Chapter 3326

The black SUV motorcade of the IRS Special Investigation Team slowly drove into the underground parking lot of the GTO headquarters building, the tires rubbing against the ground making a low roar. The headlights drew several dazzling beams of light in the dim underground space, illuminating the mottled stains and rust on the walls.

Pavel Shi Misi pushed open the car door first, the hem of her black trench coat fluttering slightly with her steps. She was followed by more than a dozen heavily armed agents, their footsteps uniform, as if they were a well-trained army.

The elevator door opened, and Pavel led people straight toward the core office area of the GTO headquarters. The security guard at the door tried to stop them, but Pavel just glanced at him coldly and flashed her IRS ID: "Special Investigation Team, requisitioning your office area. Cooperate, don't look for trouble for yourself."

The security guard opened his mouth, finally retreated to the side, and let this group of uninvited guests break in.

The employees in the office area stopped their work one after another, looking up at this group of sudden intruders. Pavel ignored those gazes that were either surprised or angry, and walked straight toward the largest conference room. The moment she pushed open the door, Nightwing was standing in the center of the conference room, arms crossed, a trace of coldness showing in his eyes beneath the mask.

"Pavel Shi Misi," Nightwing's voice was deep and calm, "Special Agent of the IRS. A rare guest indeed."

Pavel smiled slightly, walked to the conference table, placed her hands on the desktop, and looked directly at Nightwing with eyes like knives: "Nightwing, or should I say, Richard Grayson. We finally meet."

Nightwing's brows frowned slightly, but he quickly returned to calm: "It seems the IRS's intelligence network is wider than I imagined. However, you broke in with so many people, what do you want to do?"

"Requisitioning your office area," Pavel said straightforwardly, "GTO's financial problems have been listed as the highest priority by the IRS. We need a temporary command post, and this place is just right."

Nightwing sneered, knowing she had ulterior motives. He walked to the opposite side of Pavel, placed his hands on the table, and looked at her: "Your IRS's hands reach really far. GTO's financial problems? Do you have evidence?"

Pavel pulled a document out of her trench coat inner pocket and threw it on the table casually: "This is the search warrant and requisition order from the Federal Court. As for evidence," she paused, a meaningful smile hooking the corner of her mouth, "we will find it soon."

Nightwing scanned the document, his expression invisible beneath the mask, but his voice grew colder: "You are abusing your power. Every transaction of GTO's funds is transparent, we don't have any violations."

"Is that so?" Pavel raised her brows, "Then why are there billions of dollars in funds on your accounts with unknown flows? Why is your 'charity fund' actually a shell company? Nightwing, don't think that wearing a cape can cover up the truth."

Nightwing's fists clenched slightly, but he quickly loosened his hands, his tone still calm: "If you have questions, we can cooperate with the investigation. But you don't have the power to requisition our office area at will. This is the core of GTO, not your playground."

Pavel chuckled, straightened her body, and looked around: "Core? In my opinion, this is just a place that harbors filth. Nightwing, you think you are upholding justice, but in reality, you are no different from those criminals. It's just that your methods are more hidden, more cunning."

Nightwing's gaze suddenly turned cold, he stepped forward, his voice deep and dangerous: "You'd better be careful with your words, Pavel. No matter how big the IRS's power is, it cannot slander others at will."

Pavel didn't give an inch, looking directly into Nightwing's eyes: "Slander? No, this is a fact. Your GTO's actions have long attracted the IRS's attention. Today, it's just a beginning."

The atmosphere between the two was tense, as if a conflict would break out in the next second. Just then, the agents behind Pavel stepped forward one after another, hands pressing on the weapons at their waists, watching Nightwing vigilantly.

Nightwing scanned those agents and sneered: "Why, you still want to do it?"

Pavel signaled the agents to retreat, her tone still calm: "We are not here to fight, Nightwing. We are here to audit accounts. If you don't want to get into bigger trouble, you'd better cooperate with our work."

Nightwing was silent for a moment, finally retreated a step, spread his hands, his tone carrying a trace of mockery: "Alright, Pavel. You can stay here. But I warn you, if you dare to cross the line, bear the consequences."

Pavel smiled slightly, turned and walked toward the main seat of the conference room, sat down and opened the document in her hand: "Rest assured, Nightwing. We IRS have always been law-abiding. However, if you have anything you want to confess, now is a good opportunity."

Nightwing didn't answer, just looked at Pavel coldly, and turned to leave the conference room. The moment the door closed, Pavel's smile gradually disappeared, replaced by a trace of deep thought. She whispered to the agent beside her: "Keep a close eye on him, that huge sum of money on GTO's account disappeared too suspiciously; I didn't investigate any problems before coming here, he should have an expert pointing him behind his back."

The agent nodded and quickly left the conference room. Pavel continued to flip through the document, the corners of her mouth slightly raised, as if she had already seen the dawn of victory.

At the same time, Nightwing stood at the end of the corridor, looking at the city outside through the window. His fists clenched slightly, a trace of worry showing in his eyes beneath the mask.

GTO Headquarters, IRS Temporary Special Investigation Team Office.

Pavel Shi Misi slammed her black coffee onto the metal desktop. This senior agent with Latino descent stared at the electronic clock on the wall—09:37 PM, the neon blue surveillance screen casting shadows on her hard side profile, the light flowing on the lenses of her glasses.

Three unmarked Chevrolets pierced the silent night sky of the East Island. Special Agent Fucas tightened the fiber seams of his bulletproof vest, the beam of his tactical flashlight sweeping over the $8,200 limited-edition marble doorplate on the oak porch: "J. Carter IV".

Pavel roared into her headset: "Evidence collection team, seal off the west study, there's a backup of his three offshore shell company transaction records in that Titan X host!"

She suddenly paused, Fucas, who turned his head, had his nose tip only five centimeters away from the framed yacht club group photo.

"Wait, this 2005 St. Barts yacht charity gala photo, is the third person from the left the witness from last year's Florida digital asset problem hearing?"

Pavel clicked a few times on the computer in front of her. A photo appeared before her eyes. Her index finger pointed precisely at the expensive watch on the wrist of the man in the suit, and the guest wristband for the hearing was faintly visible in the reflection of the watch face.

A trembling voice came from the prison cell: "You are entrapment! My accountant said those digital assets..."

Another leisurely voice suddenly sounded above the prison cell: "Mr. Carter, in the 2.8 million USD business consulting fee you declared in 2001, 1.47 million was paid to a shell company in the British Virgin Islands."

A plastic-sealed document was thrown down from mid-air, the white paper scattering on the ground: "This is the custodial account transaction flow provided by Credit Suisse—do you need me to read out the answer to your password hint question? 'Mother's maiden name + first lover's license plate number' is not a qualified information security strategy."

Pavel turned her head suddenly to look at the TV screen. The figure above the prison cell was looming, but mostly hidden in the darkness.

"Go find out who he is." Pavel said, "Also, as he said, go check Carter's Swiss bank account."

"Yes."

Evidence room.

Ultraviolet light flowed between the pages of "The Great Gatsby", suddenly, the hand wearing rubber gloves paused, and a string of numbers emerged between the letters.

"The encryption key for the hard drive." The man with eyes like a hawk looked up and said.

The female team member beside him immediately picked up the intercom and said: "Search his study properly, the hard drive should be hidden there."

A woman wearing glasses beside her, however, suddenly picked up a bookmark on the side—a yellowed 1998 Boston Red Sox ticket.

"It perfectly matches the opening time of the suspicious sports betting account marked by the headquarters technical support system." The woman walked around the table and said, "A classic method, but very useful."

She clamped that ticket with her index and middle fingers, shook it at Pavel who had just walked in, and said: "Boss, caught him."

The technician behind the glass suddenly looked up and shouted: "Boss, chain tracking shows this wallet address just transferred over 6 million USD worth of digital assets to an online casino in Malta last week, while Carter Group is applying for charity tax-exempt status during the same period..."

"This guy is really blooming on all sides." The woman wearing glasses pushed her glasses and said, "Greed is his gallows."

Suddenly, Pavel's satellite phone vibrated, and the caller ID on the special encrypted frequency made her jawline tighten suddenly.

An electronically processed strange voice sounded on the other end of the phone: "Agent Shi Misi, do you still remember the assets declared by your father when he immigrated from Mexico City in 1989? Some tax flaws in your family involving immigration... might need to be re-examined."

The hand Pavel used to hold the coffee cup paused. Coffee liquid splashed out, staining the IRS badge on her chest. The Gotham skyline in the distance turned fish-belly white, and in the reflection of the glass curtain wall, her iris presented a special gray tone between an agent and prey.

"What's wrong? Boss."

"Nothing, keep checking."

Pavel turned around. A young agent in uniform walked in, knocked on the door and said: "Boss, can't find it."

"What?"

"The mysterious person who appeared above the prison cell is named Shiler Rodriguez, but apart from this name, we can't find anything."

(End of chapter)