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Chapter 11: Standing in the First Grid, Gazing at the Eleventh Grid
With a smug smirk of victory, Michael strolled into the room. Glancing at Lynch seated on the bed, he began chuckle audibly.
He wasn't sure why his chuckles had suddenly erupted; perhaps it was a kind of showing off?
Casually, he undid the buttons of his coat, revealing the wallet in his pocket with his identification, "Federal Tax Bureau. We've received a report of illegal transactions here. We need to conduct an inspection…"
This time, it was not just Michael and his partner who came, there were several other people. Under Michael's signal, these people immediately started searching Lynch's room.
Seating himself beside Lynch, Michael stared at this young man who had briefly evoked fear in him. With an ambiguous smile, he remarked, "The last time I sent a kid your age to prison, he arrogantly said it was merely a vacation for him."
"He thought being locked up wasn't scary at all. Do you know what happened to him later?" He warned Lynch with unsettling words.
However, Michael abruptly stopped talking. He realized that the young man before him showed no signs of unease or fear after hearing these words.
He remained as composed and calm as in the beginning, making Michael feel a sense of humiliation. It was as if he were a clown uttering words that could be laughed at; he felt belittled once again.
His expression souring, he decided to stay silent. When they found the evidence, this guy would definitely break down! He thought to himself.
But, why hadn't they found anything yet? Watching his subordinates resume searching from the doorway, Michael suddenly felt a tightening in his scalp. He realized something and shot a sidelong glance at Lynch before rushing into the inner room.
The flat wasn't big, strictly speaking, only two rooms: a corridor connected to the bedroom and a bathroom with a closet.
There wasn't much complexity in the bathroom: an open closet, an ironing board already put down by his men, a small storage box for miscellaneous tools, and a basket for laundered clothes.
Further in, a shower space and, finally, a toilet with a cart casually positioned in the middle of the dressing room.
"Where's the money?" He asked sharply. Earlier, all those kids claimed Lynch had put the money in a box and moved it to the bathroom using the cart. But now, it seemed different.
Two of his men awkwardly shook their heads. "Sorry, boss, we found nothing."
"Where is the wooden box?" he asked, still with a final trace of effort. "Is the wooden box here?"
One of them pointed to the wooden box on the ironing board, but it was empty. Nothing inside.
Michael vigorously rubbed his face with both hands, and tugged at his hair in frustration. He paced back and forth with his hands on his waist, and then, in a somewhat frantic state, stormed over to the wooden box and forcefully slammed it onto the ground.
The shattered box reminded him of Lynch's seemingly mocking gaze. He lunged forward, grasping Lynch by the collar, lifting him, "Where's the money? Where did you hide the five thousand bucks?"
He roared, his inner rage causing his rationality to wane. Twice now, this kid had fooled him twice! No one had ever dared to treat him like this!
Lynch's face bore a faint smile as he calmly looked at Michael, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't even have five hundred on me. Clearly, your information is wrong."
Wrong my *ss, he had personally seen those newsboys hand over the money. In such a short time, less than two minutes, Lynch hadn't even left the room. Where could he have hidden the money?
He wanted to punch Lynch's face to make this punk understand how scary he was as a person, but he also knew if he really did it, he'd soon face an inquiry. Some things could be overlooked, but planting evidence through violence was not one of them. If that were exposed in the media, the entire judiciary in Sabin City would be humiliated.
Eventually, he suppressed his anger, roughly pushing Lynch onto the bed, then began searching the room himself.
Everything was in chaos. Even the cistern above the toilet had been taken down. In the end, they found nothing. It was as if the five thousand had vanished into thin air.
No, as if it had never existed! Lynch remained calm, devoid of fear or anxiety, just watching Michael scurry around the fifty-square-meter room until he stopped completely.
By now, Michael was well aware that this operation had failed, not just this time, but it would impact his plan against Fox. He was in deep trouble!
He pointed at Lynch, "Consider yourself lucky this time. But you better pray you're always this lucky."
"Just once, just once, if I catch you, I promise to lock you up for life. You won't see daylight ever again!" He clenched his fists, turned, and stormed out, "What are you all waiting for? Go back and write a report!"
Watching them leave, Lynch shook his head with a smile. They hadn't searched him because they lacked a warrant, and their target wasn't petty cash on Lynch but the five thousand, enough for a direct conviction.
Large cash transactions needed to be reported to the tax bureau, which they hadn't done. No post hoc measures could remedy that. Even if they had searched him, it wouldn't have mattered; it would've violated regulations. Michael often did things out of line, but there were also some lines he wouldn't easily cross.
After a few minutes, Lynch tidied up the room and locked the door. There's a saying, "Once, twice, but not thrice."
Michael had "offended" him twice. He couldn't keep swallowing his pride. Now he had around seven or eight thousand bucks, not enough for the first phase of his plan.
The money-making venture had to continue, but at the same time, he also had to think about how to take revenge.
In the little cell in his previous life, he encountered an interesting friend who told him that predators hunting for their prey wasn't merely about filling their stomachs. Not resisting would allow others to take further advantage, so at times, it was necessary to state one's position.
Shortly after wandering outside for a while, he found a relatively secluded jewelry store and entered.
The bell on the door jingled, and a person with magnifying glasses behind the counter stood up with a smile, "Welcome..."
Lynch nodded with a smile, approaching the counter. "I'd like a simple gold ring for my girlfriend, and I want to engrave something inside. Can you do that?"
With a youthful appearance, handsome features, and a slightly shy smile, it was easy for the older jewelry store owner to develop a fondness, "Of course, young man. You've come to the right place."
Twenty minutes later, Lynch left the jewelry store, holding a gold ring inscribed with "My Dearest Katherine" on the inner circle!
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The plot thickens, now the clues he already planted on the police will soon be in play!
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