Blackstone Code-Chapter 650: Cooperation

In front of Mr. Fox were several personal files with photos attached. These included evidence of loans taken from his financial company, along with bank transfer records and check stubs proving the money had been repaid.

Despite Mr. Fox’s silence, the man with the green-shadowed face didn’t mind his resistance.

From the formation of the Armed Tax Enforcement Unit to the Federal Tax Bureau and now this moment, they had faced countless challengers. History had shown that they always survived, while those who tried to defy the Federal Tax Bureau had vanished without a trace.

Mr. Fox was neither the first nor the last. They had extensive experience dealing with people like him.

“According to the charter, every federal citizen must pay taxes. Mr. Fox, have you paid yours?”

If he were asking about the present, Mr. Fox would have nodded without hesitation. Fox Pictures had no tax issues—it was a legitimate business.

Ever since he had met Lynch, Mr. Fox noticed his obsessive attention to documentation. Even the smallest transactions were backed by receipts or signatures.

This led Fox Pictures, which hadn’t initially planned to pay full taxes, to start doing so. They even hired an accountant to legally avoid some unnecessary taxes.

But before this, when Mr. Fox had been in the loan shark business, he hadn’t paid any taxes.

It was an illegal trade. The income couldn’t be legitimized, the business couldn’t be registered, and there was no tax ID. Even if he wanted to pay taxes, he couldn’t.

It would’ve been as absurd as a bank robber walking into the tax office to declare his loot.

That was exactly why he was here now.

Mr. Fox lowered his head, ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed his face hard with both hands. Still, he said nothing.

The man’s expression grew smug. Sometimes, interrogators wanted their subjects to talk. Other times, they preferred silence.

“We’ve collected a pile of this kind of evidence,” he said, gathering the documents back into a folder. “If you’ve read the federal charter, you’d know: no matter what you do—legal or not—if you generate income above the taxable threshold, you must pay taxes.”

“Whether the money comes from robbery, fraud, theft, or… loan sharking—you must pay.”

“Paying taxes is a citizen’s duty, just as catching criminals is a cop’s job.”

“I don’t know why the police or the Bureau haven’t arrested you. But you must pay. Do you admit to tax evasion, Mr. Fox?”

Mr. Fox still said nothing. According to movie scripts, now was the time to ask for a lawyer. But he didn’t—because even with a lawyer, nothing would change.

No lawyer wanted to cross the tax authorities. Once targeted by them, things got ugly. The best a lawyer could do was plead for leniency during sentencing. Nothing more.

Tax evasion was a felony in the Federation.

His continued silence irritated the man. This was the moment Mr. Fox should be speaking, not staying quiet.

The man’s grin faded, replaced by a stern face. “Don’t think silence will protect you. Let me be clear—we have enough evidence to keep you locked up for life.”

“You’ll face a massive fine. The police or Bureau may reopen investigations into your past crimes. Your son could get dragged in too.”

Mr. Fox suddenly looked up, staring at him as if searching for something.

After a few seconds, he finally spoke. “You want me to do something, don’t you?”

The man nodded slightly. He crossed his legs, pulled out a sleek cigarette case and a lighter. With a crisp ding, a faint trail of smoke filled the room.

“You’re smart, Mr. Fox. Yes, we need your cooperation.”

Mr. Fox had sensed this. The man had been trying to intimidate him—threatening him with prison time and tax evasion charges.

If he had really been their main target, they wouldn’t waste time talking. They would’ve just taken him to court and thrown him in prison.

All this talk had a purpose. The word was cooperation. That’s when Mr. Fox realized—he might not be their real target.

The man pursed his lips. “We need you to testify against Lynch.”

“We know Lynch helped launder your illegal income and made it taxable. All you need to do is testify in court. Tell the judge how much dirty money Lynch helped you clean.”

“We’ll make you a state witness, push for reduced penalties, and downplay your prior crimes.”

“One option is life in prison. The other is three to five years. Any rational person should know what to choose. Don’t you think?”

Mr. Fox was shocked, but didn’t show it. He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Mr. Lynch and I never did what you’re suggesting.”

The man smiled and stood up, file in hand, walking to the door. “You’ve got time, Mr. Fox. Think it over. But I’d advise you to let go of any unrealistic ideas. That won’t help our case.”

“See you later.”

As he left the interrogation room, another imposing man approached. “What did he say?”

The man asking was the Deputy Director of the State Tax Bureau. In their structure, that was effectively equal to a Director. When the actual Director was unavailable, he handled matters typically reserved for the top.

Of course, only after checking in with the Director. It was procedural.

The man with the green-shadowed face nodded. “We’ve got solid evidence. Fox can’t escape. But I doubt he’ll give up Lynch.”

“Won’t turn on Lynch?” The Deputy Director frowned. “That’s a problem.”

The investigation into Lynch hadn’t started here. Back when Sabin’s tax office began looking into Lynch and Fox’s money laundering, suspicions had already surfaced.

Their laundering methods weren’t high-tech or particularly sophisticated—but they worked. Simple, effective, and now used all over the state, even the country.

The Sabin office had been humiliated. The state office and the Bureau launched an investigation, but a string of coincidences forced it to pause—mainly because Lynch had distanced himself and offered the tax bureau a graceful exit.

The case had drawn major public attention. There were annual protests and complaints over the bureau’s heavy-handed tactics. If it triggered national demonstrations, York State’s tax department would take a massive hit.

To stop the fallout, both sides used Michael’s imprisonment as a chance to reconcile and end hostilities.

The conflict ended—but not the investigation. They continued collecting evidence, ready to bring Lynch down elsewhere.

Later, however, Lynch made contact with the president and other top officials and quickly amassed wealth. This crushed the Tax Bureau’s quiet plan to deal with him behind the scenes, and they shelved the case—until a few days ago.

A few days earlier, a very influential figure contacted the director of the York State Tax Bureau through certain channels, requesting an investigation into Lynch. If they could bring him down, even better.

Powerful people have powerful influence—Lynch included. The result was that the director was sent to the central office for training, and the assistant director was put fully in charge of the investigation.

Before leaving, the director gave the assistant director full authority. Combined with the embarrassment Lynch had caused the bureau before and other factors, it all led to the decision to reopen the case.

Outside the office, the assistant director patted the green-shadowed man on the arm. “If we weren’t going to act, fine. But since we are, we have to strike where it hurts. You understand?”

The man nodded firmly. “I know what to do.”

Around noon, whether by oversight or some other reason, no one brought Mr. Fox any food—only some water. He had been hungry for hours, and his strength was slowly fading.

He dozed off in the afternoon. Sleeping helped preserve his energy and eased the hunger slightly.

In his half-conscious state, he gave a bitter smile. It was probably the first time since adulthood he had gone this long without food.

Just like when he was a child—unforgettable.

He didn’t know how long he had slept. A sudden door opening startled him awake. He looked around, and after a brief moment of disorientation, his eyes locked onto the man who entered.

It was the green-shadowed man, carrying a tray of food that gave off a savory aroma.

“Sorry. There was a lot going on at noon, and I forgot to remind someone to bring you lunch. It’s not too late, is it?” He smiled as he placed the tray on the table.

There were some potato wedges, a small bowl of vegetable mash, a few pieces of boiled chicken, and one sausage. The bright colors and rich smell made Mr. Fox swallow involuntarily.