American Farmers: Facing a Cutoff at the Start

Fett's mind raced, and he remembered Billy, Johnny's son who had supposedly died in the city while involved in gangs.

It's probably some kind of clue he left behind.

This makes things complicated.

If it's just a matter of reporting Johnny for tax evasion, a phone call would suffice.

However, if it involves the gangs behind it, reporting it directly by phone might be risky, and you might get targeted by those desperate criminals.

"We need to think of a safe way to report him anonymously."

Fett collected the dried money and stuffed it into the bedside table drawer.

He then opened his laptop and plugged in the data cable.

As the progress bar on the screen finished, the photos and videos of the interior of the old Johnny's greenhouse on my phone were transferred to a folder on my computer.

He searched online for how to report anonymously and found a reliable tutorial in a forum.

Following the tutorial, Fett first set up a VPN with multiple redirects to hide his real IP address.

Then I found a temporary email website that didn't require registration and had self-destructing messages, and applied for a randomly generated encrypted email account.

He packaged the backed-up photos and videos and uploaded them as attachments.

In an email to the Arkansas Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA), he detailed the exact location of Old Johnny's greenhouse, the scale of the cultivation, and the timing of the marijuana sales.

In his complaint to the IRS, he not only listed the facts of Johnny's fuel tax evasion, but also added a paragraph at the end of the email:

"The suspect had been engaged in the illegal cultivation and sale of marijuana for a long time, possessed a large amount of undeclared illegal cash income, and had not paid any federal income tax on this illegal income."

For the IRS vampires, nothing ignites their fighting spirit more than the fact that "someone is making dirty money but not paying taxes."

If someone is involved in "tax evasion with illegal income," even if they are a gangster godfather, the IRS will go after them and turn their pockets upside down.

After verifying that everything is correct, click "Send".

Seeing the green "Sent successfully" message pop up on the screen, Fett followed the tutorial to clear all browser cache, cookies, and history. He then used professional cleaning software to overwrite the temporary files that had just been generated. Only after confirming that there was no trace left on his computer did he turn it off.

The report has been filed, and it's only a matter of time before Johnny is punished.

Having resolved this matter, Fett snuggled into his warm bed and quickly drifted off to sleep.

The freezing rain that had fallen all night finally stopped before dawn the next morning.

Fett pushed open the door, and a blast of chilling air hit him, instantly sobering him up.

The sight before him made him squint.

The entire farm seemed to be encased in a giant crystal.

Every blade of grass, every fence, and even the wind chimes hanging under the eaves were covered with a thick, crystal-clear shell of ice.

The sunlight shone down, refracting a dazzling array of seven colors, so beautiful it seemed unreal, yet also chillingly cold.

"Meow~"

The old cotton cushion in the corner of the porch stirred, and Rosie emerged from it.

It tentatively stretched out its paws and stepped on the cold floor, swinging its paws as it walked towards Fett.

Fett crouched down, stroked its fluffy head, and then pinched its paw pads; they were indeed icy cold.

He glanced at the so-called cat bed in the corner.

It was basically just an open old applewood crate, lined with a layer of cotton padding, without even a lid. Although there were some odds and ends propped up to block the wind, it was hardly warm at all.

"This won't do, we need to reinforce it. Even though you're a long-haired cat, you can't withstand this temperature."

Fett scratched Rosie's chin and said:

"I didn't take care of you yesterday, you must have caught a chill last night?"

Rosie seemed to understand, rubbed against his palm, and let out a pitiful "meow".

Fett stood up, turned around and went back into the house to find a thick fleece jacket that he could no longer wear. He then went to the warehouse to find some foam boards and thin wooden boards left over from repairing the greenhouse, and took out a nail gun.

Just as he was about to make his move, he heard footsteps behind him.

Leila, wrapped in a thick down jacket and a brown scarf, walked over like a chubby penguin, carrying a jug of hot milk.

"So early? What are you doing?"

"Renovate Rosie's house."

Fett pointed to the cat bed: "It's too cold, I'm afraid it will get cold."

"Then I'll help!"

Leila went inside to put down the milk and squatted down with great interest.

The two cooperated tacitly.

Fett was in charge of taking measurements and cutting the planks. He added a windproof top to the wooden crate using several thin boards, and then sawed a circular opening and closing mechanism on the side.

Leila then took scissors and cut the foam board into suitable sizes, attaching it tightly to the inner wall of the wooden box as an insulation layer.

Then I cut up the old fleece sweater, laid it on the cotton pad, and even used the sleeves to make a simple windproof curtain for the doorway.

Fett used a nail gun to "snap" a few times, securing all the boards in place.

A luxurious cat bed, though it may look a bit rough, is definitely warm and windproof.

"Alright! Go in and try it!"

Leila picked up Rosie and stuffed her into the hole.

The little guy crawled inside and circled around a couple of times, then quickly curled up comfortably in the warm plush fabric and refused to come out again.

After finishing these tasks, the two sat on the steps of the porch, each holding a cup of hot milk, looking at the crystal-clear yet desolate world before them.

Sunlight pierced through the icicles, refracting into tiny, iridescent halos that fell onto the two people's knees.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Leila exhaled a puff of white breath, watching the mist slowly dissipate in the cold air, her voice soft:

"Even though it's freezing cold, I actually feel... kind of comfortable."

"yes."

Fett took a sip of the hot milk, the sweet warmth sliding down his throat and into his stomach, making him close his eyes comfortably.

"Only when it's completely cold do you realize how comforting a sip of hot milk is."

"Only after being busy like the past few days do you realize how precious this kind of leisure, even if it's just sitting and daydreaming, is."

Lyra turned her head to look at Fett's profile, and couldn't help but smile: "Why do you start talking more and more like Dad and the others?"

"You don't understand, that's the wisdom of a mature man," Fett replied with a smile, tilting his head back to drink the last sip of warm milk from the bottom of his glass.

"Fett, I have something to say..." Leila hesitated for a moment before speaking.

Fett stood up, gently placed the empty cup on the wooden table next to him, and stretched his legs.

As the muscles tensed and relaxed, I felt only a very slight tightness and tingling sensation in my legs, nothing else.

He turned his head, looked at Leila who was still sitting on the steps, holding a cup and seemingly wanting to say something but holding back, and extended his hand:

"You probably haven't taken a close look at those two knives I forged yesterday, have you?"

"Since we're just killing time anyway, come on, come with me to the garage and help me out by handing things over. Maybe we can forge another knife this morning?"

"Don't worry, my leg is fine now, I can swing the hammer without any problem."

"What were you trying to say?"

She put down the empty cup in her hand and placed her warm hand into Fett's large palm.

"It's alright, let's go forge the sword!"

Using the strength from Fett's hand, she stood up easily, and the two walked towards the garage one after the other.