"Okay."
Secretary Helen knew Chuck's habits, so she agreed and picked up the phone to start working.
After Chuck put his things away, he turned on the computer and started checking. The screen showed a real-time camera feed of his properties nearby.
One was a villa in the woods.
One was a warehouse.
Whether it was a villa or a warehouse, there were infrared cameras and other equipment inside and outside for real-time monitoring.
Using a phone and computer connected to the internet, you could observe at any time to prevent anyone from breaking in.
After a while,
a couple in their fifties who received the notice hurried over. Secretary Helen met them and sat down in front of Chuck's desk.
"Mr. Anderson, Mrs. Anderson, how can I help you?"
Chuck withdrew his eyes from the computer and asked quietly.
"Dr. Wolfe, I, uh,"
Mr. Anderson hesitated for a moment, a little ashamed, finding it difficult to articulate his troubles. But noticing Chuck's calm gaze and remembering his reputation for being aloof yet helpful, he finally gritted his teeth and spoke. "I've never considered giving up. My family has been farmers for four generations. As you know, with the current economic downturn and the general environment, farmers are having a hard time. Between property taxes, irrigation costs, insurance premiums, and other expenses, I'm going bankrupt."
Chuck listened quietly, quickly flipping through the Andersons' tax documents.
"Excuse me, don't forget we're paying our taxes with a credit card this year,"
Mrs. Anderson said, reaching out to squeeze her husband's hand, reminding him that their situation was even worse than he'd let on.
Mr. Anderson's expression immediately fell.
Chuck, having finished reading through the tax documents, adjusted his reading glasses and looked at Mrs. Anderson's chest area.
"Do you like it?"
Mrs. Anderson noticed Chuck's gaze, glanced down, and lifted the handmade necklace she was wearing. She smiled gently and said, "I made it myself."
"No, not particularly,"
Chuck said honestly.
"..."
Mrs. Anderson quietly lowered the necklace, puzzled.
If Chuck didn't like it, why was he staring at it?
"Have you ever sold it?"
Chuck didn't want any misunderstanding and asked the key question directly.
"At the church bazaar,"
Mrs. Anderson said a little embarrassedly.
"So, Mrs. Anderson, you operate what the IRS might consider a 'home business,'"
Chuck reminded her. "Where do you make these necklaces at home?"
"No specific place. It depends on where I am. Maybe in front of the TV, or at the kitchen table. Sometimes I just scatter the beads all over the living room..."
Mrs. Anderson remained confused, recounting the details of their married life. It was clear that even after all these years, they were still deeply in love.
"Okay,"
Chuck interrupted, reminding her, "but if you could designate a permanent workspace, it would be better. Your property covers 7.2 acres, and IRS regulations allow us to deduct a corresponding portion of your workshop space from your taxes."
"What?"
Even with this hint, Mrs. Anderson was still a little confused.
Mr. Anderson was also bewildered, confused as to why the discussion about his farm's impending bankruptcy had suddenly turned to his wife's hobby crafts.
They were ordinary farmers, most of whom had stayed in small towns after graduating from high school. They didn't even know all fifty states, and they had never mastered their multiplication tables, let alone the deliberately complex and confusing tax code.
But when it came to tax deductions, he was finally a little more perceptive than his wife, looking at Chuck expectantly, waiting for further explanation.
"Mr. Anderson, how big is your living room, Mrs. Anderson's workshop?"
Chuck couldn't say it directly, so he could only hint.
"I wouldn't call that my workshop..."
Mrs. Anderson didn't have much confidence in her little hobby that didn't make much money in her spare time, and she felt a little overwhelmed when she heard such a professional name for her craft area.
"Ahem."
Chuck couldn't bear it any longer and could only cough lightly.
Mr. Anderson finally caught on, interrupting his wife's modesty, and tentatively said, "About 200..."
Chuck raised an eyebrow, and seeing Mr. Anderson looking over, he pointed upward.
"That makes 300 square feet,"
Mr. Anderson decisively added a hundred.
"Great."
Seeing they were finally on the same page, Chuck continued, "Mrs. Anderson..."
"Dorothy."
If Mrs. Anderson didn't realize Chuck was helping them by now, she would be a bit too dense. She looked at Chuck with gratitude, and when Chuck addressed her, she asked him to use her first name.
"Dorothy, do you buy materials online?"
Chuck didn't mind whether he used her first name or last name, continuing to ask as a reminder.
"No, I don't buy online. I always go to the craft store."
Mrs. Anderson, clearly not a good liar, continued to speak the truth.
"How do you get there?"
Chuck asked.
"Driving, we have a pickup truck,"
Mrs. Anderson explained.
"The company truck!"
Chuck corrected.
"Yes, the company truck!"
Mr. Anderson nodded repeatedly.
Chuck gradually corrected and reminded the Andersons that they had numerous tax deductions, and once processed, they would receive a substantial tax refund.
With this money, their farm would avoid bankruptcy and foreclosure, and they wouldn't be forced out of their home in their golden years. Their gratitude to Chuck was undeniable.
"I mean what I say, son. You're welcome to come to our place anytime,"
Mr. Anderson, about to leave, excitedly repeated in a more intimate tone. "Do you fish? We have a five-acre pond full of bass and catfish..."
"I'm not a fisherman,"
Chuck shook his head. To the Andersons' disappointed gazes, he added, "I'm a marksman!"
"Excellent! Our farm is perfect for shooting, too."
Mr. Anderson was overjoyed, extending his hand to the composed Chuck. "Anyway, son, thank you so much! Take care!"
Mrs. Anderson thanked him profusely.
Chuck watched them leave.
Given his status in the industry, such small cases would normally be beneath him.
But the Andersons are farmers near this small town.
Even shrewd businessmen know to give back to their communities and do good deeds to build goodwill. Chuck likes the peace and quiet here. Living here, he naturally wants to maintain friendly neighborhood relations.
Although he has severe autism, his powerful abilities can easily help others significantly, which is enough for him to have very good relationships and reputation in this small town.
This is why the Andersons came to him as soon as trouble arose.
"My niece is coming over today, and I think you two would hit it off."
Secretary Helen saw Chuck return, and understanding what Chuck had done, she couldn't help but try to set him up with someone.
Chuck's response was to close the door directly.
"She's very pretty."
Secretary Helen called out to the door that was about to close.
(End of this chapter)
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