Chapter 42: Being an Adult Isn’t Easy

There are three main types of people in prison. The first are gang members. They make up the majority and are the most unbreakable group. No matter the era or who’s in power, these people always dominate prisons.

The second type commits more fashionable crimes, mostly scams and fraud. They aren’t gang members; they got caught because they weren’t careful or cunning enough.

The third type basically doesn’t exist in Sabin City prison. These people haven’t committed any crimes and can leave the prison anytime. Their presence is usually a means to an end—or sometimes they’ve been framed. Most serve time in well-known federal prisons, yet even behind bars they influence politics, economy, culture, and military.

Others fall into various categories but are fewer. People like young Michael, without gang ties, often get recruited by gangs inside. Many gangs see prisons as a main source of fresh blood.

No one here is excessively discriminated against, though class distinctions persist. If prisons could eliminate class, they would have succeeded long ago. Where there’s people and class, there’s society. Michael hasn’t faced much harshness due to his youth. In a place where personal strength matters, bullying a teenager only earns scorn, not respect.

But if Michael’s father is someone with a license, things change. Most here were caught by those licensed people.

At lunchtime, the prison atmosphere was tense. In Sabin City prison, lunch is followed by a nap, then free time, dinner, and an hour and a half of entertainment—usually TV. Then comes shower time, evening rest, and lights out. Each day is busy, far more structured than their chaotic lives outside.

Michael carried his rubber tray to the food line. A few days ago, the inmate serving meals gave him extra meat and vegetables. Today, the same inmate scooped some watery mush onto Michael’s tray with a look of impatience.

Before Michael could react, a shove from behind knocked him forward, and he fell into the soggy mess. Lying there stunned, the guards only glanced briefly and looked away. They rarely intervene unless there’s a riot.

Prison is a unique micro-society with its own social structure. Without major incidents, no one interferes.

Michael got up and reached for his tray when a foot pressed down on it. He looked up at the person—head lowered, gazing down with a blank, indifferent expression.

No one cheered or jeered. Most wore faint, knowing smiles. If the newcomer hadn’t revealed Michael’s background, someone might have stood up for him, perhaps a gang looking to recruit him.

But now, everyone watched the drama unfold. Those with a license and their families were instinctively hated here.

The man twisted his ankle, grinding Michael’s tray into the floor, leaving a yellowish-black, smelly footprint. Michael’s stomach churned, and he ran to the trash can to vomit up the morning’s undigested food.

He hadn’t yet realized his good days were over. While vomiting, someone yanked his pants down and dunked his head into the trash—filled with leftover food, spit, phlegm, and his vomit. His mind went blank.

When the guards pulled him out, he still hadn’t processed what had happened. Everything felt changed in an instant.

Meanwhile, news spread fast across Sabin City and the entire state: The federal tax investigation team leader abused power, nearly causing an innocent citizen’s death.

Just as Lynch predicted, instead of using the courts to challenge the tax office’s enforcement, he attacked them fiercely through the media—a move that proved crucial.

Michael was immediately placed under city travel restrictions and confined at home. The federal tax bureau director personally secured his temporary release. Keeping him in police custody would only give reporters more fuel to attack the bureau, like questioning why he was detained if innocent.

The director was furious at Michael at home. “You were too reckless! Do you know the headquarters yelled at me for over half an hour on the phone today?”

By early morning, a swarm of reporters buzzed around Lynch like bees drawn to a flower, publishing shocking stories—some fabricated by nurses and doctors. Two federal media outlets had covered it, and by 9 AM, the event was known in all seventeen federal states. Public opinion boiled over.

Such incidents happen hundreds of times yearly, but this time it was clear there was a hidden hand behind it. The federal tax bureau warned the director that if the matter wasn’t swiftly resolved, the supervisory department would send agents to Sabin City for a covert investigation.

When that happened, Michael wouldn’t be the only one in trouble. It wouldn’t just be exile to a remote area—they’d lose jobs, maybe even face jail.

For those with a license, prison was worse than death. They’d be viciously humiliated by those they themselves had sent inside—living a fate worse than death.

Michael lowered his head, silent. He had a bad temper but wasn’t stupid. He understood the consequences of his impulsive actions. It was too late to say anything. Better to wait for the director’s anger to cool and then discuss damage control.

The director scolded him some more, then sighed. “I want to protect you, but the higher-ups want you to be the scapegoat to calm public anger.”

Michael looked up, disbelief in his eyes. As a mid-level official, could he be discarded so easily?

The director avoided his gaze, smiling bitterly. “You picked the wrong opponent. I thought Lynch would sue you. If he had, it would’ve been easier. Once enforcement powers are involved, headquarters always supports us—no matter what you do.”

“But I heard he publicly forgave you, spoke well of you, and dropped the idea of suing. Do you realize how big your trouble is now?”

Michael might not fully grasp it yet, but the director did. The more gracious Lynch appeared, the angrier the media and public became. Some of that anger was even aimed at Lynch—for not standing up for himself.

But most of it targeted Michael and those behind him. In the media frenzy, Lynch’s retreat was seen as weakness against the tax bureau—ultimately a problem of too much power in federal departments.

Discussions about federal departments’ excessive enforcement powers happened hundreds or thousands of times over the years but always ended unresolved. This time would be no different. But someone had to take the blame.

Michael was the perfect candidate.

“I’ll try to protect you, but if worse comes to worst…” The director patted his arm. “Don’t say I didn’t try. The best move now is for you and Lynch to appear together in front of the media. Maybe there’s still hope.”