"So you're the one who's-"
The boss, Kiran, had just arrived and was about to start insulting Morin when the chubby police officer beside him stopped him.
That officer was Brand.
At a glance, Brand could tell Morin wasn't an ordinary person. As a veteran officer, judging people's backgrounds was a basic survival skill. It helped avoid provoking someone you couldn't afford to offend and ending up buried in trouble.
The moment Brand saw Morin, he knew one thing.
Whether this man was really an IRS special agent or not, provoking him was a bad idea.
"Mister, I'm Officer Brand from the Langley City Police Department," Brand said, extending his hand. "We received a citizen report. I need to see your credentials."
"Since when do the police handle things like this?" Morin said, not even looking up.
At that exact moment, his game of Snake finally filled the entire screen. After eating the last piece of food in the final gap, the snake grew by one block, leaving no room to move.
It died.
"But," Morin said, putting his phone away and handing over his badge, "go ahead and check. While you're at it, you can help them verify whether it's real."
"Okay..."
Brand's heart sank.
Morin's attitude alone was enough to make him believe it. When a police officer asked for credentials, anyone guilty would usually panic or run. Someone who calmly handed everything over either had absolute confidence-or was an idiot.
Idiots existed, sure.
But the odds were low.
Reality was often more absurd than fiction, but this still felt real.
After checking, Brand was convinced.
They had their own methods. No matter how he tested it, the result was the same. All the credentials were real. Valid.
Which meant his old friend was in serious trouble.
Everyone in America knew the IRS's reputation.
Brand returned the documents with both hands, his tone noticeably more respectful.
Seeing this, both the boss and the clerk turned pale.
They were done.
"Well," Morin said, raising an eyebrow, "since that's settled, if you have no objections, I-"
"Sir!" Brand interrupted.
He didn't want to watch his old friend lose everything. It wasn't his responsibility, but since he was already here, standing by felt wrong.
"I think... there might be another way to resolve this."
"Oh?" Morin smiled and looked at him. "I'm listening."
"You see," Brand said, wiping sweat from his forehead and leaning closer, "even if you shut this place down, you'll just get a bonus. Maybe not even that. It's a small phone store."
"If you choose not to report it," he continued carefully, "maybe Kiran could offer... a more generous compensation."
"I see," Morin said calmly. "You're trying to bribe me?"
"No, no!" Brand shook his head immediately. "Of course not. This is just... becoming friends. And friends give each other small gifts."
"Yes, yes, just a gift!" Kiran hurriedly echoed.
"Is that so..." Morin nodded as if thinking deeply. "Then what do you think is appropriate? Ten thousand dollars?"
"Ten thousand?" Kiran's eyes nearly popped out.
"Ten thousand to become friends with me," Morin said. "Isn't that a good deal?"
"Let me guess," he added casually. "Your total assets are worth more than that, right?"
The meaning was obvious.
"I-"
Kiran felt blood rush to his head, but when he saw Brand desperately signaling him with his eyes, he swallowed his anger.
"That's... a very good deal!"
The word good came out through clenched teeth.
"Perfect," Morin said, smiling and nodding with exaggerated enthusiasm. "I can't believe I've made another friend so quickly."
"So, my friend... where's my 'gift'?"
Ten thousand was deliberate.
Not too high. Not too low.
Enough to hurt, but still payable.
Enough for Morin to test something.
Moments later, Morin counted the cash, nodded in satisfaction, and left the phone store.
His [IRS Employee] profession experience increased by one.
That confirmed his theory.
As long as the reward was obtained through the profession, it counted-whether it was legitimate income or gray income.
He had noticed hints of this back in the Fast & Furious world.
Before his businesses were fully established, he once modified a car for a Middle Eastern millionaire. The man, pleased, tipped him an extra ten thousand dollars.
That tip had counted toward his experience.
From that point on, Morin suspected something.
As long as it was a reward-legitimate payment, tips, bonuses, or even gray income-it could all count.
Later, he ran multiple tests and reached several conclusions.
Legitimate rewards could be negotiated. Labor fees, costs, commissions-all counted, as long as the other party wasn't forced. Violence or coercion invalidated everything.
Extra rewards like tips and bonuses could also count, but only if given voluntarily. If forced in any way, they didn't count, and the total couldn't exceed the originally agreed compensation.
As for gray income...
What gray income could a mechanic have?
Morin wasn't an employee.
He was the boss.
So it wasn't until today that he finally had a proper chance to test whether professional gray income could count.
The result was extremely satisfying.
The world was neither black nor white.
It was gray.
A delicate shade of gray.
Morin suspected that was exactly why gray income worked.
Of course, he also knew there would be rules and limits.
But those could wait.
There was plenty of time to experiment.