"Mom!"
The door to the hospital room was suddenly pushed open by a young man, and Mrs. Michael, who was resting on the hospital bed, immediately sat up. The young man walked over to her side and gave her a hug, revealing a hint of worry and fear on his face.
Early in the morning, he had met with the police, who had talked to him about the attack on his mother last night. Fortunately, the community security guards arrived just in time, and the criminal was startled away before Mrs. Michael could be harmed.
After a night's rest, Mrs. Michael had calmed down. She described the appearance of the assailant, and the police station determined that it was likely the work of someone she knew, thinking that young Michael might have some clues as he might have seen the suspect.
With this idea in mind, and needing to inform the family, young Michael left school early in the morning and rushed over.
After his expression faded, it was replaced by an angry, slightly ferocious look, "I will find that person, I swear!"
Mrs. Michael clearly didn't want her child to take any risks. She held young Michael's hand while stroking his soft golden-brown hair, which he inherited from Michael. In places without light, it seemed brown, but in brightly lit areas, it turned golden brown and looked very beautiful.
"The police are more professional than you, we should trust them. Look, I'm fine, and I don't want you getting into trouble!" Mrs. Michael squeezed young Michael's hand, "I'm fine now, don't interfere with this matter!"
She still remembered the weapon in the man's hand and his brutality, not wanting her child to become the next victim. But sometimes, parents' words may not sink into their children's hearts, especially for a sixteen or seventeen-year-old like young Michael.
They feel like they have a nearly adult body, possessing adult intelligence and experience, often wanting to earn more respect, but they always mess things up.
In this cycle, they are more eager to prove that they have matured and grown up, no longer needing parental control, so they do things their parents don't want them to do to prove that parents aren't always right.
Young Michael comforted his mother, promising not to pursue the criminal and agreeing to Mrs. Michael's request not to inform Michael for the time being.
After all, he's on a business trip and reportedly facing danger. If this incident affects him, causing irreversible consequences, Mrs. Michael would never be at ease, which is exactly what young Michael wanted to convey.
He wants to handle this matter before Michael returns, to show them that he's grown up and doesn't need further supervision.
After seeing his mother, young Michael was invited to sit at the police station, where they showed him the warrant being printed by the police.
"Have you seen this person before?" the sergeant responsible for the case asked, while holding a cup of coffee and pointing to the warrant on the blackboard.
Normally, similar cases wouldn't be overseen by a police officer of the sergeant level, but Michael carries a "license," being a civil servant. When a family like his is harmed, the handling may exceed regular standards, also conveying a message externally and to the Federal Tax Bureau—We care about this case, thus deter potential criminal actions while safeguarding our interests.
Young Michael frowned at the warrant on the blackboard. He didn't recognize this guy, as the connection between the newspaper and Michael has always been very discreet, and beyond this incident, there were other matters. Neither the newspaper nor Michael would blatantly let others know their relationship, let alone involve young Michael.
Though he didn't recognize the person, he still displayed a look of contemplation. The sergeant didn't interrupt him, waiting for about four or five minutes before young Michael shook his head, "He looks familiar, but I can't recall where I've seen him."
The sergeant nodded noncommittally and asked a few other questions. As he was preparing to see young Michael off, the latter suddenly asked, "Can I take this with me? Maybe I'll remember it someday," pointing at the warrant on the blackboard.
The Sabin City Police Station had printed several hundred copies of this thing, prepared to distribute throughout the state to all police stations and federal-level police agencies, so one more or less wasn't an issue.
The sergeant nodded, placing down his coffee cup and personally handing the warrant to young Michael, earnestly saying, "If you remember something, don't be reckless. Call me immediately!" With that, he handed his business card to young Michael.
The latter nodded repeatedly, assuring that he would call the sergeant before anything else, which finally saw him off.
Watching young Michael drive away in the Bull 239 into traffic, he couldn't help but joke with his colleague beside him, "Look, tax money means wealth; even the kids can afford a 239, and I'm still driving a vintage car."
In Bail Federal, anyone over fifteen years old and standing taller than five feet (1.5 meters or more) can apply for a driver's license; both conditions are required, the former to ensure the driver can reach the pedals, the latter considering the applicant's handling and living capabilities.
The sergeant's colleague smiled slightly, without continuing the topic; everyone knows what the people at the Federal Tax Bureau are like.
Every year, so many fines can't be entirely reported to the authorities, they are always siphoned off for various reasons and divided. Additionally, Michael is the head of the investigation team, part of the management layer, which is normal.
Young Michael didn't pay attention to the conversation; he was now filled with a sense of mission. He must do something significant for his mother and father to see, while also showing the one who nearly hurt his mother his power.
About twenty minutes after merging into the traffic, his car stopped outside a nightclub called Kimberly, a place with a decent reputation in Sabin City, backed by a company with nearly eighty chain stores throughout Bail Federal.
The legitimate offerings attracted many who didn't want to dirty themselves, and with Kimberly's background, places like this were not only safe but also showcased the guests' status.
Kimberly during the day wasn't as lively as at night. As young Michael entered the lobby, only a few cleaners were tidying up, while the bartender was checking inventory and adjusting various supplies.
His footsteps caused the bartender to glance back, only for a moment before returning his gaze. He recognized young Michael, a minor figure with some ability in Sabin City, owed entirely to his father.
Young Michael strode confidently to the counter, producing the warrant and slapping it down. He tapped the counter with his fingers, making a banging noise, catching the bartender's attention.
"I want to find this person..."
The bartender glanced at the warrant, half-opened eyelids as he spoke, "Then you'd better go to the police station; we don't provide that service here."
Young Michael looked around, then leaned closer, saying, "I know your information is more up-to-date. I'm willing to pay, and this has no relation to anyone else."
The bartender pondered for a moment, "Five thousand dollars, I'll help you find out about this person. If you want further information, we'll talk after I figure out who he is..."
Young Michael was in no position to care about these matters now, agreeing immediately.
The bartender put away the warrant, turned back to continue checking inventory, "Seven o'clock tonight, come in through the back door!"