Chapter 60: The Greater the Strength, the Greater the Burden

Meanwhile, after leaving the meeting, Director Johnson waited outside the restaurant for a while, smoked two cigarettes, clenched his teeth, and drove to Michael’s home.

Mrs. Michael had finished her hospital treatment; all her physical bruises and injuries had fully healed. What remained was psychological therapy, which could last from three months to half a year or even longer depending on the situation.

The lengthy psychological treatment meant heavy expenses. Michael’s work had been suspended, abruptly cutting off the family’s income.

Although he still had about twenty thousand in his bank account, it was insufficient to cover the upcoming expenses.

Psychological therapy is considered a luxury for ordinary people, especially poor residents of the Lower District. The girls living in the chaotic streets there grow up amidst constant harassment.

From verbal harassment to subtle physical harassment, and sometimes even violent harassment, logically, many of them should be mentally broken or self-destructive — but that’s not always the case.

Some have indeed fallen into self-destruction, but some remain strong and optimistic.

Pain wounds people, but it can also inspire courage to be strong. Only when surrounded by darkness do people yearn more for the light — but that’s just sentimental nonsense. Life is about surviving; to survive, you must be strong.

When Director Johnson parked outside Michael’s house, he saw a police car on the roadside and two officers having afternoon tea.

They glanced briefly at Johnson but quickly averted their eyes and returned their attention to their sweet coffee and chocolate-covered donuts.

Though Michael had left the police station, he was still under surveillance. Unless necessary, he was not allowed to leave his residence or communicate alone with outsiders.

However, since he once had a license, the police slightly relaxed their watch; he didn’t need police presence when talking to others.

Johnson had visited Michael’s home many times before. Each visit, he thought Michael was lucky—happy family, stable career, an atmosphere of upward, hopeful living.

But this time, when he opened the door, a foul, grave-like stench poured out from the room—disgusting and instantly sinking one’s mood to the bottom.

The room was dark; some windows were covered by curtains. Perhaps due to Mrs. Michael’s psychological condition, Michael was engulfed by darkness.

Opening the door let in outside light, brightening the room noticeably and revealing more details.

Michael sat gaunt on the sofa, visibly thinner than half a month ago, his body almost deformed by weight loss.

His unkempt, graying stubble made him look sloppy. His disheveled hair was already streaked with gray, as if time fast-forwarded on him, prematurely aging him.

He glanced briefly at Johnson, then withdrew his gaze to stare at the turned-off TV, seemingly lost in thought.

A surge of frustration rose in Johnson’s chest. He was considered easygoing at the tax bureau and hoped to connect with Michael, but seeing him like this, anger was unavoidable.

Not expressing gratitude or even basic respect when the chief visits during his trouble was intolerable.

But the anger quickly subsided. If Johnson really got angry, he would have been worn out by this man long ago.

“What do you want?” Michael’s tone carried a hint of mockery. “My final judgment?”

Johnson hesitated, then his eyes were drawn to several newspapers on the coffee table. He understood the issue.

The papers had recently discussed whether Michael and Lynch had personal grudges, and if Michael might have abused his power for personal revenge.

Personal revenge was separate from abuse of law enforcement power, but Michael’s actions had damaged the tax and enforcement agencies. The earlier harsh public criticism toward these departments turned into later apologies.

Additionally, some linked Michael, his son Little Michael, and Lynch to a previously reported theft.

Michael was a mentally healthy adult with clear values and independent thinking. He knew when the media’s tone shifted, it meant someone was pulling strings behind the scenes.

The media wanted to paint him as a villain; they wouldn’t do that themselves because their focus was on law enforcement authority.

Those pushing the media’s narrative were people behind the scenes, who had decided to abandon him. This was Michael’s realization in recent days, which made him resistant toward Director Johnson.

Johnson remained silent, unsure how to respond. The silence only deepened Michael’s disappointment and despair, making him realize he wasn’t imagining things—he had truly been abandoned.

His throat suddenly itched, his voice hoarse as if sand coated it; every word was rough and granular.

“Why?”

He turned to Johnson. “Why? Whose decision was this?”

Johnson’s face reddened slightly. He sighed. “It was a decision from above. You’ve made the entire system passive…”

“Passive, so they abandon me?” Michael grew agitated, his face flushing, white froth at the corner of his mouth. His anger seemed unstable.

Seeing Michael’s fury, Johnson suddenly calmed and steadied himself. His gaze changed, becoming unreadable and somewhat frightening to Michael.

“You’ve always been impulsive, with a bad temper. I’ve told you this more than once…”

“Since I became director, complaints against you alone have filled more than half of the Sabin City Tax Bureau’s complaint mailbox for over ten years.”

“You threaten investigation targets, act recklessly, insult and humiliate others casually, often operate without proper procedures. You have too many faults…”

Johnson looked seriously at Michael. “Don’t feel wronged. This is what you deserve. I warned you, but you always acted by your own rules!”

“The times have changed. This is a new era. Our society progresses every year. Perhaps before, we hadn’t fully rid ourselves of savagery and barbarism, but now we have.”

“Even if you hadn’t crossed Lynch, you’d have met someone else. If you don’t change, you will surely fall.”

“Don’t say we abandoned you. You abandoned yourself!”

Johnson’s words made Michael calm again but also depressed. He painfully held his head, knowing Johnson was right. But once this work style is formed, it’s hard to change.

No—more precisely, it’s a fixed mindset. To Michael, criminals have no rights. He had confirmed this belief through men like the dealer.

As long as they weren’t killed, they would pretend nothing happened because they were dirty and dared not speak out, silently enduring.

Until he met Lynch—a criminal wielding the law and police as weapons—and he completely failed.

He couldn’t understand why it was Lynch, why it was him, why it was his family. That bastard didn’t follow the rules!

At that moment, the upstairs door opened. Mrs. Michael appeared at the corridor, pale and ill-looking, worriedly watching the two men in the living room.

Director Johnson glanced back, reached out, and pressed his hand on Michael’s shoulder, squeezing it.