Friendship at the 103rd Precinct

In New York in March, even at nine o'clock sharp, the sky remained a murky gray, like a rag that had been used for too long—neither wrung clean nor left to dry.

Dr. Lin An, wearing a plain black lightweight hoodie, stood before the main entrance of the 103rd Precinct, tilting his head to size up the building.

The 103rd Precinct sat at the intersection of Jamaica Avenue and Parsons Avenue, a four-story structure with a cream-colored stone base, red brick walls, and antennas and flagpoles protruding from the roof; the busy city street lay before the entrance, and two patrol cars sat in the parking lot, their hoods coated in a layer of dust.

There were three steps at the entrance, with a crack running through the middle one that had been filled with asphalt, though the job was sloppy and felt a bit sticky underfoot.

He walked up and pushed the door open.

The door was heavy, its hinges slightly rusted, and it let out a low groan as he pushed it inward.

The lobby was small, containing a front desk, a few plastic chairs, and a wall adorned with several wanted posters and a community safety notice; in the corner stood a water cooler with a note stuck to it that read "Out of Water."

The officer on duty sat behind the front desk, a white man in his forties with heavy bags under his eyes, looking like a poor soul who had just finished a night shift only to be stuck working the day shift as well.

He was eating a donut, sugar frosting coating his fingers; seeing Lin An enter, he paused, set the donut down, and wiped his fingers on his trousers.

"Morning, sir."

The officer said, his tone neither cold nor warm.

"What can I help you with?"

Lin An walked up to the front desk, his speech neither fast nor slow, wearing a harmless persona as he spoke politely.

"Good morning, Officer. I have an appointment with Officer Patrick."

The officer's fingers paused on the keyboard.

"Patrick?"

He looked up at Lin An, his gaze lingering on his face for two seconds as he looked him up and down... a black hoodie that didn't look cheap, dark gray cargo pants, clean white sneakers, around twenty years old, Asian, with a gentle expression; the way he stood didn't look like someone here to file a report, nor someone here to cause trouble.

"What's your name?"

"Lin An."

The officer looked down and typed a few keys, and a line of information popped up on the screen. He glanced at it, his eyebrows twitching slightly, then picked up the phone on the desk and dialed three digits.

"Hey, Patrick, the person you're expecting is here... Yeah, Chinese, around twenty... Right."

He hung up the phone and nodded at Lin An.

"Wait a moment, he'll be down shortly."

"Thank you."

Lin An said, then stepped aside to a spot that wouldn't block the way, waiting quietly.

The lobby was very quiet.

The water cooler hummed, the radiator emitted a faint clicking sound, and the old television in the corner was playing the morning news... it was about the economic stimulus package; in 2009, that was everywhere.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Patrick and O'Brien hurried down.

O'Brien wore a complicated expression of both gratitude and embarrassment, and Patrick stepped forward ahead of him, reaching out to grab Lin An's hand.

"Dr. Lin An, thank you for coming."

"Officer Patrick, good morning."

"Just call me Patrick."

Patrick let go of his hand and glanced sideways at O'Brien.

"O'Brien told me yesterday about how you helped him handle his taxes; I don't even know how to thank you."

"No need for thanks. Mr. O'Brien is a good man, and good men deserve good rewards."

O'Brien stood to the side, and upon hearing this, his mouth opened, then closed again.

"Let's head to the conference room."

Patrick said, gesturing for him to follow.

"It's not convenient to talk here."

The conference room was on the second floor, small, with a long table, six chairs, and a whiteboard on the wall covered in writing that hadn't been erased; light from outside filtered through the blinds, casting stripes of light and shadow across the tabletop.

Patrick closed the door, O'Brien pulled out a chair and sat down, and Lin An sat across from him, placing his backpack by his feet.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Patrick asked.

"Coffee? Water?"

"No, thank you."

Lin An said, taking a handwritten notebook from his backpack, flipping to a blank page, and taking out a pen.

"Let's start right away."

Patrick took a stack of documents out of his briefcase; they were thinner than the stack O'Brien had yesterday, but still substantial.

"I don't know where to begin."

He said.

"Sit down first."

Lin An said.

Patrick pulled out a chair and sat down, placing his hands on the table with his fingers interlaced.

"I filed my 2008 taxes myself, but last month I received a notice from the IRS saying I underreported some income and demanding I pay the back taxes plus a penalty, totaling over five hundred dollars."

"Five hundred?"

"Five hundred and thirty-seven."

Patrick's face looked somewhat distressed as he said the number.

"I already paid it."

"You already paid it?"

"I did."

Patrick said.

"I can't argue with the IRS. Whatever they say goes, and five hundred bucks isn't that much."

O'Brien snorted from the side.

"That's not what you said when you told me about it. You said that five hundred dollars was enough for your wife to buy groceries for a week."

Patrick glared at him.

O'Brien shrugged and shut his mouth.

Lin An took Patrick's documents and spread them out on the table.

[Another CP2000. The IRS is sending out these scare letters in bulk, aren't they?]

[Eighteen hundred in interest? What kind of bank has interest rates that high? Weren't interest rates in 2008 as low as water?]

[No, no, after the 2008 financial crisis, interest rates dropped to near zero. Where would eighteen hundred in interest come from? How much money would you have to deposit to get eighteen hundred in interest?]

[At 4%, you'd need to deposit forty-five thousand.]

[A forty-five thousand dollar CD, for a police officer? In 2008?]

[Either something else was misreported as interest, or...]

[Let me see the details of that letter.]

Lin An flipped the letter to the second page, where the IRS description of the income was listed... "JPMorgan Chase Bank Form 1099-INT, interest income $1,843.62."

"Officer Patrick, do you have a certificate of deposit at JPMorgan Chase?"

Patrick was stunned for a moment.

"No."

"Do you have any large deposits at other banks?"

"No."

Patrick shook his head.

"My wife and I have less than ten thousand in total savings, all in checking accounts. The interest over a year is... a few dozen dollars? I don't even remember having any."

[Then where did this 1099-INT come from?]

[JPMorgan Chase wouldn't issue a 1099-INT for no reason. There must be some account that generated interest.]

[The officer said he has less than ten thousand in savings. The checking account interest rate in 2008 was probably less than 0.5%. At most, that's fifty dollars a year. It's impossible to have eighteen hundred.]

[Don't even think about it, someone definitely used his SSN to open an account. I had this happen to me when I was studying abroad in the United States.]

[A question: what is an SSN?]

[SSN is a 9-digit unique identification number issued by the Social Security Administration in the United States. It's similar to an ID card, but a bit different. This thing is the core credential for filing taxes in the U.S. All income is tied to the SSN, and the IRS uses the SSN to verify personal tax information.]

[Look at the officer's Form 1040. How much interest income did he report?]

Lin An rummaged through the pile of documents and found Patrick's 2008 Form 1040. He flipped to the "interest income" line, which read "$42.17."

[42 dollars, that's the normal amount.]

[Obviously, he's been set up. The most troublesome problem now is that he already paid the penalty, and that money won't be easy to get back.]

[Get it back? Once money goes into the IRS, can you even get it back? You're too naive.]

[You can get it back, but you have to fill out a mountain of forms, wait half a year, and it's not even guaranteed to succeed.]

[Host, ask him if anyone used his identity to open an account in 2008? Like his wife? Or his parents? Let's rule out one possibility first.]

Lin An put down the documents and looked at Patrick.

"Officer Patrick, are you certain that no one used your Social Security Number to open an account at JPMorgan Chase in 2008? Is it possible your wife opened an account without your knowledge?"

Patrick's brow furrowed.

"My wife... I don't think so. She's more careful with money than I am, but she wouldn't open an account behind my back."

He thought for a moment and took out his phone.

"I'll call her and ask."

He stood up, walked to the window, turned his back to Lin An and O'Brien, and dialed a number. The phone rang a few times before it was answered.

"Hey, it's me... I have a question for you. Did you ever open an account at JPMorgan Chase?... No, I'm just asking... You didn't? Are you sure?... What about in 2008?... Neither?... Alright, I got it... It's nothing, I'll talk to you about it later."

He hung up the phone and turned around.

"My wife says she never opened any account at JPMorgan Chase. She uses TD Bank."

[Confirmed, it's identity theft.]

[Identity theft was already very common in 2008. I saw too much of this when I worked at a bank in the United States. Someone uses another person's SSN to open an account, deposits money, and then withdraws it, leaving that person's name on the bank records.]

[But the IRS will attribute the interest generated by that money to that person.]

[Exactly. The victim only finds out their identity was stolen when they receive a 1099-INT.]

[If it is identity theft, then it's going to be a headache. It's not something that can be solved by simply filling out a form.]

[You have to report it to the police first, get a police report, then contact the bank to prove that the account isn't yours, and have the bank issue a corrected 1099-INT to the IRS.]

Lin An stacked the documents back together, set them aside, and looked at Patrick.

"Officer Patrick, I think I know where the problem might lie, but I need you to answer a question for me first."

"Go ahead."

"Before 2008, did you ever lose your wallet or misplace your Social Security Card?"

Patrick thought for a moment, and then his expression changed.

"2007... I lost my wallet at a shopping mall in Queens. My driver's license, Social Security Card, and a credit card were in it."

"Did you report it to the police?"

"I did. The mall security recorded it, and I filed a report at the precinct. The credit card was used for over two hundred dollars, but the bank eventually refunded that money to me. I applied for a new Social Security Card."

Lin An leaned back in his chair, crossing his hands on the table.

"Officer Patrick, I suspect your Social Security Number was stolen by someone else. Someone used your identity to open an account at JPMorgan Chase, and that eighteen hundred dollars in interest was generated by that account."

Patrick's mouth opened, then closed.

He stared at Lin An for a few seconds, then turned his head to look at O'Brien.

"Then I... I already paid the fine."

Patrick's voice sounded a bit dry.

"Over five hundred dollars, I already paid it."

[Even if you paid it, you can get it back, but it will take time.]

[The first step... it will take at least half a year to finish all five steps, but you can definitely get it back.]

Lin An looked at Patrick with a gentle tone.

"Officer Patrick, this matter is a bit troublesome to handle, but it's not impossible to resolve. You need to do a few things..."

"I know it's troublesome."

Patrick interrupted him, his voice a little louder than before, but he immediately lowered it again.

"I... I know it's trouble. I just didn't want the hassle, so I paid the fine directly."

He paused.

"It was over five hundred dollars. I thought if I paid it, I wouldn't have to deal with the headache."

[Typical American mindset: pay the money and be done with it.]

[The problem is that paying the money doesn't end the matter. The IRS will assume you've admitted that this income is yours. If they find similar things later, they will keep coming after you.]

[And identity theft doesn't just disappear on its own. If that account still exists, a 1099-INT will be mailed to you next year, the year after, and the year after that.]

[Right. If you don't deal with it, this problem will come back every year. Five hundred-plus every year—that's over five thousand in ten years.]

[So it must be dealt with, no matter how much of a hassle it is.]

Lin An relayed these points to Patrick, keeping it simple and direct, without using jargon or beating around the bush.

After listening, Patrick was silent for a long time.

He looked down at the pile of documents on the table, tapped his fingers on the surface twice, and then looked up.

"Then... can you help me?"

"I can," Lin An said.

"But I need you to cooperate and do a few things."

"You name it."

"First, can you check the system today to see what address was used to open that JPMorgan Chase account? If the person who stole your identity left an address, things will be much easier to handle."

Patrick thought for a moment and nodded.

"I can check the system, but not as a police officer; I'll check the bank as myself."

"Second."

Dr. Lin An said.

"You need to file a new police report, specifically for identity theft. This report must clearly state that someone used your SSN to open a bank account."

"I can do that."

Patrick said.

"I can file it right here at the precinct."

"Third."

Dr. Lin An said.

"You need to prepare yourself mentally. This won't be resolved quickly; it might take several months."

Patrick took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"A few months is fine. It's better than being chased by the IRS every year."

He stood up, walked over to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and wrote a few lines.

1. Go to JPMorgan Chase to check the account

2. Report identity theft to the police

3. Contact the IRS to correct the 1099-INT

4. File a 1040X

5. Apply for a tax refund

After finishing, he stepped back to look at the lines, then capped the marker with a "click."

"That's the plan."

He said.

O'Brien, who had been quiet the whole time, suddenly spoke up.

"Patrick, didn't you say you were going to take Dr. Lin An out for lunch?"

Patrick paused, then slapped his forehead.

"Right, right. Dr. Lin An, let me treat you to lunch. There's a good place nearby..."

Before he could finish, the conference room door was knocked on, and then pushed open.

A man in his fifties walked in, wearing a crisp, well-pressed police uniform. The rank insignia on his shoulders was gold, his hair was graying, and his face had more wrinkles than his actual age suggested, but his eyes were sharp. His gaze swept across the room and finally landed on Dr. Lin An.

Inspector Morales.

He held a folder in his hand and looked as if he were just passing by, but Dr. Lin An noticed the folder was empty; there was nothing inside the clip.

"Patrick."

Morales's voice wasn't loud, but it had a quality that made people instinctively sit up straight.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a guest?"

"Sir."

Patrick stood up.

"This is Dr. Lin An, the one I mentioned to you—the PhD student from Columbia that O'Brien knows."

Morales's gaze lingered on Dr. Lin An for two seconds.

Then, he broke into a very bright smile.

"Dr. Lin An."

He walked over quickly and extended his hand.

"I am Inspector Morales, Frank Morales."

Dr. Lin An stood up and shook his hand.

"Hello, Inspector Morales."

Morales's grip was firm but not excessive.

"I heard from O'Brien that you did him a big favor."

"It wasn't a big favor."

Dr. Lin An said.

"I just took a look at his tax forms."

"Tax forms."

Morales repeated the word and chuckled.

"You know, at the 103rd Precinct, there are fewer people who can read a tax form than there are who can read a crime scene."

He let go of his hand, glanced at the lines Patrick had written on the whiteboard, and then turned his head to look at Dr. Lin An.

"Can you solve Patrick's tax issues, too?"

"I can."

Dr. Lin An said.

"It will take some time, but it can be solved."

Morales nodded, not continuing to ask further.

He picked up the folder in his hand and tapped it twice lightly on the table.

"Dr. Lin An, I heard your passport and visa were lost?"

Dr. Lin An's expression did not change; he maintained that same polite smile.

"Yes, Inspector. My personal belongings were stolen, and my passport, visa, and student ID were all inside."

"Did you report it to the police?"

"Not yet. I came here today specifically to file a report."

Morales glanced at Patrick, and Patrick nodded slightly.

Then he looked at O'Brien, and O'Brien also nodded slightly.

Morales put the folder down, shoved his hands into his pockets, and stood there thinking for a few seconds.

"Filing a report requires following procedure: waiting in line, giving a statement, and waiting for the report. It's not busy today, but it will still take two or three hours to finish, and the results won't be out for five days."

He paused.

"But I can help you speed up the process."

[Here it comes, this is how a society based on personal connections works.]

[It's the same in the United States; having connections and not having them are two different speeds.]

[Having someone inside the police station "speed up the process" is very common in the U.S. It's not illegal; it's just internal coordination, much like political donations. It's not corruption; it's just normal electioneering... lol.]

[The key is, why would Inspector Morales help Dr. Lin An?]

[Because the streamer has value.]

Dr. Lin An bowed slightly.

"Thank you, Inspector Morales."

"Just call me Morales."

The inspector waved his hand.

"Follow me."

Morales led Dr. Lin An out of the conference room, walked through the hallway, passed several offices, and finally stopped in front of a door.

A piece of paper was taped to the door, reading "Records - Please knock before entering."

Morales didn't knock; he pushed the door open and walked right in.

The room was small, containing three desks, two computers, a filing cabinet, and walls covered in various forms and notices. The air smelled of printer paper and toner.

A young female officer was sitting at a computer typing. Seeing Morales enter, she immediately stood up.

"Sir."

"Jenny."

Morales said.

"This gentleman needs to report a theft; his passport and visa are missing. Help him issue a police report card."

Jenny glanced at Dr. Lin An, then at Morales, and nodded.

"Yes, sir."

She sat back in her chair, her fingers poised over the keyboard.

"Name?"

"Lin An, L-I-N, A-N."

"Date of birth?"

"March 2, 1988."

"Social Security number?"

Dr. Lin An's expression did not change at all.

"I don't have a Social Security number. I am an international student on an F-1 visa, and I just arrived in the United States recently."

Jenny's fingers paused on the keyboard, and she looked up at Morales.

Morales stood to the side, arms crossed, his expression very calm.

"Then use the passport number."

He said.

Jenny nodded and tapped a few keys on the keyboard.

"Passport number?"

Dr. Lin An pulled a slip of paper from his pocket that he had written the night before, containing a passport number, a visa number, and an I-94 number.

These were numbers he had learned from the comments in his livestream.

The viewers told him that for a 2009 F-1 visa, the passport number started with an E followed by eight digits; the I-94 number was an 11-digit string with no letters, and the visa number was an 8-digit string printed in red on the visa page.

He handed the slip to Jenny.

Jenny took a glance and began entering the information into the system.

"Address?"

"I'm staying with a friend for now, Apartment 2B, 90-41 108th Street, Jamaica."

Jenny's fingers tapped on the keyboard for a few moments, then paused.

"Mr. Lin."

She said.

"The system cannot find your visa information."

The room fell silent for a second.

Morales walked over, stood behind Jenny, and looked down at the screen.

On the screen was the interface for the Department of Homeland Security's Student and Exchange Visitor Information System. Morales had logged in with his police credentials and entered the passport and visa numbers provided by Dr. Lin An.

The system displayed, "No record found."

[Is he about to be exposed?]

[No, the SEVIS system existed in 2009. All international student information is in there. If they can't find it, it means there's no visa record for this person.]

[The streamer is finished.]

[It's fine. SEVIS went live in 2003 and had been running for six years by 2009. Theoretically, all F-1 visa holders' information should be in there, but in practice, there's often a delay in data entry.]

[How long is the delay?]

[Normally, schools register students in SEVIS after admission. Once the student gets their visa, the consulate transmits the visa information back to the Department of Homeland Security. The whole process takes about one to two months.]

[The streamer said he just arrived in the U.S. If it's a special case of enrolling in March, the information in SEVIS might not have synced yet. Besides, based on my experience, the police should help him.]

Morales stared at the screen for a few seconds, then turned his head to look at Dr. Lin An.

Dr. Lin An stood there, his expression unchanged, maintaining that same polite smile.

At this moment, Lieutenant Morales spoke up.

"Dr. Lin An transferred from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology to Columbia University with his advisor, Professor Robert Jero. His transfer paperwork might not have been fully entered into the system yet."

"Jenny, go ahead and issue a police report card for Dr. Lin An so he has a case number to replace his documents. Add a note: Visa information pending verification."

Jenny glanced at him, nodded, and began typing on the keyboard.

[He passed?]

[He just passed like that?]

[How did this police lieutenant help the streamer make up his information?]

[What's happening now?]

[Nothing much, this is normal.]

[How is this normal?]

[Because the streamer has value. Regardless of his situation, he can help the police solve tax issues right now. Skipping the police report process is nothing; helping the streamer kill an American wouldn't even be a big deal.]

[Holy crap.]

[This is reality, kid. The U.S. is a capitalist country.]

The printer hummed to life, and a white card slid out of the machine.

Jenny picked up the card, checked it over, and handed it to Morales.

Morales took a look and passed it to Dr. Lin An.

"Dr. Lin An, this is your police report card. You can use this to apply for a replacement passport and visa."

Dr. Lin An took it and glanced at it.

The card contained his name, the date of the report, the case number, and a line of small text... "Note: Visa information pending verification."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Morales."

He folded the card and put it into his pocket.

Morales nodded, then glanced at his watch.

"It's about time for lunch."

He said.

"Dr. Lin An, do you have any plans for noon?"

"No."

"Then let's grab a bite together. There's a Cuban restaurant across from the branch office; their roast pork is quite good."

The two police officers on the side remained silent, not daring to make a sound.