Blackstone Code-Chapter 651: Time to Act

In the quiet interrogation room, the man with the greenish face sat half on the table, arms folded, one foot on the floor, the other dangling. He looked at Mr. Fox and said, “You can eat something first. Once you’re full, we’ll talk.”

Mr. Fox glanced at him, then silently began to eat.

He chewed thoroughly. His doctor had warned him—he was getting old, and years of hunger in his youth had left him with chronic gastritis. Eating too fast would cause intense stomach pain at night.

As he slowly chewed, he realized for the first time that plain boiled chicken breast wasn’t that bad. Even though it was flavorless and dry, to a hungry man, it was a delicacy.

It took him over ten minutes to finish. The man with the greenish face watched in silence until the last bit of vegetable puree was gone, then nodded.

“You’re full now. Shall we talk about our situation?”

“What’s your decision?”

Mr. Fox sat in the chair, using his index finger and thumb to brush crumbs from his beard, then popped them into his mouth.

The way he did it didn’t look like someone wealthy. Rich people wouldn’t do something so undignified. They’d never let food get on their lips, let alone their beards.

After that, he leaned back and stayed silent.

Passive resistance was pointless. As the green-shadowed man said, the federal legal process was strict. Normally, without solid evidence, enforcement couldn’t even bring someone in, let alone fully detain them.

Silence would only be reported to the judge as obstruction, which would lead to a harsher sentence.

But Mr. Fox didn’t care. He’d evaded so much tax that, just as the green-shadowed man said, he likely wouldn’t get out in this lifetime. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

And more than prison, he feared crossing Lynch.

Someone once crossed Lynch—Michael, even someone he didn’t dare offend lightly. That person ended up in prison, legally, reportedly in a high-security facility, with no access to any legal exemptions for “special talents.”

And Lynch had so many connections. Even if he was convicted, he could be out in a few years—or not even serve time at all. When that day came, who would face his revenge?

Him?

Or his son, Fox Jr.?

Even someone as clean as Michael couldn’t withstand Lynch’s scheming. What chance did people like him have, whose hands were already dirty?

And who knew if testifying against Lynch would even work? If it failed, he feared his whole family would disappear without a trace.

So, he stayed silent. No matter what was said, he would not respond. He’d plead guilty in court if needed, but he wouldn’t say another word before then.

The green-shadowed man frowned and got off the table, took two steps forward, pressed a hand on the back of Mr. Fox’s chair, leaned in, and said in a cold, firm voice, “You’d better cooperate. This is the State Tax Bureau.”

It didn’t sound like a threat, but it was—showing just how much power the tax bureau wielded in the federation.

Mr. Fox still sat with his head down, silent.

Then the green-shadowed man let go of the chair, stood straight, and began removing his clothes—first his jacket, then his tie, then rolled up his sleeves.

He punched Mr. Fox hard in the stomach. He was a grown man in his thirties, in his physical prime. The force of the blow made the chair, bolted to the floor, produce a loud thud. Mr. Fox’s body trembled violently, then curled up and vomited.

Everything he had just eaten came back out.

Before he could recover, another punch landed on his right side, causing him to vomit more violently, mixed with searing pain.

His body went into spasms. The pain was unimaginable—so intense it made death seem appealing.

The green-shadowed man picked up a metal tray and began striking Mr. Fox on the head. The thin tray quickly deformed. When it became awkward to hold, he tossed it aside, grabbed Mr. Fox by the hair, dragged him out from between the table and chair, and kicked him hard in the thigh, dropping him to the floor.

Then came a prolonged beating—lasting over ten minutes.

The green-shadowed man was skilled. He knew how to inflict maximum pain without causing serious injury.

If a police officer or federal agent did this, it would be a scandal. But from the tax bureau, it was somehow… normal.

Over ten minutes later, the green-shadowed man, panting heavily, pounded on the steel door. Staff immediately entered.

Some cleaned up the mess. Others examined Mr. Fox’s injuries.

They were professional doctors, tasked with ensuring detainees survived torture. Their report noted multiple soft tissue injuries and subcutaneous vascular ruptures.

Once done, the green-shadowed man put his clothes back on and regained his refined demeanor.

He gently helped the battered Mr. Fox back onto the chair. Mr. Fox twisted his neck slightly. The man smiled faintly and said, “I respect you, Mr. Fox. Few people keep secrets for others like you do. You’re admirable.”

“And I’d like to make you even more admirable. Keep up the good work.”

With that, he quickly left the room. As the door closed behind him, his expression turned grim.

Throughout the beating, Mr. Fox had never begged, never cried out, barely made a sound beyond muffled grunts.

The green-shadowed man knew just how brutal his blows were. The old man didn’t say a word.

What did that mean?

It meant this case was getting complicated. It would be difficult to get anything from Mr. Fox. In other words, they might never get what they needed to charge Lynch—while also having made enemies of the old man, his family, and Lynch.

No doubt, once Lynch found out the Tax Bureau had gone after Mr. Fox, he’d understand why—and those at the forefront of it might be in for trouble.

He paced for a while, then quickly returned to his office, conferred with the deputy director, and left the parking lot with two investigators.

He was going to see someone else—Michael.

Before arresting Mr. Fox, he had reviewed the entire case file. Michael, the former head of the Sabin City Tax Bureau’s investigative unit, likely knew something—but had been sacrificed.He understood Lynch better than anyone else here—more directly, more personally. The green-shadowed man believed he might be able to get some useful information from Michael.

Meanwhile, after traveling for a day and a half, Lynch stepped out of the Sabin City station.

As soon as he exited, a young man, around twenty-two or twenty-three, approached him proactively. “Mr. Lynch, hello. The mayor sent me to pick you up…”

Lynch thanked him but didn’t get in the young man’s car. Instead, he got into his own vehicle and followed behind.

The convoy soon merged into traffic. About ten minutes later, Lynch arrived at City Hall and met with Ferrell in the mayor’s office.

“You’ve put on a little weight since the last time I saw you,” Lynch joked after a brief hug. “Looks like the mayor’s salary is much better than your old one.”

Ferrell grinned. Lynch had played a key role in him becoming mayor, and their relationship was more than just friendship. Ferrell was also Lynch’s advisor, receiving an additional monthly income—his life was much better now than before.

After locking the door, the two sat down.

“There’s bad news. Yesterday, people from the State Tax Bureau took Fox away—probably to the state office. That place is a black hole. I haven’t been able to get any information.”

Even though state authorities and agencies have enforcement powers under federal rules, they’re still required to notify lower-level authorities. It’s part of the procedure.

They usually comply with that. In this case, when they detained Mr. Fox, the state office informed the local government that they needed his cooperation in an investigation. The location wasn’t in Sabin City, which led Ferrell to his conclusion.

Lynch frowned. After exchanging a few unimportant words with Ferrell, he left. He had originally thought the local tax office was giving Mr. Fox trouble, but clearly, that wasn’t the case.

Lynch didn’t know the new director of the Sabin City Tax Bureau, so he hadn’t considered digging there for information. But not all the news was bad.

He now had someone inside the State Tax Bureau—Johnson.

Director Johnson’s time was almost up. He lacked strong political backing and had no room for further advancement, so he was stepping aside for younger officials with connections.

The tax system was tough on outsiders but relatively kind to its own. They had initially offered Johnson a position in the archives. But since he had cooperated so well in paving the way for the new director, he was transferred to a research office within the State Tax Bureau as a consultant.

It was a token title that came with continued benefits—until retirement, when he’d be pushed out completely.

For now, that connection was just what Lynch needed.