Reactions and Measures for Self-Preservation

IRS Seattle Area Office Building, Office of the Chief of Criminal Investigation (CI).

Richard Cohen stood before the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, his back to the door, hands in his suit pockets, staring blankly out the window. Outside, the city skyline was a hazy, not yet fully lit skyline, with leaden clouds hanging low, foreshadowing a possible rainstorm. Normally, by this time, he would have already finished his second cup of coffee, begun reviewing the day's work reports, or held a morning meeting with his staff. But today, a suffocating silence and anxiety filled the office.

He was wearing the same suit as yesterday, his shirt collar loose and his tie askew. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, with heavy dark circles under them. The new stubble on his chin made him look haggard, as if he had aged ten years overnight. On his desk, the ashtray was piled high with cigarette butts, and the air was filled with the bitter smell of coffee mixed with a strong, lingering smell of tobacco.

I didn't sleep a wink all night.

No, it's not just sleeplessness. It's torment, it's waiting, it's a growing, chilling unease deep within my heart.

Last night, the ambulance he sent to escort seriously injured Agent Tony Rodriguez and prisoner Zhao Zhiyong, along with Karl Miller and another young agent who were in the ambulance, vanished without a trace after leaving the IRS building.

For the first few hours, he clung to a sliver of hope—perhaps it was a communication failure, or perhaps the hospital was too busy with emergency care to report it. He tried contacting the hospital, who confirmed that they had received an emergency call from the IRS and dispatched an ambulance, but the ambulance had not arrived on time, and they could not contact the crew. The hospital had already called the police.

Police intervened and reviewed surveillance footage along the route. Initial reports were alarming: a few blocks from the IRS building, the two ambulances turned onto a relatively secluded side street and subsequently disappeared from the main road network's surveillance cameras. A search of that side street and the surrounding area is underway, but so far, nothing has been found. No accident, no breakdown, no witness reports of anything unusual. The two ambulances, along with the injured person, the prisoner, and the three IRS agents (Karl, Tony, and the young agent), simply vanished into thin air.

A chill had been lingering in Cohen's heart ever since he received the hospital's call last night. As time went by, it not only failed to dissipate but instead, like a cold vine, tightened its grip, almost suffocating him.

He wasn't worried about Tony and Karl's safety—well, maybe a little, but not as much as outsiders might imagine. What he was truly worried about was that Tony and Karl, his two trusted confidants who had followed him for years, knew far too much.

They knew how he used his IRS authority to "facilitate" certain "friends" (such as Daniel Crawford) in attacking business rivals; they knew how he "handled" "grey" cases involving disobedient big taxpayers; they knew the destination of some of his private accounts and "advisory fees"; and they even knew which inappropriate connections and resources he used to settle his son's troubles.

If Tony and Karl fall into the hands of the enemy (undoubtedly Lin Feng), how long can they hold out against such ruthless individuals? Karl might still have some backbone, but Tony, with his volatile temper, would likely succumb to real torture and the threat of death... Moreover, their fate is currently unknown; what if the enemy uses drugs or more advanced interrogation techniques...?

Cohen dared not think any further. He felt a strong wave of nausea, a mixture of fear and anger. He was furious at Lin Feng's audacity and recklessness—daring to directly attack an IRS agent in the federal capital! This was a blatant provocation against the entire national law enforcement system! But he was even more terrified of the potential catastrophe that this incident could bring him personally if it were exposed. Losing a prisoner and causing an agent to go missing (most likely dead) was itself a serious dereliction of duty. If Tony and Karl revealed anything more... he would likely spend the rest of his life in federal prison, let alone his position as head of CI.

He irritably loosened his tie, walked to his desk, picked up the intercom, his fingers trembling slightly from the force. He dialed a number—the number of another trusted agent under his command, specializing in "special affairs."

"It's me." Cohen's voice was hoarse and dry. "Listen, immediately, right now, get all of Tony Rodriguez and Karl Miller's tax returns, bank statements, asset changes, and any records of their interactions with the IRS over the past five years (audits, consulting, disputes) for the past five years. Compile them into a detailed internal assessment report. I need to know if they, and those around them, have any potential tax compliance issues. Understand? Top priority!"

He spoke very quickly, with an unquestionable, commanding tone.

The person on the other end of the phone paused for a moment, then asked cautiously, "Boss, Tony and Karl aren't...?"

"Do as I say!" Cohen interrupted abruptly, his voice rising with suppressed anger and fear. "Don't ask why! I want to see the report before the end of the day! Remember, it's an internal assessment, strictly confidential! No one but me is allowed to access it!"

"Yes, boss." The subordinate dared not ask any more questions and quickly replied.

After hanging up the phone, Cohen slumped back into his high-backed chair, rubbing his face vigorously with both hands. This was his first line of defense. By possessing tax "handle" on Tony and Karl (especially their families), he could at least use it to threaten and control them should they fall into Lin Feng's hands and speak out, or at least buy himself some room to maneuver during internal investigations, or even muddy the waters. This was a common self-protection tactic in the bureaucratic system.

But that wasn't enough. He needed to figure out Lin Feng's attitude and what was going on with Daniel Crawford. After all, the whole thing started because of Daniel.

He picked up his personal cell phone, hesitated for a few seconds, and then dialed Daniel Crawford's number. The phone rang for a long time, and just when Cohen thought no one would answer and was about to hang up, it was finally picked up.

"Cohen." Daniel's voice came through, sounding somewhat somber, and the background was quiet, unlike what one would expect from an office.

"Daniel," Cohen said bluntly, his voice low, "Things... have gone wrong."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone, then Daniel's voice suddenly became urgent and tense. "What's the problem? Did Zhao Zhiyong speak up?"

"No, it's worse than that." Cohen took a deep breath, trying to make his voice sound calm. "Zhao Zhiyong... was kidnapped. Right there in the ambulance on his way to the hospital. The two capable men I sent to escort him also... disappeared."

"What?!" Daniel's voice rose instantly, filled with disbelief and rage. "They kidnapped him?! In the ambulance?! What are you IRS doing?! Right under your noses, you let a seriously injured prisoner be kidnapped?! And two agents were even killed?!"

Cohen's face instantly turned extremely ugly. Daniel's blunt accusation lashed at his already anxious nerves like a whip. He suppressed his anger, but his tone had turned cold:

"Daniel, it seems you need to calm down."

He paused, each word seeming to be squeezed out from between his teeth:

You need to understand who you're talking to right now.

This statement carried a clear warning and a condescending sense of oppression. He was reminding Daniel that their "cooperation" had never been equal. It was Cohen who was using his IRS authority to help Daniel resolve his troubles, not the other way around. Now that things had gone wrong, Daniel had no right to speak to him in this tone.

On the other end of the phone, Daniel seemed taken aback by Cohen's sudden change in tone, which turned cold and harsh. A brief silence followed, broken only by his slightly heavy breathing.

A few seconds later, Daniel's voice rang out again, his tone noticeably softer, even carrying a hint of panic and ingratiation:

"I... I'm sorry, Cohen. I'm just... I'm just so surprised, so shocked. You know how much hope I had for this... I'm also very sorry about what happened to your two men, really. I..."

He seemed eager to mend the relationship, making incoherent promises:

"I'll sponsor another expansion project for your son's private high school—no, two! Also, I'll cover all the expenses for that tax seminar in Hawaii you mentioned last time! Furthermore, if there's anything I can do to help, like using my business connections to gather information, or..."

"Enough." Cohen interrupted him coldly, his tone filled with weariness and impatience. He had no time for empty promises and useless "help." He just wanted to get out of this mess immediately and completely.

Daniel's "compensation" seemed so pale and ridiculous, even insulting, after the disappearance of his two subordinates (who may already be dead), the kidnapping of Zhao Zhiyong, and Lin Feng's terrifying counterattack.

"Daniel," Cohen's voice returned to calm, but it was a cold, emotionless calm, "This matter ends here. I've remembered your favor. But I'll handle the aftermath myself. You... take care of yourself."

After saying that, Cohen hung up the phone without waiting for Daniel to say anything more.

He slammed his phone down on the table with a thud. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, his chest heaving with intense emotion.

That idiot Daniel is still only thinking about settling things with money and dealing with Lin Feng. He has no idea what kind of monster they've provoked! A monster that can silently hijack an IRS-escorted ambulance and make several well-trained federal agents vanish without a trace! This is no longer a game of business competition or tax investigation; this is a naked war that has crossed all the bottom lines of civilized society!

Cohen felt a deep sense of dread. Last night, he was still thinking about how to bring down Lin Feng using "legal" means; now, he realized how naively foolish he had been. The other side didn't play the legal game at all! They used the most primitive, bloodiest, and most effective method—direct physical elimination of the threat!

Continuing to get involved with Daniel will only drag him into that bottomless abyss. He must cut his losses and extricate himself immediately.

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked up at the gloomy sky again. His unease hadn't lessened by his decision to withdraw. Would Lin Feng let him go? He'd participated in (or at least tacitly approved of) the torture of Zhao Zhiyong; he was Daniel's "partner"; he'd even sent Tony and Karl ... Given the ruthlessness and vengefulness Lin Feng had displayed, would he let him go just because he said "this is the end"?

Cohen's heart sank lower and lower.

But then, a deeper chill and scheming, belonging to seasoned bureaucrats, replaced the pure fear.

Fear? Of course he's afraid. But fear won't solve anything. He's Richard Cohen, a powerful figure in the IRS in the Seattle area, with his own connections and protectors. No matter how ruthless Lin Feng is, he's just an outsider, a nouveau riche without any foundation. In this country, what's truly powerful isn't someone's fist, but the system, the rules, the invisible yet resilient network of relationships and power structures.

Lin Feng can create "accidents" to make several people disappear, but can he go against the entire IRS? Can he go against the Federal Bureau of Investigation? Can he go against the Department of Justice?

If handled properly, he could easily frame Tony and Karl's disappearance as a "malicious attack on federal law enforcement officers," making Lin Feng the prime suspect and mobilizing the entire federal law enforcement resources to investigate and hunt him down! At that point, no matter how powerful he is, he would only be crushed in the face of the state's violent machinery!

As for himself? As long as he gathers enough "evidence," crafts a believable "story," and clears himself of any wrongdoing, he could even portray himself as a tragic hero who "resolutely fights crime but unfortunately suffers retaliation." Perhaps he could even turn misfortune into good fortune and advance further.

Of course, this takes time, requires careful planning, and also... some "sacrifices."

Cohen's eyes sharpened again, turning cold and calculating. He began rapidly devising in his mind how to write a flawless internal report, how to "guide" the subsequent investigation, how to "dispose" of any potentially damaging evidence (such as the surveillance footage from the interrogation room? Although Tony was locked up, there might be some in the corridor and other angles?), and how to use the "handle" he held about certain important figures to gain their support and protection.

He walked back to his desk, picked up a pen, and quickly scribbled down several keywords on a blank sticky note: assault, kidnapping, federal felony, foreign influence?, national security?, full investigation, Department of Justice coordination...

His pen drew several heavy lines under "foreign forces?" and "national security?". If Lin Feng could be linked to certain "hostile foreign forces" or "terrorist financing," the nature of the matter would be completely different, and the resources and attention that could be mobilized would be worlds apart.

A sinister and ambitious plan gradually took shape in his mind. Fear still lingered, but it was now overshadowed by a stronger, predatory ruthlessness and the will to survive.

He was no longer a passive prey. He would fight back, using the methods he knew best and was most adept at—using the rules, using power, and using the country's vast and complex bureaucratic and legal system—to completely bury that dangerous Great East riche from Dongda University.

The sky outside the window remained overcast. A storm seemed to be brewing both over Seattle and in the city's unseen shadows.