Financial Advice (Bonus Chapter)

Nine o'clock sharp.

Lin An stood at the entrance of the 103rd Precinct, straightened his shirt collar, and pushed open the door to walk inside.

The policewoman at the front desk was flipping through a copy of the New York Post. Hearing footsteps, she looked up, saw Lin An, and a smile immediately bloomed on her face.

"Yo, Dr. Lin, here to help us with our taxes again?"

"Good morning, Martha."

Lin An nodded with a smile.

"You look like you're in great spirits today."

"Oh, you say that every time."

Martha waved her hand with a laugh.

"The conference room is empty, just head right in. It's not busy today, only three people are waiting for you."

"Thanks."

Lin An walked across the lobby and headed toward the conference room on the second floor.

In the offices lining the second-floor hallway, several officers saw him and raised their hands to greet him.

A bald detective leaned half his body out of a door frame, holding a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Dr. Lin, my wife told me to thank you. The tax return you helped her file got us over four hundred bucks back!"

"You're welcome, Detective Ramirez."

"Just call me Jose. Come over for dinner sometime; my wife makes the best tortillas in all of Queens!"

"I'll be sure to."

Lin An smiled and agreed, not slowing his pace.

[Lin An's treatment at the 103rd Precinct is getting more and more ridiculous]

[From "that Chinese guy" to "Dr. Lin," and now "Jose inviting you to his house for dinner"]

[This is the charm of tax filing]

[In the United States, someone who can snatch money back from the jaws of the IRS is more popular than a priest]

[Lin An is now the God of Wealth for the 103rd Precinct]

[The description "God of Wealth" is too accurate]

The conference room door was open, and three people were sitting inside—two in uniform and one in plain clothes.

Seeing Lin An enter, the three of them stood up simultaneously.

"Dr. Lin."

"Doctor."

"Good morning, Doctor."

Lin An responded to each of them, sat down at the conference table, and took the folder handed to him by the first person.

"Let me see..."

He opened the folder, his gaze sweeping over the numbers on the tax forms. Bullet comments began to flow along the edge of his vision, dense numerical analyses and tax advice scrolling past as fast as a river of data.

[The income on the W-2 is over-reported; tell him to get a new one issued]

[This one can claim an education credit; he took a vocational training course last year]

[The third person's Form 1040 is filled out wrong; he selected itemized deductions instead of the standard deduction, but he doesn't have anything to itemize]

[The second person's problem is the simplest; he just forgot to report the state taxes he paid in arrears last year. Just change it directly]

Lin An's fingers tapped on the tax forms, stating the modification suggestions point by point.

The three people pulled out notebooks and scribbled furiously.

In less than twenty minutes, all three people's problems were solved.

They left the conference room with profuse thanks. The last plainclothes detective to leave even turned back specifically to shove a business card into Lin An's hand.

"My brother-in-law runs an auto repair shop. Doctor, if you ever need repairs, just mention my name. Forty... no, fifty percent off."

"Thank you."

Lin An tucked the business card into his pocket and watched him leave.

The conference room fell quiet.

Lin An leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, as if resting.

[The streamer is so efficient today]

[Three people in twenty minutes, less than seven minutes per person on average]

[It's mostly because the problems were simple; the really troublesome ones were all handled last week]

[There are over two hundred people at the 103rd Precinct; how many have Lin An helped file taxes for already?]

[I've counted, from the first time I helped O'Brien to now, it's been at least a hundred times.]

[Over a hundred police officers owe him a favor; that's quite the network he's built.]

[In the Jamaica Community, being known by name by a hundred cops is a protective umbrella in itself.]

Lin An didn't open his eyes, but the corners of his mouth curled up slightly, looking somewhat self-satisfied.

At this moment, a burst of hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Lin An opened his eyes just as the conference room door was pushed open... it was Patrick.

He wasn't wearing his uniform jacket, only a dark blue short-sleeved police shirt, revealing his thick forearms.

"Dr. Lin."

"Officer Patrick."

Patrick walked in and pulled the conference room door shut behind him; the lock clicked into place, sealing out the noise from the hallway.

He sat down across from Lin An, folding his hands on the table and rubbing his thumbs together.

He didn't speak.

Lin An didn't rush him either, simply waiting quietly.

The comments began to scroll by.

[Patrick isn't acting like himself today.]

[He's usually quite talkative; why is he so quiet today?]

[His thumbs are moving; that's a sign of nervousness.]

[A guy who opens fire on gangsters with a handgun gets nervous?]

[So whatever he's about to say must make him more nervous than pulling a trigger.]

[Is it about money?]

[High probability.]

Patrick cleared his throat.

"Doctor."

"Yes."

"I have a question I'd like to ask you."

"Please, go ahead."

"It's not my question," Patrick corrected.

"It's a question from a friend of mine."

[Classic opening: I have a friend.]

[One hundred percent his own problem.]

[No, Patrick's personality isn't the type to beat around the bush; it might actually be a friend.]

[It could also be his own business, but he's too embarrassed to say it directly.]

[Wait, a cop's financial problem? It wouldn't be the IRS again, would it?]

Lin An didn't expose him, simply nodding.

"What kind of trouble is your friend in?"

Patrick took a deep breath.

"He has a sum of money."

"How much?"

"Ten thousand dollars."

He paused, as if weighing his words.

"This money... the source isn't exactly clean."

Lin An raised an eyebrow.

"How unclean?"

"It's nothing heinous," Patrick added immediately.

"It's not blood money from murder or arson; it's just... you know, off-the-books work, no accounting, no taxes reported."

[High probability he killed a gangster and took the money off the corpse.]

[Isn't that against regulations?]

[In 2009, police in the United States didn't have body cameras, so things like this were common; to some extent, it was even considered one of the sources of income for New York police, which they humorously referred to as a "Police Tip."]

[Don't worry about it. For a small amount like ten thousand dollars, the IRS couldn't be bothered to investigate.]

"Cash?"

"Cash."

Lin An nodded, signaling that he understood.

"So your friend wants to know how to spend this money legally?"

"Right."

Patrick's eyes lit up.

"He wants to deposit it in the bank but is afraid of being checked. He wants to spend it, but is afraid of leaving a record when buying big-ticket items. So he's just..."

"Just stuck with it."

"Exactly."

Lin An leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the tabletop.

Ten thousand dollars.

To be honest, this amount didn't require any complex money laundering schemes.

He could just spend it slowly in daily life—buying groceries, gas, paying rent, eating out—and it would be gone in a few months.

The IRS computer system wouldn't even notice a cash flow of ten thousand dollars unless he was stupid enough to deposit it all at once... that would trigger a Currency Transaction Report from the bank, as banks are required to report any cash deposit over ten thousand.

So the simplest answer was: don't put it in the bank, just spend it on daily expenses.

Lin An opened his mouth, just about to say those words.

Then he stopped.

Lin An's gaze shifted from Patrick's face to the map of the 103rd Precinct's jurisdiction hanging on the conference room wall.

Jamaica Community, South Jamaica, Hollis, Queens Village—patchwork color blocks marking different patrol zones and crime rate data.

Patrick didn't need to launder ten thousand dollars.

He had just said it was his "friend's" problem.

And even if it really were his own, ten thousand dollars didn't require any complicated maneuvers.

So, was this friend Patrick's direct superior?

Lieutenant Morales.

Or someone above Morales?

The captain of the 103rd Precinct.

Or perhaps the entire precinct's two hundred officers.

[Is it possible, streamer, that ten thousand dollars is just the bait, and Patrick is here to test the waters?]

[It's also possible it's not Patrick doing the testing, but the people behind him.]

[Out of two hundred police officers in the 103rd Precinct, how many have dirty money?]

[Police salaries aren't high, but they have great power and many opportunities for illicit income; that's common knowledge worldwide.]

[A regular NYPD officer makes forty to fifty thousand a year, a lieutenant seventy to eighty thousand. In New York, that income is barely considered decent.]

[But there's a problem with dirty money: a little doesn't matter, but too much invites investigation from anti-money laundering units and the IRS.]

[So they need someone to help them solve this problem.]

[If Lin An can pull this off, his status in the 103rd Precinct will be more than just a "friend who does taxes."]

[He will become the financial advisor for the entire precinct—no, their financial protector.]

Lin An withdrew his gaze and looked at Patrick again.

His expression became more focused.

"Officer Patrick."

"Yeah?"

"Ten thousand dollars, honestly, doesn't require any special operations."

Patrick's shoulders relaxed slightly.

"Just spend it on daily life—groceries, gas, meals, clothes. Don't deposit it into the bank all at once, and don't buy big-ticket items in one go. It'll be gone in a few months."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Patrick let out a breath, a look of relief appearing on his face.

"I told him so..."

He stood up, preparing to leave.

"However."

Lin An's voice made him stop.

"However what?"

Lin An did not answer immediately. His fingers tapped on the tabletop twice more, then stopped.

"If your friend... or your friend's colleagues have a larger volume of cash that needs to be handled, daily expenses won't be enough."

Patrick turned around and slowly sat back down in his chair.

"Doctor, what do you mean?"

"I don't mean anything else."

Lin An's tone was very steady.

"I'm just saying, ten thousand can be absorbed by daily expenses, but what about a hundred thousand, or two hundred thousand? That requires other methods."

Patrick was silent for a few seconds.

"For example?"

[It's happening, brothers, help out, what are the ways to launder money?]

[Art auctions, buy a painting, claim you painted it yourself, then sell it at a high price]

[Open a laundromat, cash business, report more income when filing taxes]

[Casino, buy chips, play a few rounds, exchange for a check]

[Real estate, buy a dilapidated house, renovate it, then sell it, pay the difference in cash]

[These are all methods for large amounts, too complicated for the police]

[What is the police's advantage? They don't need to launder black money, they just need to spend the money without attracting attention]

[So the method should be "how to spend cash," not "how to make money legal"]

At the edge of Lin An's vision, the comments poured down like a waterfall.

All kinds of suggestions, analyses, cases, and citations of legal clauses were dense and fast, like a torrent of data.

"There are a few methods."

After watching for a while, Lin An, having a clear idea in his mind, spoke up.

"The first type, structuring deposits.

Don't deposit more than ten thousand at once, deposit eight or nine thousand each time, do it every few weeks, spread it across different banks and different accounts, don't have a pattern, don't have a fixed time.

This method is called 'structuring,' and technically speaking... it's illegal."

Patrick's expression was a bit disappointed.

"However."

Lin An held up one finger.

"For the IRS to catch structuring, the bank needs to proactively report it, then it goes through manual review, and then an investigation is launched.

For a volume of one or two hundred thousand, the labor cost for the IRS isn't worth it, so as long as you aren't too stupid or too excessive, you basically won't get caught."

Patrick nodded slowly.

"What's the second one?"

"The second type, cash consumption, buying portable items that hold value."

Lin An counted on his fingers.

"Buy gold, silver coins, luxury watches, jewelry, and things like that, keep them at home, and take them to sell when you need money.

Remember to sell in batches when you do, don't sell everything at once.

The disadvantage of this method is that liquidation is slow and prices fluctuate, but the advantage is that there is almost no record, because you are the buyer, not the seller."

[This is good, I recommend this one]

[Buy gold bars, stuff them under the bed, safer than the bank]

[Gold is indeed the best at holding value, how much was the gold price per ounce in 2009? Nine hundred something?]

[Right, buy it now, in a few years the gold price will rise to eighteen hundred, you can even make money]

[Wait, this isn't money laundering, this is financial planning]

[Lin An is teaching the police how to manage their finances]

[Laughing to death, the God of Wealth has upgraded to a financial advisor]

"The third."

Lin An held up a third finger.

"Open a small business."

Patrick frowned slightly.

"What kind of business?"

"Any business that takes cash: laundromats, pizza shops, car washes, convenience stores. You don't actually need to run them; you just need the business on the books.

Deposit a portion of the cash into the account every week and report it as business revenue when filing taxes. The IRS will take about twenty to thirty percent in taxes, and the remaining money becomes clean."

"You have to pay taxes on it?"

"Of course you have to pay taxes."

Lin An's tone was like he was teaching a primary schooler that one plus one equals two.

"If you want to clean your money, you have to pay a price. Taxes are the cost of buying legitimacy. If you don't want to pay taxes, then don't think about cleaning the money—just spend the cash directly."

Patrick was silent for a long time.

His thumbs stopped rubbing against each other, his hands lay flat on the table, and he was much calmer than when he had first walked in.

"Doctor."

"Hmm."

"How do you know all this?"

Lin An tilted his head, then smiled.

"I read a lot."

[Hahahaha]

[Lin An: I am a scholar, these are all academic studies.]

[He's a PhD in mathematical finance, so what's wrong with researching money laundering? It's perfectly reasonable.]

[Look at Patrick's expression; he's seriously considering whether to keep asking.]

[He won't ask anymore, because he knows he won't get an answer.]

[And he doesn't care about the answer; he only cares if the method works.]

Patrick indeed did not ask again.

He stood up.

"Doctor."

"Hmm."

"Those methods you just mentioned... the laundromat one, if one were to actually do it, how much money would it take?"

"Depends on the scale. For a small shop, thirty to fifty thousand in startup capital is enough—rent, equipment, renovations, and the operating costs for the first few months."

Patrick nodded.

"Then if..."

"Officer Patrick."

Lin An interrupted him.

"Some of the methods I mentioned are legally gray. Structuring deposits is strictly illegal, and opening fake businesses to launder money is also illegal.

I am merely answering your friend's question, not suggesting that anyone actually do these things."

As he said this, his face was calm and his tone was steady.

He sounded like a university professor lecturing on criminal law cases.

"I understand."

Patrick said.

"You are just providing information."

"Correct."

"How it's used is my friend's business."

"Correct."

"You don't know anything."

"I don't know anything."

Patrick mimicked Lin An's smile, then pulled the door open and walked out.

The sound of footsteps faded down the hallway, and the conference room fell silent once again.

Lin An leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

The barrage of comments began to go wild.

[Lin An is too good at this.]

["I don't know anything."]

[A perfectly reasonable way to deflect.]

[He tells Patrick the methods, Patrick tells his "friend," and whatever the friend does has nothing to do with Lin An.]

[But everyone knew that if they really wanted to get things done, they would eventually have to ask Lin An for help.]

[Because only Lin An could balance the books.]

[Running a laundromat required filing taxes, filing taxes required bookkeeping, and bookkeeping required Lin An.]

[This was a perfect business closed loop.]

[Lin An had turned himself into the underground financial officer of the 103rd Precinct.]

[Not just a financial officer, but a fund manager.]

[With over two hundred police officers, each holding anywhere from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands in gray income, how much did that add up to?]

[If Lin An could help them launder this money and take a ten percent service fee, he would achieve financial freedom instantly.]

[Moreover, the police would pay this fee willingly, because money that wasn't laundered was just a pile of waste paper.]

[More importantly, Lin An held the financial secrets of the entire precinct.]

[This wasn't a favor; it was leverage.]

[But the police wouldn't feel threatened, because Lin An had never proactively demanded anything.]

[He simply provided help, accepted their gratitude, and never made requests.]

[The highest level of control is making the other party willing to be controlled.]

Lin An opened his eyes and looked at the map of the jurisdiction on the wall.

The map was marked with different color blocks and numbers, like pieces already placed on a chessboard.

His finger tapped lightly on the map.

108th Street.

Then he stood up, straightened his shirt cuffs, pushed open the conference room door, and walked out.

In the lobby, Martha was still flipping through a newspaper. Seeing Lin An come out, she looked up.

"Leaving, Dr. Lin?"

"Leaving."

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Not necessarily. If something comes up, call me."

"You got it."

Lin An pushed open the glass door and stepped into the morning light of New York.

On the street, a police car was parked by the curb. Patrick was leaning against the door with an unlit cigarette in his hand. Seeing Lin An emerge, he straightened up.

"Doctor, I'll drive you back."

"No need, I'll walk."

"It's not safe for you to walk alone on the streets of Jamaica right now."

Lin An thought for a moment and nodded.

"Then I'll take you up on that."

He pulled open the back door of the police car and sat inside.

Patrick started the engine, and the police car pulled away from the 103rd Precinct, heading toward the Jamaica Community.

The car was quiet. Patrick drove with his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. The unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear swayed slightly with the bumps of the car.

"Doctor."

He spoke suddenly.

"Yes."

"Lieutenant Morales asked me to check with you... among those methods from earlier, which one is best for us?"

Lin An leaned back in the seat, watching the streetscape outside the window drift slowly by.

Dilapidated apartment buildings, roll-down shutters covered in graffiti, teenagers squatting on the roadside smoking, and homeless people pushing shopping carts.

A New York morning, like the morning in any city in the world, was full of both vitality and decay.

"The second one."

He said.

"Buying gold?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It's the simplest. No need to manage a business, no need to file taxes, and no need to leave any written records. You buy it, hide it, and sell it when you need to."

"The only risk is your home getting robbed, but you are police officers; your homes are much safer than those of ordinary people."

Patrick was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

"That makes sense."

"The most important thing is that, based on the current world situation and economic trends, gold..."

Lin An leaned back in the backseat, his gaze passing through the car window to look at the Manhattan skyline in the distance.

In the morning light, those glass curtain walls reflected a golden glow, looking like countless massive gold bricks standing along the Hudson River.

"Gold will rise."

He said.

"Rise by how much?" Patrick glanced at him through the rearview mirror.

"A lot."

Lin An's tone was very certain.

"First, it's 2009 now. You should know what happened last year."

Patrick was silent for a second.

"The financial crisis."

"Right. Lehman Brothers collapsed, Bear Stearns was acquired, Merrill Lynch was sold, AIG was bailed out by the government, and the global financial system almost fell apart. It still hasn't recovered."

Lin An held up a second finger.

"Second, because of the financial crisis, what is the Federal Reserve doing?"

"Printing money."

Patrick answered quickly this time.

"Bailing out the market, zero interest rates, quantitative easing—anyway, they're just constantly pumping money into the market."

[Patrick actually understands quantitative easing]

[He's a cop, not an economist, but this stuff is on the news every day; he's learned it just by listening]

[From 2008 to 2009, how many times did the Federal Reserve's balance sheet expand?]

[From 900 billion to 2 trillion, and they're still printing]

[Central banks all over the world are following suit—Europe, Japan, China]

"Exactly."

Lin An nodded.

"What is the result of printing money? There's more money, but the amount of goods in the world hasn't changed, so..."

"Money will depreciate."

Patrick finished the sentence.

"Right, the dollar will depreciate, but gold won't."

Lin An held up a third finger.

"The amount of gold is limited. There's only so much gold on Earth; whatever is mined is all there is. The Federal Reserve can print a trillion dollars, but it can't print a single ounce of gold."

He paused for a moment.

"So, when paper money depreciates, gold will rise in price... that's the first point."

[The streamer is giving a cop an economics lesson]

[And explaining it more clearly than a university professor]

[Because we actually understand it, not just reading from a textbook]

[2009 really was the best time to buy gold. The price of gold after the financial crisis was only nine hundred something; it doubled in a few years]

[Not just doubled, it hit nineteen hundred by 2011]

[So Lin An isn't helping them launder money; he's helping them manage their wealth and increase its value]

[Money laundering might lose money, but buying gold at this point in time is a guaranteed profit]

Patrick's fingers tapped on the steering wheel.

"And there's a second point?"

"There is."

Lin An held up a fourth finger.

"The second point is that gold doesn't require any documentation, there are no records, and the only person who knows you have gold in your hands is the person who sold it to you."

"The person selling the gold won't talk?"

"No, because they're also doing cash business."

Lin An's tone was as flat as if he were saying the weather was nice today.

"How many gold shops are there in New York? How many pawn shops? How many private dealers? They are collecting cash and selling gold every single day.

The IRS can't keep up, and they don't want to. Because gold shops and pawn shops have their own licenses, they only need to report large transactions... only single cash transactions over ten thousand need to be reported."

"So..."

"So, if you buy eight or nine thousand dollars worth each time, and have different people go to different shops to make the purchases, no one will ever know."

Patrick nodded slowly.

[This is the advantage of the police]

[They have many people, so they can buy in batches]

[With over two hundred people, each buying a little, it adds up to an astronomical figure]

[And because they are scattered across different areas, they won't attract attention]

[This is much smarter than running a laundromat]

[Running a laundromat requires bookkeeping, but buying gold doesn't even require that]

"Third point."

Lin An held up his fifth finger.

"Gold has no expiration date."

Patrick was stunned for a moment.

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like."

Lin An traced a circle in the air with his finger.

"You buy a gold bar, and no matter how long you keep it, it won't rust, it won't rot, it won't be gnawed on by rats, and it won't expire or spoil."

He paused.

"If you buy ten thousand dollars worth of beef, it will stink after a year. If you buy a ten thousand dollar car, it will be scrap metal in ten years. If you buy ten thousand dollars worth of stocks... the people who bought Lehman Brothers stock last year have nothing left now."

[Indeed, gold is the ultimate store of value]

[From ancient Egypt until now, for five thousand years, gold has always been hard currency]

[Civilizations may perish, currencies may collapse, but gold is always recognized]

[Roman gold coins and today's gold bars are essentially the same thing]

[This is the magic of gold]

"Fourth point... never mind, the first three points are enough."

"Indeed."

Patrick was silent for a long time.

The police car drove along Jamaica Avenue, passing a pawn shop. A sign hung in the window that read "WE BUY GOLD," the yellow letters on a red background standing out sharply in the morning light.

Patrick's gaze swept over the sign.

"Doctor."

"Hmm."

"How do you know all this?"

Lin An tilted his head and smiled.

"I read a lot."

[Hahahaha, here we go again]

["I read a lot" has already become Lin An's universal answer]

[Patrick: Can't you come up with a different reason?]

[Lin An: No, because I really do read a lot]

[He's a Ph.D. in mathematical finance, so researching the gold market is perfectly reasonable, right?]

[Not just researching the gold market, but also Federal Reserve monetary policy and global macroeconomics]

[Lin An: These are all academic studies, they have nothing to do with money laundering]

[And Lin An is very shrewd; buying gold is considered financial management, not spending, so the more dirty money the police have, the more they can't do without him]

The police car turned onto 108th Street and stopped in front of the apartment building.

Lin An pushed the car door open and stepped out.

"Doctor."

Patrick leaned his head out of the window.

"What you said just now, about gold rising—how much do you think it will go up?"

"If you buy it now, it's nine hundred dollars an ounce."

Lin An said.

"Within five years, at least eighteen hundred."

Patrick was startled.

"Double?"

"Yes, double."