Chapter 51: Karma and the Cycle of Life

A deathly silence.

Both rooms were completely still—dead silent.

The ultraviolet light revealed nothing but a splash of stains in the corner; there was nothing even remotely shocking—absolutely nothing.

In the other room, the task force leader slammed the table. According to the plan, the coins were all supposed to be specially treated “evidence” that would fluoresce under UV light. Once they glowed, that would be enough to establish that Lynch had hired people to collect loose change from the market, with the intention of handing it over to Mr. Fox. Fox would then launder the money using the “value-added services” of his laundromat and deposit the cleaned money into the bank.

It was a complete process. Although every step seemed legal on the surface, anyone with a functioning brain could see the illegality hidden within.

For instance, Fox’s laundromat charged more for cleaning a garment than the garment itself was worth.

Or, people kept putting already cleaned clothes back in to be washed again and again—which was clearly abnormal.

Anyone who understood the case would realize something was wrong. But realizing it didn’t mean legal consequences would follow.

Everyone knows not to commit crimes—but some still do, and get away with it, because you need evidence.

Evidence and law aren’t just for punishing the guilty; they also exist to prevent certain powerful groups from manipulating the nation and society without restraint.

Everyone has to play by the rules. Whoever breaks them becomes the enemy of all.

They needed evidence for the judge to accept their case. But the problem now was, they had none—even though everyone could tell the people in the room were suspicious.

The coins lying quietly on the cart had no fluorescent reaction at all. The UV light revealed nothing—not even the prints on the coins.

After about a minute of silence, one agent slammed the UV light a few times and loudly asked for a replacement, suspecting the light was defective.

But the new light was the same—nothing. That’s when he, and the people behind him, finally realized why Lynch had remained so calm from the start—he must have known exactly how the Bureau operated.

The task force and their experts discussed countermeasures. This also highlighted why laundering money with coins was so hard to trace.

Coins, unlike bills, don’t have serial numbers. Bills come with anti-counterfeit features and unique serials. They can manufacture a set of “dirty money,” log the serials under third-party supervision, then release them and track them later.

Coins don’t work that way. No serials, no other identifying marks—making evidence collection almost impossible. They had tried fluorescent agents, but even that had failed.

The room lights came back on. Lynch chuckled lightly. “I still don’t understand—where’s the evidence?” He tapped the armrest of the sofa—thump, thump—“Our time is valuable…”

After some discussion, the task force leader sighed. At this point, there was no more value in detaining these people.

The agents looked at Lynch with grim expressions. Since his arrival, things had spiraled out of their control. The entire team realized now—Lynch had likely seen through their tricks from the beginning. Their mistake had been assuming Fox was the mastermind—this was the real reason for their failure.

A young agent packed up and walked over to Lynch. He looked him over—Lynch held his gaze, unflinching, composed. After a moment, the agent pointed at Lynch’s chest. “We’ll catch you.”

Lynch smiled calmly. “I look forward to that day.”

After the agents left, the tension finally eased. Mr. Fox, who had been standing, felt his legs give way and collapsed back into the chair.

He hadn’t expected to attract not just the tax bureau, but the federal investigation bureau too. The fact that he walked away unscathed made him feel like he’d escaped death.

But Lynch’s face showed little satisfaction. Fox opened his mouth to say something, but Lynch stopped him with a glance—just as Fox’s lawyer arrived late.

The lawyer adjusted his tie, apologizing, “Traffic downtown was terrible—I hit several red lights…”

Fox’s expression soured. He pulled out his checkbook, wrote a $100 check, and stuffed it into the lawyer’s jacket pocket. “You can leave.”

The lawyer didn’t fully understand what had happened but sensed he might have just lost a client. He tried to explain that he hadn’t meant to be late, but Fox clearly wasn’t interested.

After he left, Lynch remarked, “Weren’t you here for business…?”

Later, the two met privately again. It was clear the day’s events had left Fox deeply shaken.

“Don’t laugh at me—my legs are still a bit weak…” He patted his knees. “Even the FBI showed up… Maybe… maybe we should run?”

In truth, his company—Gettnau Financial—was just that: a financial company. Far less notorious than gangs blacklisted by major agencies. Compared to them, he was small fry.

He had never faced this level of heat before. In the past, he had only dealt with the tax office or local police. But now that even the FBI was involved, it meant he might soon face the same treatment as crime syndicate bosses.

Constant 24-hour surveillance. Phone taps. Office and home bugs. Public and private records combed through—over and over—all to put him behind bars.

The thought made him panic. Even if he understood the risks, it didn’t mean he was ready to go to prison.

But Lynch remained composed. Not even slightly rattled. “We’re doing legal business—protected by federal law. Why run?” He casually flipped through a newspaper on the table. “Remember—keep the books clean, solid. Don’t give them a chance to come after you.”

“If they can’t take you down, then the skeletons you’ve buried stay buried. Judges won’t accept their claims, and the public won’t tolerate abuse of power.”

“The more afraid you are, the more guilty you seem. The more guilty you seem, the more people believe something’s wrong. And when that day comes—whether or not you’re innocent—people will think you’re guilty. They’ll even support actions that go against due process.”

“So don’t be afraid. Do what you’re supposed to do. As long as everything’s well-executed, no one can touch us.”

“After all, this is a nation governed by law.”

Fox couldn’t understand where Lynch got the nerve to face the FBI and the federal tax bureau without flinching. He could only chalk it up to the boldness of youth.

Yet something inside him began to shift.

This bizarre, unofficial “summons” hadn’t changed anything. No—something had changed, but not for Lynch or his family.

The next morning, Lynch got the direct number for the director of the Sabin City Federal Tax Bureau through Vera’s accounting firm.

The situation had run its course. Since it began with one person, it would end with that same person.