American Tax Officer

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Casino City Avenue, No. 611.

Two SUVs pulled up, and David led Buckynison and his associates out of the vehicles and into a coffee shop.

The cafe was noticeably empty, with many seats conspicuously vacant, evidently cleared out in advance.

Sitting at a square table in the back was a man with his leg arrogantly crossed, and behind him stood a group of men in suits with tattoos.

[Name: Zimmerman Cruz.]

[Occupation: Head of the Mexico Gang drug cartel.]

[Income: 14.6 million US dollars.]

[Income details: On December 5th, completed a transaction with the Ditter Group, resulting in a profit of one million USD; on December 8th, reached a deal with the Brotherhood, yielding another one million USD profit; on December 13th, negotiated with the Los Angeles Mafia...]

[More details:...]

[Amount of tax due: 5,738,400.]

As David approached, he assessed the man's information, and was slightly taken aback upon seeing the monthly income amounting to over 14 million dollars.

But he quickly came to terms with it.

The Black Tax Act had been officially passed by Congress on December 3, 2021, and now it was January 31st, nearly two months later.

Drugs were always a highly profitable trade, so it seemed normal for the other party to have a turnover of 14.6 million dollars in just under two months!

But then again, if the other party had an income of 14.6 million, then he could collect more than 5.7 million in taxes.

And with the rest of the key figures and members of the Mexico Gang, 89 million was definitely within reach.

He hadn't expected such a significant windfall so early in the new assessment period. For David, who was aiming for the "God-making" project, this was undoubtedly the greatest morale boost!

Director David, I presume? I'm Zimmerman," said the man as he got up and extended his right hand in slightly civil greeting, following David's arrival.

David shook it and then took a seat, speaking calmly, "Mr. Zimmerman, I presume my men have relayed my message to you?"

Zimmerman paused and then replied sharply, "Director David, let's be direct; paying taxes isn't exactly a proud matter for us. Could we settle this in a more amicable manner?"

David smiled, although his smile carried a hint of disdain, "Paying taxes is just that, paying taxes. It's not like we're a gang extorting protection money from you. There is no dishonor in it. This applies not just to the Mexico Gang, but to everyone and every power!"

Hearing the allusion to gangs collecting protection money, Zimmerman and his tattooed henchmen all seemed displeased.

Gangs merely strut about in front of ordinary people; daring to extort protection money from drug dealers?

They wouldn't know how they died!

It was only the power of the tax authority they feared now!

Gathering his thoughts, Zimmerman gestured to one of his men.

A tattooed man in a suit promptly placed a large case on the table and opened it, revealing neat stacks of US dollars within.

Although the exact amount was unknown, David roughly estimated it to be about two million dollars.

However, such sights were all too familiar to him, and since it was far less than the tax revenue he anticipated, it did not faze him.

"As part of the Mexico Gang, we know the rules of living off the land in America. Here's two million US dollars, and it will be two million every month. I don't care if you use it for taxes or something else, what do you say, Chief Tax Officer David?"

On the surface, Zimmerman's offer seemed quite generous.

And clearly, he didn't care if David pocketed this money himself, as long as David didn't trouble the Mexico Gang!

But that was the point, the money was too little compared to the tax David wanted to collect. He replied expressionlessly, "That amount hardly seems sufficient!"

Zimmerman's expression darkened as he asked, "Then how much do you want?"

"On December 5th, you made one million USD from a deal with the Ditter Group. On December 8th, you earned another million from a transaction with the Brotherhood. On December 13th, you negotiated with the Los Angeles Mafia..."

"As of now, you've accumulated an income of 14.6 million. According to the tax rate, you owe us 5,738,400 US dollars!"

As all his recent dealings and earnings were accurately listed, Zimmerman's expression grew increasingly rigid.

After a long while, he retorted darkly, "You say it's 14.6 million because you say so?"

"Yes, if I say it's 14.6 million, then it is 14.6 million!"

"And what if I say there isn't?"

"There isn't?"

David chuckled coldly and replied, "No problem, then we'll just have to count it ourselves!"

Upon hearing this, Zimmerman's face twisted into a snarl, his teeth grinding with the sound of gritting.

He wasn't a fool; he understood what "count it ourselves" meant all too well.

This was a warning from the other side: if the Mexico Gang didn't pay, the tax authority would freeze all their accounts and seal up all their warehouses, just like they had with Ditter. That was their way of 'counting it themselves'!

As the negotiations grew tenser, both Nisen and his men behind David, and Zimmerman's suited men began to tense up, each subtly reaching for the guns they had holstered at their waists.

In the midst of this high-tension moment, David spoke up again, issuing a warning, "If the Mexico Gang wants to make a living on our soil, then you'll have to follow our rules. As for those who do not, like Ditter, our tax authority will certainly find a way to 'help' them out. Do you understand, Mr. Zimmerman?"

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