American Farmers: Facing a Cutoff at the Start

Richard's eyes flickered when he heard the words "financial advisor," and his gaze swept over the old living room, a disdainful sneer curling at the corner of his mouth.

What kind of decent financial advisor can this run-down place afford?

"Fine! Go ahead and hit me!"

"I'd like to see what kind of people you can find!"

Ignoring his disdain, Fett dialed Lina's number directly.

The phone was answered after ringing twice.

"Feed? Fett? Why are you calling me now?"

Lina's voice sounded somewhat languid, as if she was still resting.

"Lina, I'm sorry to disturb your rest."

Fett briefly explained the situation here:

"There are two people in my house who claim to be IRS auditors, saying they want to check the accounts."

"They didn't give any prior notice, they just sealed off the site and kicked the guests out."

"How do you think we should handle this?"

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by Lina's serious and professional voice. Even through the phone, you could feel her reassuring presence.

"No prior notice? A surprise inspection on Sunday?"

"Fett, turn on the speakerphone."

Fett did as instructed, turned on the speakerphone, and placed the phone in the middle of the table.

Lina's cool yet commanding voice echoed in the living room, clearly penetrating the ears of everyone present:

"I am Lena Anderson, Mr. Fett Carter's financial advisor."

"Excuse me, which branch of the police station are you two from? What are your employee numbers?"

"Under the Taxpayers' Rights Act, you have no right to forcibly enter a private residence outside of working hours to search and seal it without a court search warrant."

"Furthermore, farm sales are considered seasonal temporary income, which, according to Arkansas tax law, can be declared at the end of the quarter."

"Your current actions constitute an abuse of power and unauthorized intrusion!"

Richard's disdain froze, and he instinctively sat up straight.

Lena's voice grew colder and colder, each word like a nail driven into Richard's Achilles' heel:

"If you insist on investigating, please immediately produce complete evidence of the whistleblower report and the IRS's official review order."

"Otherwise, I will contact a lawyer right now and file a formal complaint with your superior supervisory department!"

This string of technical jargon and tough attitude hit Richard like a hammer blow, leaving him completely stunned. He hadn't expected that this small, impoverished farmer could actually find such a knowledgeable helper.

His face turned pale and then flushed, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. His arrogant and domineering attitude from before instantly diminished.

He opened his mouth, but stammered out a complete sentence. His eyes darted around, and he no longer dared to confront the person on the other end of the phone.

Seeing that the situation had reached a stalemate, Tom, who was standing to the side, finally couldn't sit still any longer.

The two of them came together, and if this matter blows up, they will definitely not have a good outcome.

He picked up the unopened document on the table, cleared his throat, and explained somewhat urgently:

"Um... Miss Lina, you've misunderstood."

"We did receive a report filed under a real name, but the purpose of our visit is not a formal investigation, but just... a routine preliminary check."

He glanced at Richard, whose face was grim beside him, and forced himself to continue:

"As for sealing off the scene and driving away the guests... that was probably because my colleague went a little too far in trying to control the situation. It was a misunderstanding, and we didn't mean any harm."

As he spoke, he opened the document in his hand and read aloud a few standard procedures for tax audits, attempting to prove that their actions were still within the bounds of their authority, thus managing to salvage the situation.

Lena listened quietly to Tom's explanation over the phone, her tone softening slightly, but still serious and professional:

"Since it's a routine check, that makes things easier."

"Fett, just show them the sales records and receipts from the past few days."

"Remember, we'll only show you this week's worth of content. We won't provide any others. Don't worry, it's all within the bounds of compliance."

"If they still have questions, have them send an official letter."

Old Frank overheard the gist of it and, seeing that Lina had spoken, he didn't hesitate any longer.

He turned and went into the bedroom, quickly took out a thick leather notebook with slightly frayed edges, and slammed it on the table with a "thud".

"It's all here, take a look for yourself."

Tom quickly took the ledger and flipped through it. Although the handwriting was a bit messy, every transaction for selling trees and every receipt for goods was clearly recorded, even including the money spent on lunch for the helpers.

He quickly flipped through a few pages and got a general idea of ​​what was going on.

This is indeed just a regular Christmas tree business, nothing shady.

He closed the ledger, pushed it back to old Frank, and his tone became much more polite:

"There's nothing seriously wrong with the accounts. However, I must remind you of something."

"Based on the current cash flow, this business will be subject to state sales tax and federal income tax when we file our taxes early next year."

"Especially the income from the wooden knife and handicraft classes, it's best to list them separately, as the tax rates may differ, so don't get them mixed up later."

After saying that, he tugged at Richard, who was standing next to him, "Richard, we're done investigating, let's go."

Richard snorted, picked up his briefcase, and strode away with a dark expression.

Tom smiled apologetically at Fett and quickly followed.

Fett and old Frank followed him out, standing on the porch, watching the black Ford sedan kick up a cloud of dust and disappear around the corner of the road.

[Bonus: A beginner's guide to tax avoidance.]

[Distributed!]

A sense of coolness flashed through Fett's mind. Countless complicated and tedious tax clauses, deduction rules, and declaration procedures flowed in like water, yet they became extremely orderly and natural.

How to use depreciation deductions, how to apply for agricultural subsidies, how to include repair costs in operating costs... these tax-related skills seemed to have become second nature to him.

Leila and Roy quickly gathered around.

"How are you? Are you alright?" Aunt Rachel asked with a worried look.

Old Frank let out a long sigh, his voice filled with lingering fear:

"It's alright now. Thanks to that girl named Lina, if it weren't for her few words that intimidated those two, things would have been really difficult for us to handle today."

He shook his head and sighed, "Honest farmers like us don't understand those legal provisions at all. We were almost fooled by them."

Fett didn't speak, but just stared at the direction the car disappeared in, his brows slightly furrowed.

Tom's words from the young inspector kept replaying in his mind.

The report itself doesn't seem fake; someone must be jealous of their successful business and is trying to sabotage them behind their backs.

But the fact that the IRS arrived so quickly suggests that this is not just a simple report; it seems like someone is using this as an excuse to try and crush them.

Who exactly is this "mastermind" hiding in the shadows?

Is there any connection between that mysterious phone call and this sudden tax audit?