Hollywood Taxes: A Tycoon in TV Land

Chapter 17: FBI's Intel

"Howard, where's Rajesh?" Ron asked as soon as Howard managed to send Lily back to the hotel. He knew he had to act fast—he didn't want to give that hefty woman a second chance to grope him again under the pretense of saying hello.

God knows what she might do next time. She might drag him back into the hotel for some unspeakable activity. Americans were known for their bold and open attitudes—group activities were hardly unusual.

Ron might still have some stamina left, but he wasn't about to waste it on her. After all, he had two metaphorical tigers to feed—he had no idea what kind of day today would turn out to be. If the situation with Max was something he initiated, then what happened with Caroline was entirely reactive.

But in that kind of situation… could any man say no?

"Rajesh? He's still resting in the room," Howard answered with a hollow look in his eyes, like a puppet that had been played with too hard.

Well now—Ron vaguely remembered something like this happening in the show. During Howard's wedding, Rajesh had blurted out a wild story about the three of them playing a certain kind of game, which was even recorded and posted online by Wil Wheaton. The wedding almost didn't happen because of it.

So it turns out this kind of thing didn't just happen at the comic-con—it had started this early?

"Poor Rajesh," Ron said, glancing at Howard. "And poor Howard too. I hope you guys still have the strength to make it to work later—and not so weak that you can't even drive."

"I've got things to do, so I won't bother you anymore. But tonight, I'm taking you guys out to Chinatown for something good—really good. Of course, you're footing the bill."

Ron winked at Howard, who immediately understood. A hint of life returned to his otherwise deadpan face.

"Chinatown has something like that? Is it that legendary Chinese medicine? I heard from one of my cousins it's really effective. His wife brought some back once, and soon after they had a lovely child."

Howard had spent quite a bit of time in Chinatown, thanks to his fluent Mandarin, so it wasn't surprising he was familiar with the idea of Chinese medicine.

"Not quite," Ron shook his head with a sly smile. "I'm just taking you for some authentic Huaxia cuisine."

"Huaxia cuisine? That works too? Really?" Howard looked skeptical but also curious.

"Of course. In Huaxia, there's a belief called eating by resemblance. They believe that by cooking and eating certain strong animal organs, it can help boost one's own strength—especially in the bedroom. They call it yang-strengthening." Ron kept spinning the tale without missing a beat.

In truth, he was just craving grilled kidneys and needed someone to pick up the tab. Whether it worked or not was beside the point—it was mostly a psychological effect anyway. But Howard looked like he was already sold.

"Thanks, Ron. It's a date. See you tonight!" Howard, now fully revived, had his mischievous expression back. He slunk back toward the hotel with a grin on his face—clearly ready for round two.

If Ron had to describe it cinematically, Howard had just gone from grayscale to full color. Ron shook his head. The guy was hopeless.

Then again, no matter what country you're in, men were all the same when it came to anything that promised to improve performance. No matter how absurd it sounded.

---

Two hours later, Caroline finally woke up from a deep and much-needed sleep. She panicked slightly when she noticed the bed next to her was empty—until she spotted a note on the table. Reading it brought a smile to her face. She picked up her phone and called Ron.

Meanwhile, Ron—after a quick cleanup at home—had just arrived at the FBI headquarters. He was about to go in when his phone rang. Seeing Caroline's name on the screen, he immediately answered.

"Caroline?"

She sounded in great spirits—clearly well-rested. "Ron, you're just the sweetest. It's so good to have a friend like you."

"It's nothing, really. It's what friends are for," Ron replied gently. "So, have you thought about what you want to do next?"

Before he left, he had left Caroline a note and some cash. To protect her dignity, he marked the money as a loan, though he hadn't written a deadline—or added any interest.

At the same time, he had offered her a few job options: like working as an accountant at Mr. Tuohy's store, or getting a clerical position at Musk's company.

With his connections to both of those men, getting Caroline a job wasn't going to be difficult.

Of course, helping Caroline wasn't entirely selfless. Ron also had a private reason: he didn't want Caroline to end up working at Han Lee's diner like she did in the original timeline. After all, who knows what would happen if two girls—both of whom had just shared intimate nights with him—ended up working together?

He hadn't made any promises to either of them, and by all appearances, these were just casual flings.

Americans were pretty open-minded about these things. Love wasn't necessary for sleeping together—just like how Caroline hooked up with that web designer in 2 Broke Girls without dating him.

Still… the thought of both future roommates sharing him separately—wasn't that a bit too complicated?

Caroline's next words, however, caught Ron completely off guard.

"First, thank you for your kindness. It really means a lot that you're still on my side even after everything that's happened to me. But I don't want to rely on you anymore. I've been completely blacklisted from L.A.'s elite social circle, and I don't want to show my face in front of any familiar people—except you, of course."

"So, what's your plan?"

"I just Googled 'places Beverly Hills people would never go,'" she said casually. "I'm planning to work as a waitress in a small diner for now. Actually, I've already found a place near the subway station where you bumped into me. I'm heading there for an interview soon."

Ron rubbed his forehead.

Great. After going in circles, she's ended up right back where she started—going to work at the same diner, chasing cupcake dreams with Max.

He said seriously, "Alright. Just know this—you can come to me anytime for help. I mean it. Any kind of help."

"Thank you, Ron. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you. I'm going to freshen up and head to the interview now. Talk later."

After she hung up, Ron decided not to overthink it anymore. Whatever happens, happens. One step at a time.

With that, he strode into the FBI headquarters. After checking in, he was led straight to Detective Jack's office.

This time, he wasn't given any trouble. The FBI immediately laid out all the intel they had on the city's drug trade. Neither of them mentioned what happened the previous night—they silently agreed to pretend it didn't exist.

"These are all the details we have on the city's drug activity," Jack began. "We've long suspected that there's a major distributor operating out of L.A.—possibly the biggest in the entire country. But this guy is a ghost. We've never found a trace of him.

"We've sent in several undercover agents over the years, but none of them managed to infiltrate his inner circle. All we know is that someone like him exists.

"As for this 'Heisenberg' you mentioned—he appears to be a newer player. A rising drug manufacturer. We've come across some of his product—the blue powder you talked about. Lab tests showed a purity of over 96%, which is insane.

"That led us to believe another white powder we saw briefly circulating at the same purity level might also have come from him."

Ron frowned. Things were turning out to be more complicated than he'd expected. He thought this would be a vacation-tier assignment. Turns out it was a mess.

"So, is there any chance this 'Heisenberg' is actually the same person as your mystery kingpin?"

"We don't think so," Jack said, pulling out a few informant statements and sliding them across the table. "If Heisenberg were the same guy, given the size of his network, that blue powder would be flooding the entire country—not just showing up here in L.A."

"Fair," Ron admitted. "That was a dumb question. But I assume you guys have more than just this, right?"

Jack paused, then pulled a sketch out of his desk drawer and placed it in front of Ron. "We did manage to reconstruct this portrait from a witness who claims to have seen Heisenberg. But how accurate it is... that's up for debate."

Ron picked it up and examined it closely. "This guy already looks shady as hell. Fedora, trench coat—what century does he think he's living in? You sure this wasn't done by a fan artist? And look at the name on it—'Stuart Bloom'? Just from the name, I can tell he's not going anywhere in life."

"Actually, that's the witness," Jack replied with a shrug as he sat back down. "Now, about something else—I want to ask you not to interfere with our undercover operative. His mission is sensitive. Can I trust you on that, Ron?"

"Of course~" Ron agreed easily.

Besides, I've already told Toretto everything I needed to. If he still wants to believe your crap, that's on him.

"Honestly, I'm more interested in this guy." Ron pulled a file labeled with the mysterious kingpin's profile and placed it on top of the pile, licking his lips slightly. "If he's really distributing on a national level, like you say, I could get a huge haul of back taxes from him.

"Find this guy, and I'll meet my annual quota in one go—maybe even get a six-month paid vacation."

Ron wasn't sure how the other divisions of the IRS operated—and didn't care—but in his special task force, performance was everything. Just like real estate agents in China, they worked on a results-based system. As long as he brought in enough tax revenue for the year, he could sit around, collect a paycheck, and even score a hefty bonus.

Which goes to show just how much pressure the U.S. Treasury is under—thanks to the country's richest people. After all, America was literally founded by tax-evading elites who didn't want to pay British duties. The whole "freedom and equality" thing? A nice cover story.

At its core, not paying taxes is basically one of their founding traditions.