Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 109 A Friendly Acquisition
Milton turned off the panel reminder and continued eating—he finally had a chance to relax and enjoy good food, and he didn't want to let some unimportant people affect his mood.

When I'm busy, I usually just grab a couple of cans of food and call it a day.

While eating and drinking, everyone also talked about the future of the town.

"Boss, we're planning to recruit tomorrow, including for the mine... Do you need any more manpower?"

Milton glanced at the food on the table, reluctantly finished his drink, and said, "Let's find some chefs. The emergency period is over now. We can't keep eating canned food every day. It's unhealthy and it affects mood and morale."

Even if we can't eat as luxuriously as we did today every day, we should at least be able to eat fresh food.

"Okay, find a few chefs!"

"I also know the locations of several remnants of the Fan Kang gang. 'Godfather,' rest assured, I will ensure they pay all their taxes before their execution!"

"..."

Milton was speechless: "I'm a tax officer, not a godfather! Are you all drunk?"

Flora, in particular, no wonder her nickname is "The Bottle," she hasn't stopped drinking since the start of the banquet... she seems to be able to drink even more than Olya, the Russian.

"Hey! I'm happy! Come on, boss, let's have another drink..."

Milton's lips twitched, and he said, "You guys eat first, I'm going to the restroom."

Soon, Milton arrived near the restroom and grabbed a waiter.

"When we serve the drinks later, fill a vodka bottle with water and just pour it into my glass, understand?"

Milton can drink a little, but he doesn't have the habit of getting drunk... But to maintain his authority as the boss, he can't be the first to pass out, can he?
So, let's drink water and see who can outdrink whom.

The waiter was too frightened to speak, only nodding repeatedly: "Yes, sir, 'Godfather'!"

Before leaving, Milton added, "I don't want anyone else to know about this, understand?"

The waiter, thinking to himself that he wasn't ready to die yet, put on a tearful expression and said, "Yes, ma'am!!"

"very good."

Milton nodded in satisfaction, returned to his seat, and continued eating—this time, he seemed much more at ease, able to down any number of glasses of wine poured for him.

By the time it came to dessert at the end of the banquet, everyone except Flora was too drunk to drink anymore, but Milton was still able to leisurely enjoy a glass.

"Iron Anvil" watched this scene with a sigh and said, "No wonder he's a leader. This is the first time I've seen someone drink with 'Wine Bottle'!"

"Terrifying... Just how many drinks did the boss have? Doesn't he get drunk?"

"That's why the boss is the boss!"

"You're not drunk yet?"

"I don't dare to drink too much, I'm really afraid of getting drunk..."

Brandon wasn't surprised: "I've known for a long time that the boss is omnipotent."

Flora took a sip of wine and couldn't help but praise, "Impressive, 'Tax Collector'! I rarely see someone so capable. I'll definitely treat you to drinks next time I have a holiday!"

"..."

Milton said nothing and was unmoved by the grating praise; he just wanted the banquet to end quickly—because he needed to use the restroom again.

I must never drink with these drunkards again, especially Flora; I must keep a close eye on her!

……

The next day, at the police station.

After a night of relaxation and entertainment, Milton woke up in his room and looked at the sun shining in from outside, feeling a sense of感慨 (gǎnkǎi, a complex feeling of mixed emotions, often including nostalgia or reflection).

"Finally, I don't wake up in a basement anymore. Finally, I don't have to worry about getting shot while walking down the street one day."

Before, he wouldn't even be able to sleep soundly, let alone drink alcohol, for fear that the enemy would suddenly choose an inauspicious time to attack his base.

Now, on the contrary, the ones who should be worried about being shot unexpectedly are those few members of the "investigation team" who sneaked in.

After washing up, Milton glanced at the documents on the table.

There are three projects that are about to start construction. The first is the new "Tax Bureau" near the police station, which will serve as the town's administrative center and future headquarters.

The second is the military deployment at key intersections in the town.

The third is the mine in the south.

Near the church not far from the police station, the people in charge of these projects have already started recruiting staff, and construction should begin soon.

Brandon, dressed in his police uniform, was eating in the police station cafeteria when he saw Milton approaching. He immediately picked up his tray and went over to him.

"What's the matter?"

"Two things in total, boss."

"The tax forms have been printed out, and all residents have been notified to come and collect them. It seems that no one will dare not to collect them."

"The second thing is good news. A police officer just handed me a report; there's an update on the situation at the hospital."

Milton nodded slightly: "Good, who did you catch?"

“The director of the private hospital,” Brandon said. “He was planning to escape, but my men had been watching him for a while, and he was caught by us just as he was about to run away.”

“Very well, let’s go over there now and see what this director knows.” Milton chuckled. “And while we’re at it, let’s call the doctor from that black market clinic over too.”

Brandon asked curiously, "Boss, are you planning to let that doctor take over the hospital?"

“Yes.” Milton nodded. “When I asked him to join us before, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but that he was afraid that if he became a member of a certain faction, other people wouldn’t dare to seek his medical help?”

"Now that I control the entire town of Malakan, there are no other forces in the town besides me. Now you can finally join me, right?"

Brandon thought for a moment and nodded, saying, "...That does seem to make sense."

"Okay, then let's go to the hospital after we finish eating."

Soon, the two finished their meal and, escorted by two police cars, arrived at the "St. Lucia Clinic".

The two parked the car and looked up to see the doctors and nurses standing at the hospital entrance—including the nurse whose clothes Milton had roughly ripped off last time.

Their feelings were very complicated. No one expected that the group of "thugs" who came to attack them with weapons back then would now become their superiors.

He became the true ruler of the town.

All the doctors and nurses were very anxious, worried that Milton might kill them.

"Get back to work." Milton frowned as he looked at the people coming out. "Don't you have any patients? If not, go do some academic research, study some difficult and complicated cases. What are you all doing crowding here?"

"Remember, as long as you pay your taxes on time, I will not make things difficult for you, and you can also enjoy the same treatment as taxpayers here."

After saying that, Milton ignored them and went to the basement where Veronica had been imprisoned.

The "dean" is imprisoned here.

Milton pushed open the door and went in, only to see an arrogant-looking middle-aged man handcuffed to a table, his face and clothes spotless.

There was also a glass of clean water on the table.

Three police officers sat opposite him, their brows furrowed.

Upon seeing Milton and Brandon enter, the three officers quickly stood up to greet them.

"Good morning, stationmaster and bureau chief."

Milton, sitting in the middle seat, glanced at the dean, then at the three officers, and asked, "What's going on? Why are you all looking so worried?"

The officers immediately looked ashamed: "Sorry... we couldn't get anything out of them."

The dean's expression remained resentful, and he seemed to have no intention of cooperating at all.

Milton sighed and said to Brandon, "Look at these greenhorns you've recruited. Looks like they haven't quite adapted to their new roles yet."

"Cough cough!"

Upon hearing this, the dean immediately glared and shouted, "What do you mean? I'm not an enemy with weapons, I'm an arrested prisoner, I'm protected by the law! What do you want to do?"

Brandon laughed so hard he almost fell over: "Hahaha! Boss, no, cough cough, Mr. Station Master, listen to what he said! He actually said he's protected by law?"

"Dear Dean, have you paid your taxes? Why are you talking about the law here?"

“I want to laugh when you, someone who doesn’t pay taxes, talk to me about the law.”

Milton didn't laugh. Instead, he stared at the dean's fierce but cowardly eyes and said calmly, "My rule here is to settle taxes first before discussing anything else. All your assets will be subject to tax payment first, and all your crimes will fall under the charge of tax evasion."

The dean immediately protested, "This is a desecration of the law! I demand to exercise my right to remain silent, and I demand a lawyer!"

“You better not think the ‘Hell Tax Collector’ is joking,” Brandon said coldly. “Even if someone has accepted a judge’s ruling, as long as they still owe taxes, the ‘Hell Tax Collector’ has the right and the power to punish them.”

The dean sneered, "Really? That old bureau chief, Pedro, he should already be in court, already on trial, right? How much tax money does he owe you? Go collect it."

Before being arrested by the police, the dean made a final phone call to Congressman Lopez, delivering a last message to Iker. At that time, Pedro had not yet been burned.

This is also one of the reasons why the dean is so fearless. No matter how powerful or ruthless Milton is, what if he really overthrows the ruler of a small town by force? In the face of a real local government, he still seems so powerless.

Once Senator Lopez actually turns his attention this way, Milton will only have two options left.

They either join, or they wait for the real army to come and annihilate them.

Anyone who isn't an idiot would choose the latter.

Therefore, the hospital director believed that it wouldn't be long before Milton would be on his side, and even if Milton was unhappy, he would have to swallow it. The hospital's revenue was an absolute necessity for him—how could treating patients make money? Those incomes were too meager.

The most profitable businesses are the smuggling of blood and organs and the sale of information.

The hospital director would bribe public hospitals to buy out patient information from them, and then resell it to other countries to see if a match could be found.

If a match is found, they use the excuse of providing free medical care or doing charity, or they collude with insurance companies, with the ultimate goal of giving those who are matched a name for a terminal illness so that they can go to private hospitals for treatment.

Then comes the "failed surgery," which is when it's time to divide the spoils.

Of course, to avoid suspicion, they would occasionally select some real patients to "do charity."

To maintain secrecy, most of the doctors at the hospital were unaware of this underground deal.

Only his confidants can participate.

However, all of these things were laid bare under the scrutiny of Milton's panel.

With those charges crowding the entire control panel, how could Milton possibly show him any mercy?
“Pedro…” Milton repeated the name, looking at Brandon, “It seems our new friend hasn’t quite figured things out yet.”

Brandon sneered, "Perfect, we have the recording. Let him see what kind of fate awaits this Pedro he's talking about."

At the same time, he looked at the three police officers: "You three should watch and learn carefully. What methods are needed to deal with heinous tax evaders? The 'Hell Tax Collector' once said that you must first fulfill the supreme obligation of paying taxes before you can enjoy the supreme rights of a taxpayer!"

"These are the teachings of the 'hellish tax collectors'!"

Brandon spoke with great pride.

Upon hearing this, Milton's lips twitched slightly as he was being slandered to his face. The three officers, on the other hand, nodded very seriously, indicating that they would listen and learn carefully.

The handcuffed dean had a sense of unease, but reason told him that nothing would happen.

Pedro has already entered the courtroom, completed his trial, and even taken to the podium to give an apology speech. What other surprises could possibly occur?

A crowd of people surrounded the courthouse. Could Milton possibly muster a large armed force to launch a full-scale attack at this time? And what about the troops guarding the sidelines?
Or perhaps, to carry out a sniper kill?

But Milton was unfamiliar with the terrain, had no influence or acquaintances nearby, and was wondering how he would escape after the assassination.

We can't exactly organize a suicide attack, can we?

Thinking this, the dean felt a little relieved: "No matter what you say, I still stand by what I said: I will not tell you anything until I see my lawyer."

Milton gave the dean a look as if he were looking at a dead man, shrugged, and said, "Whatever, you can continue your performance, because like Pedro... the more unrepentant you are, the more you pretend to be calm, the more amusement you bring us."

The dean was indeed a little worried that Milton, this madman, might actually kill him, so he softened his tone a bit and reminded him, "If you kill me, you can forget about cooperating with Senator Lopez again. We still need to cooperate in the future! I believe you, Milton, aren't an irrational madman, given that you've reached this position. Think it over carefully!"

However, Milton was too lazy to pay attention to him at this point. He got up and walked outside the hospital, leisurely looking at the scenery and the busy townspeople, waiting for the video to be brought over from headquarters.

With so many jobs suddenly created in the town and all of Fan Kang's usurious loans nullified, many townspeople who could only make a living through illegal activities suddenly saw hope for a normal life.

Many people are actively applying for jobs now.

Just as Milton predicted, when real, sustenance-providing jobs become available, the vast majority of people will not sell their blood or bodies for a little bread.

Soon, a police car arrived at the hospital with its siren blaring.

Two officers walked in together, carrying film and a media player, and followed Milton back to the basement.

Also arriving were Olya and a young, unfamiliar man.

Brandon had been waiting for a long time. He placed the player on the table, plugged it in, and said with a malicious grin, "See? After you see it, you'll understand why Mr. 'Hell Tax Collector' said that your actions just now only made us feel more happy."

The dean looked at the screen with a mixture of unease and confusion.

He saw Pedro giving a passionate speech on the podium.

Pedro then exclaimed, "If I still have any sins, I believe Satan will take me away!"

Then, pillars of fire descended from the sky.

The dean suddenly started trembling, from a slight tremor to a full-body tremor, a tremor that was completely unstoppable. He tried to suppress the tremors with his body, but he could not succeed, just like a patient suffering from epilepsy.

Satan may not be able to take Pedro away, but Milton can, and the "Hell Tax Collector" can.

Milton, that madman, that madman, actually used such a cruel method to execute Pedro in front of a live television broadcast, in an extremely brutal way!
If this madman dares to do this, why wouldn't he dare to kill a hospital director?
Milton laughed: "See? He's not actually unafraid of death, he just doesn't think he'll die."

Brandon then added, "Mr. Dean, do you still need to hire a lawyer?"

"No, no need!" The dean was terrified. "I have money, I have money, please don't kill me! I'll pay taxes, I want to pay taxes, I want to enjoy the rights of a taxpayer, Milton, no, Mr. Stationmaster, I'll pay taxes, I'm willing to pay taxes!"

Milton looked at the others with a hint of helplessness: "I told you, one day they would be kneeling on the ground begging me to collect taxes. Wasn't my prediction accurate?"

After venting his frustrations, Milton magnanimously said, "Alright, since you're so eager to pay taxes, I'll grant your wish. Tell me how to transfer the money, and then I'll give you a civilized interrogation, how about that?"

"Okay! Okay!" The dean agreed without hesitation. At the same time, he was also afraid that Milton might suddenly go crazy, so he added, "Milton, you, you must not be impulsive. You have a lot of money, you can enjoy life! Have you been to America? Have you been to New York? There are two very beautiful buildings there. I've been there, I've seen them. I guarantee you will like it there. You have money, you can go there and live a very good life!"

"Alright, enough nonsense." Milton waved his hand. "I miss those two buildings too."

After a brief chat, news came from headquarters that the checkpoint's account had received $120 million.

"Is that enough?" the dean asked anxiously. "This is all the cash flow I have available. The rest will take time to liquidate. I also have stocks, futures, bonds, real estate, wealth management products... but those will all take time to sell. That's all I can offer right now!"

"And this hospital, I'll sell it to you for $1, no, not a penny. Please buy it, I beg you to buy this hospital in good faith!"

Milton wouldn't take on such troublesome and risky ventures, especially those involving Wall Street.

Just like those two buildings the dean mentioned earlier, they bring bad luck.

“Well, that’s barely enough.” Milton nodded. “Let’s begin the interrogation… I hope you’ll cooperate.”

As soon as she finished speaking, Olya and the young man, who had just arrived with the police car, walked in.

Olya set up a camera nearby, while the young man patted the dean on the shoulder.

The dean exclaimed as if he had seen a savior: "My God! Mr. Gavia, you've come! You've finally come!"

“Now, you’ve met your lawyer.” Milton sat down in the interrogation chair and gestured to Olya beside him. “There’s also video recording. How about that? Is that fair enough? Can you cooperate and answer my questions?”

The dean, not wanting to be burned alive like Pedro, hurriedly nodded and said, "Yes, yes, please ask!"

"I've uncovered a kidney smuggling case, and coincidentally, this case overlaps with a failed hospital surgery. The timeframe is... and I've found the victim's body and discovered he was missing this organ. Now, my question is, guess if I know this person's name?"

Milton didn't actually find the body, but that didn't matter. He could just make up a story. He believed that given these people's greed, they wouldn't be willing to destroy the body directly—yes, even a body that had been dead for some time still had value.

For example, specimens, jewelry, materials used in cosmetic surgery, or items sold for anatomical experiments... etc., are all priceless.

Even at Harvard, there are people selling corpses.

These people wouldn't be willing to destroy it.

Sure enough, the dean's face turned ashen. He stared in disbelief for a long time before looking at his lawyer with pleading eyes.

The lawyer already knew the true purpose of this "trial," sighed inwardly, and said dogmatically, "This issue is irrelevant to the case, and my client has the right to remain silent."

Milton nonchalantly turned to the next page: "Very well... then the next question, a case involving bone marrow smuggling, the time... the victim... guess where I found the clue?"

“This issue is irrelevant to the case, and my client has the right to remain silent.”

"Okay, a human trafficking case... Guess where her parents are now?"

"...My client has the right to remain silent."

The interrogation lasted for several hours, with Milton asking the same questions, the dean trembling, and the lawyer repeating the same answers.

“A skin smuggling case. If I’m not mistaken, those shoes you’re wearing are made of this ‘genuine leather,’ right? Guess who his mother is… Hmm, never mind, the interrogation time is up, so I won’t ask any more questions. After all, you have the rights of a taxpayer.” Milton shrugged. “Alright, due to insufficient evidence, you can leave in a bit.”

“Brandon, let him go. Well, congratulations, Dean, you’re free.”

Brandon immediately stepped forward, unlocked the handcuffs with his key, and sneered, "Get lost."

The dean asked tremblingly, "Can...can I really leave now? Or...would you rather arrest me?"

He was genuinely terrified that this was some kind of cat-and-mouse game—the image of Pedro's gruesome death had terrified him.

Milton immediately refused: "That won't do. That's your right. Let's go."

The dean carefully got up, took a few steps forward cautiously, and made sure that the fierce-looking madmen behind him really had no intention of pulling out guns to shoot.

But for some reason, his unease grew stronger.

It wasn't until he arrived at the hospital entrance, where the sun was so bright he could barely open his eyes, that he heard Milton's voice behind him.

"Oh, right! One last question, a personal one. You don't have to answer it—guess where that camera just transmitted the interrogation footage to?"

The dean was taken aback.

Then, he finally saw the scene before him clearly.

A group of extremely angry people gathered outside the hospital, their eyes filled with a sea of ​​hatred.

The police officers were merely symbolically blocking the way... no, several of them even looked at us with hatred in their eyes!

Soon, the crowd engulfed the dean.

He was torn to pieces.

Milton stood in the shadows, calmly watching the scene unfold.

……

Meanwhile, several investigators who had just arrived from various places to investigate the town of Malacan were gathered in a bar, watching the television program with grim expressions.

(End of this chapter)