Chapter 41: Among Us, an Outsider Has Infiltrated!

In just over three hours, after having a late-night snack and lying in bed pretending to be weak, Lynch was treated with some unknown ointment by emergency center doctors that made him look exhausted.

When he was discharged from the emergency center, everyone breathed a sigh of relief—including the Sabin City Federal Tax Bureau director, who had stayed by his side, only relaxing once Lynch was safe.

As long as Lynch lived, the situation wouldn’t spiral out of control. After all, whether it was him or higher-ups, no one was unaware of some work-related problems at the lower levels.

As long as these issues didn’t become uncontrollable, the higher-ups would turn a blind eye. Everyone understood that if frontline work followed every rule strictly, nothing would get done.

Proper delegation—even bending rules—was not excessive, as long as tasks were completed.

Every year, the Baylor Federation saw hundreds of conflicts caused by excessive law enforcement. In previous years, there were even more, but enforcement agencies never hesitated or got punished by superiors.

But if Lynch died, things would get difficult. Any effective system has internal cleansing processes to remove corrupt elements, and the federal government was no different.

The Baylor Federation’s “Supervisory Department” was such a special body, with subordinate offices like the “Corruption Investigation Bureau,” “Discipline Committee,” and “Anti-Infiltration Office.”

Once public opinion boiled over, investigators would quickly appear in Sabin City to probe enforcement overreach and possible official crimes. Then, Michael wouldn’t be the only one in trouble.

A mere investigation team leader couldn’t bear such weight alone; a high-ranking official who knew but didn’t report would likely be dismissed alongside him.

Fortunately, Lynch woke up, meaning things wouldn’t worsen—unless you counted the series of hospital bills he’d soon face.

Lynch talked with the doctors and helped facilitate their simple cooperation. The doctors’ actions weren’t seriously negligent.

In the Baylor Federation, medical institutions were controlled by medical corporations. Hospitals were essentially marketplaces run by capitalists behind a medical façade.

They sold health, and you had to pay for it. Doctors and nurses were salespeople—not truly healers—though they often claimed otherwise.

Their goal was to enter hospitals as high-paid staff, creating profits for their corporations.

So why would a doctor refuse a risk-free deal that brought huge commissions?

This also explains why calls for medical reform always gain public support: soaring medical costs and cold hospital attitudes make change desirable but difficult.

It’s like asking big capitalists not to make money—they aren’t philanthropists. Even philanthropists first exploit the common people before generously giving.

News of Lynch’s violent assault and critical condition quickly spread. Michael, cooperating with the police, didn’t expect Lynch to be so seriously hurt.

Some officers hesitated but handcuffed and shackled Michael—already a high-level privilege in the station—signaling he was suspected of first-degree murder as the attacker if Lynch died overnight.

These developments barely stirred Sabin City’s residents. Even by dawn, few knew Lynch had been hospitalized by a beating from Michael, the tax bureau investigation team leader, with a risk warning issued.

Most people’s lives went on unchanged, including young Michael.

After waking and eating a poor breakfast, Michael joined others in the prison workshop. The Baylor Federation was perplexing in many ways.

Though prisons should be state institutions, many in Baylor were privately run. Capital’s reach was everywhere—even prisons and prisoners had become profit-extracting factories to some.

Fortunately, Sabin regional prison was still public. The city’s inmate population wasn’t too large to burden the government, so they managed expenses.

Prisoners weren’t just fed; they had to work—though it was more a product of contemporary policy.

People had long believed former inmates reoffended because they lacked skills to reintegrate and earn a living after release.

After years of debate, the “Inmate Skills Training/Employment Guidance Act” was passed, requiring inmates to master a trade during their sentence.

This law spawned many new problems, which in turn created more issues, but that was irrelevant now.

Michael sat quietly at a sewing machine, following his master’s instructions—the vocational skill in Sabin City prison.

Veteran inmates taught novices sewing machine skills. If interested, they could learn machine repair. Upon release, they’d have a marketable skill for work.

New prisoners started in beginner groups, guided by experienced inmates until they could sew a prison uniform independently—that counted as success.

They could then choose to sunbathe, exercise, or work. For each completed garment, they earned money rewards.

These rewards were paid out either at release or used within the prison.

After sitting down, Michael’s master didn’t start work but glanced at the door and casually said, “New inmates arrived today. You’re in the same group.”

Michael had no objections. He was adapting and found prison life less scary than rumored. Even without Michael’s help, he believed he could serve his sentence safely and swiftly.

Soon, several newcomers entered the workshop and approached Michael. All were beginners, so uniform learning was easy.

As everyone prepared, one guy who had been staring at Michael suddenly shouted, “Hey, I know you! Your dad’s a ‘licensed’ guy!”

The workshop fell silent. Michael swallowed nervously. Suddenly, the atmosphere felt off. Even his master, who had been friendly these days, looked at him differently.