The case was simple.
A wealthy, alcoholic father, Mr. Ball Sr., had started trying to quit drinking. Seeing his son, Ball Jr., still indulging in alcohol, he became furious and threatened to disinherit him. They argued, and then the father tragically fell from a high-rise building.
The prosecutor accused the son of patricide.
The law firm mounted a defense of innocence.
Chuck quietly observed everything in the courtroom.
During Recess
"How's it going?" Diane asked.
"Four jurors have mild aversion toward him," Chuck replied succinctly.
"Because of the crime scene photos?" the female lawyer asked.
"No. It's because of photos showing Mr. Ball in a World War II uniform, holding a beer."
Chuck shook his head.
"Well, now they think he's a WWII fanatic," Diane groaned.
"We can still investigate the burglary case. As long as we find another suspect, it's fine," the female lawyer reminded her.
"Alright," Diane nodded, then looked at the female investigator. "Kalinda, go look into the robbery."
Kalinda nodded and left.
"Lunch. I need to observe the jurors while they eat," Chuck said, getting up and walking toward the courthouse cafeteria.
Court Cafeteria
Chuck found an empty corner, unpacked his lunchbox, and laid everything neatly.
"Can I sit here?"
A hopeful, childlike voice spoke. Chuck looked up and saw young Leonard holding a tray, eyes shining.
Nearby, Diane was sitting with her nephew Mike and the other lawyers. Little Mike chatted excitedly about his dreams of becoming a lawyer, drawing attention and completely distracting everyone—including Leonard, who momentarily forgot he even existed.
Chuck nodded, speaking with a straight face. "As long as you're not lactose intolerant."
"No dairy at all!" Leonard quickly confirmed, pushing his tray forward, then sat at the farthest seat across from Chuck.
Both ate in silence for a while.
"I heard Aunt Diane say you're a detective… so you could tell just by looking that I can't digest lactose?" Leonard finally asked. "That's amazing!"
Chuck kept a straight face. "At your age and height, you should be drinking milk. There's none on your tray. I don't want to smell it."
Leonard flushed and quickly took a puff from his asthma inhaler, but wasn't angry.
He was used to it.
If such things could make him angry, he'd have turned into the Hulk long ago.
Soon, he relaxed, grinning. "You're amazing!"
Chuck said nothing, continuing to eat, occasionally glancing at the distant jurors.
"How do I get as good as you?" Leonard asked, genuinely curious.
"Exercise, rest, and eat vegetables," Chuck replied flatly.
Leonard froze. At his age, he was too clever, trained since childhood, too mature for his years. He knew adults often gave these standard, catch-all answers to keep kids obedient.
Useful, yes—but exercise for an asthmatic kid? How does that relate to becoming a great detective? He wasn't aiming for the Olympics!
Phone Rings
Chuck put down his spoon, wiped his hands and mouth, then answered. After a moment, he glanced at Leonard. "Send it over."
"A new case?" Leonard asked curiously.
"Not exactly. Just helping someone out," Chuck said, shaking his head. He pulled out his laptop and began working.
Texas – Galveston County – Three Hours Earlier
IRS Office.
A tall, burly man entered with a small boy in a little suit and bow tie.
"I'm George Cooper. This is my son, Sheldon."
"I know. We spoke on the phone," the bald clerk replied with a half-smile.
Sheldon, with his usual deadpan, said, "Your voice sounds exactly the same as over the phone."
"Let's begin," George interjected.
This IRS audit shouldn't have happened, it was triggered by his inexplicable son. As a sensible American, George knew better than to anger the IRS. If Sheldon spoke further, who knew what could happen? Certainly nothing good.
"Fine," the bald clerk sat and began auditing the Cooper family's last three years of expenditures, requesting explanations from young Sheldon, who handled the family accounts.
George was nervous, but Sheldon remained confident. He knew his accounts were flawless.
"Let's start with the Schedule A business deductions from the 1989 tax return," the clerk instructed.
"All data is here, dated, highlighted, and listed," Sheldon responded smoothly.
"Explain this expense," the clerk continued.
"Our adjusted gross income is under $50,000," Sheldon explained, answering every question rationally.
Three hours passed. The clerk, defeated, finally admitted: "You really know tax law. Impressive for someone so young, helping your parents for free."
"Oh, not free. My dad will buy me a train model afterward," Sheldon corrected.
"Interesting," the clerk laughed. "So you accepted payment? You're not a licensed tax professional—technically against federal law."
Sheldon froze. Then, losing control of his bladder, said, "Sorry, I need to use the restroom."
George waited, then found Sheldon sitting on the floor crying.
He feared the audit could cost them a fortune. How could someone so law-abiding break federal law?
George consoled him as best he could. Back in the meeting room, just as they were about to concede, Sheldon realized the train model was a reward for learning, not payment.
The bald clerk, noticing the man outside the door, glanced at George with a pleading expression and nodded: "Alright. Your taxes are fine. Your son is exceptionally smart."
"Thank you," Sheldon said proudly. "I hope you audit us again next year, so I can beat you again."
"Don't be ridiculous!" George groaned, dragging Sheldon toward the door.
At that moment, the meeting room door opened. Another bald man entered.
"Director!" the clerk stood to greet him.
"Follow me," the director said to father and son.
"Looks like we don't have to wait until next year," the clerk muttered, half-smiling.
George turned pale. Sheldon, still confident, beamed: "Two victories in one day! Fantastic."
Director's Office
"Sit," the bald director gestured, then picked up his phone. "Audit a tax return for me."