The Shadow Tycoon
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 9: A Chair Shattered by Rage
With a loud crash, a chair came apart in Michael’s hands. His partner hurriedly stepped between him and the informant, doing everything he could to calm Michael down.
Today’s operation had been a complete failure. Whether it was the sudden strike against William while he was out making his delivery, or the other team searching his temporary residence, they had found nothing abnormal at all.
Forget the at least five thousand dollars in change the informant had mentioned. They had not seen even one dollar in loose change, not on William himself and not in that room.
Failure meant Michael would lose face in front of his colleagues. The hierarchy and office politics inside the IRS gave this special department a level of internal competition outsiders could scarcely imagine.
Michael was one of the people with a very real chance of promotion.
But if this failed operation had alerted William and Fox and caused the follow-up plan to fail, then he would become a laughingstock, and for the next two or three years he could forget about moving up.
When most people encountered trouble, they pushed the blame onto someone else. Michael blamed this failure on the informant providing unreliable intelligence.
So he had called the informant to this room, then, amid furious roaring, lifted the chair and smashed it hard across the man’s back.
“Do you know how much you’ve cost me with that bad information of yours?” he shouted, struggling to break free from his partner’s restraint while pointing at the informant, who was slumped over the table in obvious pain.
The informant was a news boss. In Sabine City and other cities, the main channels of information were controlled by professional intelligence brokers and news bosses.
Newsboys reported anything unusual they saw to their news bosses. This was another kind of work between the news bosses and the boys.
They might not receive any pay for it. No money, no reward. Yet the newsboys still obeyed, trading obedience for a miserly bit of favor.
Some smart special agents and agents had informants like this. At the same time, a news boss did not serve only one buyer.
Everyone in the business of buying and selling information was doing it for money, not for justice or morality. There was no need to dress oneself up as noble.
People like Michael existed, but not many. Taking his anger out on an informant was an exceptionally stupid move.
Because the chair had struck him hard across the back, the muscles in the news boss’s face twisted together. Hatred gleamed in his eyes, but that hatred soon turned obedient.
Michael had leverage over him. The man had once gotten hold of a young girl, and later, certain things had happened. As it happened, Michael had discovered it.
Michael had taken the girl away, while also keeping certain evidence, such as a recording of the man’s confession and a handwritten account of the crime bearing his fingerprints.
“I didn’t lie. The kids under me gave him almost fifteen hundred dollars in change. I swear I didn’t lie!” He defended himself, while also praying for this terrible moment to pass quickly.
He seemed to have forgotten that once, a girl had begged like that too, and had not received the result she wanted.
Michael shoved his partner aside and walked to the table. He grabbed the news boss by the hair and punched him in the face. His partner stood to the side and did not continue interfering.
As long as Michael did not use an object, he would not interfere too much. At least a man was not easy to beat to death barehanded. With objects, that was different. He had only acted to prevent an accident, not because he truly wanted to stop Michael from being violent.
Of course, if someone really died, it was not as if there were no way to handle it. It would only be somewhat troublesome, with a great many people to grease.
Sabine City was a small city. Whether it was the FBI, the IRS, or the courts, everyone knew one another well. They would not destroy a promising government employee just because of someone wandering along the gray margins.
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