn’t matter.

The chief nodded, put down his coffee, tore the poster off, and handed it to Michael. “If you remember anything, don’t act rashly. Call me immediately.” He gave Michael his business card.

Michael nodded repeatedly, promising to call first thing. The chief then watched him leave.

Watching Michael drive away in a Buffalo 239, the chief joked with a colleague, “Look, the tax folks have money—kids can drive a 239, and I’m still driving an old clunker.”

In the Baylor Federation, anyone over five feet tall (1.5 meters) and older than fifteen can get a license—height to reach pedals, age for life skills.

The chief’s colleague smiled but said nothing. Everyone knew how the federal tax bureau operated.

Not all fines went up the chain; some were pocketed for various reasons. Plus, Michael was the investigation team leader, part of management—normal stuff.

Michael ignored their talk. He was filled with a strong sense of mission. He wanted to do something big for his mother and father—and to show the bastard who tried to hurt his mother his strength.

About twenty minutes later, his car stopped outside a nightclub called Kimberly. It was somewhat famous in Sabin City with a headquarters and nearly eighty branches across the Baylor Federation.

Its legitimate services attracted those who didn’t want to tarnish their reputation. With strong backing, it was both safe and a status symbol.

The nightclub was quiet by day. As Michael entered, only cleaners were present, and the bartender was counting inventory and organizing supplies.

The bartender glanced at Michael’s footsteps but quickly looked away. He knew Michael—a kid with some local influence inherited from his father.

Michael strode to the bar, slapped the wanted poster on the counter, and tapped it with his fingers, making a banging sound. The bartender finally looked at him.

“I want to find this man…”

The bartender glanced at the poster, half-asleep. “You need to go to the police. We don’t offer that service.”

Michael looked around, leaned in, and said, “I know you have good connections. I’m willing to pay, and this doesn’t concern anyone else.”

The bartender thought for a moment. “Five thousand. I’ll look into him. If you want more, we can talk after I find out who he is.”

Michael agreed immediately.

The bartender put away the poster and resumed inventory. “Come in through the back door at 7 PM.”