Chapter 51: 4500 Dollars in Consultation Fee

Ding-ding-dang-dang!

Silver steel balls bounced back and forth between dense nail posts, and soon fell into the small prize zone.

"Oh, shit!" Roger watched this with considerable regret.

He hadn't expected his luck to be slightly worse this time—he hadn't won the grand prize.

"But the small prize of a Silver Coin shouldn't be bad either."

He reached into the prize outlet, felt around, and finally pulled out a pill bottle. Read novels daily -> 𝚝𝚝𝚔𝚜. 𝚝𝚠

【Slow-release Tablet: It's not a universal miracle drug, but if you contract an epidemic disease, it can save your wallet】

"God, this is a great find!" Roger's eyes widened.

You have to understand that on the disease-ridden land of America, there are all kinds of viruses available—coronaviruses, norovirus, enteric adenoviruses, and every other type A, B, C, D, and whatnot you can think of.

Once infected, you could lose your ability to work for just one or two days, or worse, suffer complications and die on the spot.

So the Slow-release Tablet came at just the right time—it could greatly prevent his slowly improving life from being abruptly cut short by an illness.

"Let me see, thirty pills per bottle—this is fantastic."

Roger tucked the pills close to his body, then left the noisy Old John Jie Ji Ting.

Today Vanessa had arranged to meet him at a coffee shop to settle his payment for this period.

He also planned to buy a used car.

Roger had taken nearly five thousand dollars from the Margaret Nursing Home—enough to buy himself a four-wheeled vehicle.

Riding a bicycle all the time just wasn't safe.

For this, he'd asked Qiangsen for advice; the man had patted his chest and recommended a used car dealership, saying the owner was his good buddy.

Half an hour later, Roger arrived punctually at the coffee shop beneath the Seattle Times building.

But when Vanessa walked in from outside and saw the man, her expression showed slight surprise.

Because today he wore a clean white shirt paired with casual slacks, his hair neatly styled, enhancing his sharp features and making him look more handsome—there was no trace of a homeless man.

If Vanessa hadn't known him well, she might have thought she was meeting a reporter.

"Why are you staring at me?" Roger shrugged as he noticed her fixed gaze.

"Did you get a regular job?" Vanessa asked.

Roger shook his head: "Of course not."

"Well, I thought your outfit might keep you from being turned away by employers," Vanessa smiled.

"But if they see which community I live in, they'll probably reject me outright."

The Xin Yidunweier Shequ had a notorious reputation; major companies' HR departments knew this well and would never hire Roger.

Only small employers and petty bosses would hire him without knowing much about him.

Like factories or service jobs.

But these jobs were too inflexible and wasted too much of Roger's time for his investigation.

Far worse than food delivery.

Of course, food delivery still depended on skin color and community connections. Though Roger had earned money during this time, he'd faced plenty of rejections—often blocked by community residents who wouldn't let him enter.

Especially in middle-class neighborhoods, security was stricter. Merely approaching would prompt police questioning.

Luckily his skin wasn't dark, or he'd already been arrested on the spot, pinned under a knee, gasping for air.

Thinking of this, Roger changed the subject: "Enough about that. Big reporter, you must be quite famous in the news world now."

Vanessa couldn't suppress a smile: "Of course. My stories have been republished by every outlet, and I might even win next year's Pulitzer Prize."

The Pulitzer Prize is awarded every April–May, so the female reporter would have to wait until next year to win.

"Then your name will be the next front-page headline? Wow, that's great."

The Seattle Times had won seven Pulitzer Prizes; reporters who wrote those stories always thrived afterward—even after leaving the Seattle Times, many other newspapers scrambled to hire them.

After all, a Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter carried inherent prestige and traffic.

But hearing this, Vanessa's smile was strained: "Even if I win, it's not just my achievement."

"Forget it. Let me tell you about the fees first."

The female reporter mentioned the labor fee and information fee for this period.

"Since this news isn't exclusive, and you only provided preliminary assistance and partial information, I can't negotiate the highest payment for you."

"But it's still not little—four thousand dollars total."

Although the news originally came from Roger, and he acted as the newspaper's undercover agent, helping the reporter obtain leads to the high-value transaction,

the entire incident became public because of Blake's tip-off.

So from the newspaper's perspective, the story wasn't first broken by Roger, nor was it exclusive. As a preliminary assistant, he could at most receive a modest fee.

But thanks to the news going viral, the Seattle Times offered a relatively generous payment.

According to Meilijian newspaper conventions, if Roger had provided an exclusive tip that ignited nationwide public outcry, he could have earned between twenty thousand and forty thousand dollars.

That's why many anonymous informants stay active on major newspapers every day.

Important exclusive information is truly valuable.

But if you're only a preliminary assistant, the payment plummets to between two thousand and five thousand dollars.

Although Roger was also envious of the exclusive fee, his life mattered more—if those behind-the-scenes people found out what he'd done, getting shot eight times would be considered mercy.

Don't end up like that Occupy Wall Street kid, who got cemented alive.

"Of course," Vanessa continued, "this money isn't an information fee or a purchase fee. You'll need to sign a contract in the presence of a lawyer, and this sum will be paid to you under the name of consultation fee."

"Hmm." Roger paused, then tapped the table with his fingers: "Five thousand dollars."

"Five thousand? That's honestly too high," Vanessa said bluntly. "I can try to get you another five hundred at most."

"Then four thousand five hundred dollars."

"No problem." Due to her aversion to joint bylines, the female journalist had no qualms about letting the newspaper spend extra money.

Moreover, for a journalist, the newspaper, though important, was merely a platform that could be replaced at any time.

But if she lost a capable and reliable Informer, not only would her efforts over this period be wasted, but she would also miss many crucial leads in the future.

Vanessa knew exactly what was more important and what was less.

Soon, the newspaper's lawyer arrived, and the three signed a contract for consultation fees at the café.

"Could you please provide your bank card? This payment will be deposited into your account within three days," the lawyer said after signing.

"Can I get cash instead?" Roger asked.

"Impossible, sir. We're not some shady operation that relies on cash to evade taxes," the lawyer shook his head: "Even for a few hundred dollars, I wouldn't recommend it—though the amount is small, the risk is high."

"If you truly find it inconvenient to use a bank card, I suggest you use this."

As he spoke, the lawyer pulled out a thin card from his pocket. It bore the Visa logo, and on the back was an unpeeled activation strip.

"This is a Prepaid Debit Card—each card is loaded with $1,000, usable anytime, very convenient."

Such items were very common in Meilijian, operating in a gray zone, often used to pay temporary workers.

They could be used at supermarkets, gas stations, online payments, and even at ATMs—perfectly meeting Roger's needs.

"Alright, then use this one." Roger didn't want the bank to know he could earn money—otherwise, those vultures would call him, hounding him to repay his mortgage.

"No problem. My part is done. Have a nice weekend."

The lawyer left with a professional smile.

"Now you're richer than I am," Vanessa said, looking at Roger holding five Prepaid Debit Cards: "Rich man, care to buy me a coffee?"

"Of course," Roger nodded, then added: "But don't get anything too expensive—no more than $10."

"You cheapo!" Vanessa rolled her eyes.