"Wealth shines with a golden light, drawing those lost in the fog of poverty toward it!"
"They might not be able to obtain enough wealth to make them shine as well, but it can somewhat change their lives."
These words were spoken by Lynch. In just a few days, the entire Sabin's headlines knew there was someone capable of quickly turning small change into big money, and profitably so.
A significant amount of small change continuously rolled over into Lynch's pockets and turned into big money. Not only were the newspaper stands doing this, but some booksellers and retail shops were doing the same.
Three percent profit, requiring no effort, no risk. This profit may seem like just three cents to many people.
But when the principal is large enough, it also becomes a significant number. A hundred dollars, a thousand dollars—all you need to do is give the money to Lynch and then collect more money. It's that simple.
According to Bail Federal's various laws regarding salary and working hours, as well as specific regional adjustments, an average worker in Sabin City earns about two hundred to three hundred bucks a month.
If the job is more hazardous, wages might be higher, but such occupations are relatively rare, and wages are generally like this.
Ten dollars already equals a day's work for a worker, but with Lynch, no labor is required. Just give him the money, and you get it.
Some people indeed look down on it, but those who see its worth are far more numerous.
A large amount of small change started to gather, orderly appearing in Mr. Fox's laundry shop.
Exactly a week later, one day, as Lynch pushed a cart into the laundry shop controlled by Mr. Fox, two men wearing black wool trench coats, smart suits, waistcoats, and white shirts appeared in front of him.
This also explained why Fox had said he didn't look like someone from a Federation Government department, because he lacked the getup that instantly revealed their identity, and the arrogance on their faces that wanted everyone to know who they were.
"Lynch?"
The person blocking the cart called out Lynch's name according to custom, then flicked open the front of his coat, revealing the wallet hanging in the pocket inside.
Half of the wallet was tucked inside the upper pocket of the coat, preventing it from dropping out, while the other half displayed credentials, hanging outside, just like those FBI people. They felt it looked cool.
As for why they had such foolish ideas, it was probably related to some movies that have been popular in the past two years.
Actors indeed looked cool doing it, but regular people bringing this into real life just seemed dumb.
"I'm an investigator with the Federal Tax Bureau. I need you to cooperate…" The tone left no room for negotiation, more than just being firm, it carried sharpness.
Lynch smiled and asked, "Do I need to hold my hands up?"
He knew from the start that he would have to deal with these people, and not just this time; he would be dealing with them continuously in the future. He just hadn't expected to be targeted so soon.
This game is like that; the golden light of wealth not only attracts ordinary people longing for some benefits it can provide but also brings some "bad guys" critiquing it.
His words seemed like a sneer at the two investigators. Generally, people always associate raising hands with firearms.
Yet clearly, these two investigators didn't qualify to carry weapons. In the Bail Federal Tax Bureau system, investigators are the lowest-rank employees, far below the "agents" and "special agents" above, though many are curious as to why the Tax Bureau needs "special agents."
The guy behind Lynch grabbed his wrist with one hand and his collar with the other, pinning him against the wall, showing him some toughness, as pedestrians on the street immediately stepped aside to avoid getting involved.
Some people left, while others stopped to watch the spectacle.
The investigator who had spoken to Lynch earlier showed his credentials again and dispersed the crowd. He pushed Lynch's cart and, with his companion, led Lynch and the cart into an alley off the street.
Slightly disheveled, Lynch rubbed his cheekbone; when his face hit the wall earlier, it hurt and would probably bruise, but he didn't really care.
An investigator was rummaging through his cart, opening the box on it, throwing some old clothes onto the ground, seemingly searching for something.
The other one asked, "You've been very close to Fox lately, are you working for him?" He even took out a small notebook and pen, ready to jot down something at any moment.
The Federal Tax Bureau had actually been watching people like Mr. Fox for a while, but this "watching" didn't necessarily mean they wanted to bring people like Mr. Fox to justice. There's always darkness where there's light—not a trait of darkness but a trait of light.
If there were no Lynch, perhaps this somewhat peculiar yet socially beneficial balance could continue for a while until a new local Tax Bureau Director took office, or if the current Director needed some achievements, then they would start to hassle Mr. Fox.
But the problem is there's now Lynch, Mr. Fox, and Lynch. Some of their odd actions are accelerating out-of-control events.
Capturing a tax-evading criminal, with massive involvement figures, is undoubtedly a significant achievement within the federal tax system, capable of earning promotion opportunities.
However, if Mr. Fox manages to escape the mire… No one would praise the current local Tax Bureau Director; they would only suspect some behind-the-scenes deals had occurred.
Additionally, the Sabin City Federal Tax Bureau internally experienced some possible personnel changes, making some uneasy.
Once these signs appeared, the local Federal Tax Bureau immediately sprang into action. After clarifying Lynch's identity and his recent activities, they had somewhat figured out the issue between him and Mr. Fox.
To these experienced agents, Lynch was just a very lucky guy who accidentally stumbled upon a money-making avenue. Using Lynch as a breakthrough point could likely facilitate taking down Mr. Fox and his group directly.
But firstly, they needed to clarify what Mr. Fox and Lynch were doing, and whether it aligned with their assumptions, hence the "raid."
Facing the fierce-looking investigators, Lynch maintained his smile; a smile can bridge distances between people and lower guard, "May I know your name?"
The investigator facing him sneered, suddenly stepping forward and punching Lynch's stomach, instantly causing turmoil inside his belly and an urge to vomit.
"You don't need to know my name; just answer the questions, got it?" This investigator grabbed Lynch's hair, forcing him to bend over with his face looking up at him, "I'll ask you again, what transactions do you have with Fox, and how does his money enter the bank…"
Lynch's facial muscles twitched slightly. Slowly straightening up, his smile reappeared on his face. He mimicked his right hand into a gun shape, pointing under his chin, looking at the investigator and saying, "Do you have a gun? Give me a bullet to try…"
His words left the investigator momentarily stunned, and then embarrassed, but when he met Lynch's gaze, it felt like a bucket of icy water was poured over him, thoroughly extinguishing his anger.
Bright and clear eyes held a kind of anticipation, paired with his tone and a slight hint of spine-chilling madness, causing the investigator's heart to tighten.
He could clearly sense this person was crazy!
Instinctively swallowing saliva, he shifted his gaze, but quickly returned to locking eyes with Lynch, roughly pushing him away, shouting aggressively, "Answer the question!"
He was actually somewhat intimidated, using this method to cover his fear while maintaining a distance from Lynch. He did not want his real inner self exposed to a big kid who had just left school a few years ago.
Lynch appeared as if nothing had happened, slightly tilting his head, facing the not-so-wide sky above the alley, revealing the most dazzling smile.
"May I know your name, sir?"