In the morning, Johnson arrived at the State Tax Bureau. By unwritten rules, being a consultant researcher was considered an "upward" retirent option, certainly much better than being a warehouse administrator or an archives administrator.
Moreover, as a consultant researcher, you could inquire about anything, as long as you didn’t interfere with specific work content. They could do whatever they wanted, including reviewing so evidence materials from the evidence warehouse or archives warehouse.
After parking his car, he went to the Director’s office, but soon found out that the Director was away studying. As for when the Director would return, no one knew.
Being a forr Tax Bureau Director in the local area, Johnson was well aware of the practices here. It was rely a way to remove oneself from the situation, handling matters without offending anyone.
The thod, though effective, wasn’t available to just anyone, only those truly in control of power.
He sighed slightly and went to the Assistant Director’s office. After knocking, he entered.
The Assistant Director was busy with work. He just glanced up at Johnson standing by the door, then continued looking down at the things on his desk, without pausing his pen, showing no respect for Johnson.
Of course, respect wasn’t necessary, after all, he was just a consultant researcher.
"Do you need sothing, John?"
John was a shortened version of Johnson. People in the Federation liked doing this, simplifying others’ nas seed fashionable, a way to seemingly bring people closer. However, in the workplace, it more often conveyed a sense of arrogance and contempt from above.
If Johnson’s power at the mont surpassed that of the Assistant Director, he definitely wouldn’t dare to casually shorten Johnson’s na to "John", just like Mr. Johnson being shortened to Johnson.
Johnson’s facial expression didn’t change much; internally, his thoughts were unknown, "I heard from a colleague that you’ve detained a guy nad Fox?"
The Assistant Director paused his movent, looking up at Johnson with so confusion, "Yes, is there a problem?"
Johnson nodded repeatedly, "It’s like this, I used to be the Director of the local Tax Bureau in Sabin City and once dealt with this guy. I was wondering if there’s anything I can help with..."
The Assistant Director put down his pen, interlocking his fingers on the desk, frowning as he pondered.
The informant had applied pressure last night, but unexpectedly, the old guy was tough, not saying a word, didn’t even shout from the pain.
Everyone in this line of work has been at it for a long ti, seen tons of people, knows who would confess, who can grit their teeth. After the pressure is applied, everyone basically has a sense of it.
People like old Fox aren’t solvable just by applying torture, it could even lead to him making false allegations due to the torture, or simply committing suicide, things like this have happened before.
Precisely why the informant went directly to Curilan City after the incident, understanding that further tornting old Fox had no value, an approach from different angles was necessary.
Next would be a psychological contest, not harm and pain.
When no one had a good solution, Johnson stepping up seed like trying a new approach.
Upon figuring out this connection, the Assistant Director asked, "Do you know this... Fox?"
Johnson shook his head, "I heard about him; back then, I also arranged routine investigation work, never t, but he surely knows ."
The Assistant Director furrowed his brow a bit longer before slowly nodding, "Find a way to talk to him, you get what I an?"
"I understand, Director."
When Johnson called out "Director," the turbulence inside him was intense, because he used to be the Director, and others used to address him this way.
But when others called him, it wasn’t as cautious or even sowhat humble.
The Assistant Director waved his hand, and Johnson left the room, not forgetting to gently, very quietly, close the door, so as not to disrupt the Assistant Director’s train of thought with the closing door sound.
He stood outside the door for about ten seconds, then smiled wryly and shook his head, heading towards the interrogation room.
He thanked a colleague for opening the door for him and entered the interrogation room.
Old Mr. Fox was sleeping, just lying on the table, there were no beds here, the floor was too cold, even though it was sumr, it was still too cold for an older person like him.
Sleeping on the table wasn’t comfortable, but he had no choice. Pain and hunger made him fall asleep quickly, until this mont.
The sound of the door opening disturbed him, he slowly sat up straight, standing up too quickly could cause a strain, and after fully sitting up, he turned to look at Johnson standing at the door.
The two were very familiar with each other, one was a suspect who often appeared in dossier photos, and the other was a forr Sabin City Tax Bureau Chief who frequently appeared on TV. This kind of relationship gave them a strange sense of familiarity despite never having t before.
"Director Johnson..." Old Fox had a charming smile on his bruised face. Even Johnson found his deanor impressive. At this mont, there was no trace of the confusion and helplessness he felt while being trapped; only calmness and ease emanated from him.
Old Mr. Fox patted his clothes and said, "I’m sorry for letting you see in such a miserable state. It’s impolite of ." He pointed to his thigh, "They kicked , and I still can’t stand up, so I can’t greet you properly. I’m really sorry."
"You don’t need to apologize," Johnson said as he walked over to Fox’s side, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. Seeing Old Fox’s appearance, he knew that last night wasn’t easy for him.
"I never expected they’d find you; it’s quite surprising," Old Fox also didn’t expect that today they would bring back forr Director Johnson. He sensed the people at the State Tax Bureau were closing in on him.
Director Johnson pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out for Old Fox, and even lit it for him.
He waved the match until the wind extinguished the fla, "Soone asked to convey a ssage to you. He will rember your friendship, and wishes your friendship lasts forever."
After hearing this, a smile ford at the corner of Old Fox’s mouth, "Oh really..." He let out a deep sigh and looked at Johnson, "If you see him again, please tell him that this is what I deserve."
Johnson nodded slightly. He hesitated for a mont but finally asked, "Is there anything you need to do?"
Old Fox removed the cigarette from his mouth, "If you could get them to give sothing to eat, that would be great. They’ve starved all day, and my stomach hurts badly. Sothing easy to digest would be best."
"You might not know, last night I even contemplated how to swallow my dress shoes," Old Fox said with a burst of laughter, "I’ve always heard people talk about these things. I never expected hunger to make everything look edible."
"If soone asks about how I got here..."
Before he finished, Old Fox tapped the table with his cigarette-holding fingers. The rubber surface made no sound, "I know what to say."
This room had no audio or video recording equipnt. It was specifically set up for thods that could also be called interrogation.
Nobody would do such things. If any content leaked, it would be an enormous scandal. According to the Federation Charter and judicial interpretation, any testimony and evidence generated during interrogation held no legal validity.
Moreover, interrogation would suggest the possibility of more cases involving such thods, which would create big trouble for the entire system.
Only after the thods were complete would Old Fox be transferred to other interrogation rooms, equipped with audio and video recording, where they wouldn’t beat him and he would receive als and drinks on ti, treated as tax-paying citizens would.
Johnson paused for a mont, and they chatted about recent news in York State. About five minutes later, Johnson left the room.
He paused at the door, instructed the guards to bring so food to Mr. Old Fox.
...
Not until the afternoon did Johnson return ho from the State Tax Bureau, surprised not to find Lynch waiting for him there.
Around seven in the evening, the phone suddenly rang; it was Lynch calling.
"The Director went to headquarters for director training and doesn’t know when he’ll return. Currently, the Assistant Director is in full charge of this case."
"Also, I t Mr. Fox and conveyed your words to him. He also asked to tell you that he said these are all things he deserves..."
After saying this, he maintained silence, and after a few seconds, Lynch’s gentle voice ca through the receiver, "Thank you very much, Mr. Johnson. The night is late, I won’t disturb you further."
The next morning, as Johnson returned to his ordinary life routine, he found a plain envelope in his mailbox while doing his usual checks. It was unmarked, had no postmark, and was very thin.
His heart suddenly began to pound, and a surge of adrenaline gave him an inexplicable thirst.
He licked his lips, tucked the letter into his pajama pocket, and quickly returned to the study.
Sitting in the chair facing away from the sunlight, he gently opened the envelope to reveal its contents.
A small slip of paper with the note "Golden Exchange Bank Cash Check" written on it...
The envelope and the small slip inside had no other text to explain its significance, but Johnson knew this was Lynch’s thank-you note, grateful for those trivial things he had done the previous day...
=
①, reflecting the Assistant Director’s attitude with two different approaches, indirectly highlighting society’s coldness and reality, carries a profound irony.
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