The Gotham City Department of Taxation building sat like a giant monolith eroded by time and acid rain, pressing heavily on the edge of the municipal plaza.
It formed a brutal contrast with the brilliantly lit Wayne Tower just a few steps away—the light here seemed to be completely absorbed by the grey stone walls, leaving only a kind of bureaucratic twilight.
Jay pushed open the heavy revolving brass door. A complex odor mixed with the mold of old paper, cheap disinfectant, and cold coffee assaulted his face.
Anna followed behind him, instinctively wrinkling her nose and muttering, "God, this place smells worse than a morgue."
"But corpses don't ask you for money. Keep your voice down."
The lobby had a shockingly high ceiling, yet felt oppressive due to the layered metal galleries.
Overhead were several old-fashioned chandeliers with brass shades, emitting a dim, weak yellow light that failed to illuminate every corner. This made the entire space seem shrouded in dusk.
"Hi!"
Jay greeted the faded portraits hanging on the wall—the past tax commissioners. Unfortunately, this wasn't Hogwarts; they didn't return the greeting, only staring with dull eyes at the passing visitors.
After asking the front desk for Erica Hale's location, the two walked through rows of honeycomb-like cubicles toward the back.
The cubicle partitions were high, almost completely cutting off any possibility of communication. Occasionally, one could only see a tuft of meticulously combed hair or a hand slowly reaching up to grab a file.
There was no noise here, only a low, continuous hum. The clatter of hundreds of old-fashioned typewriters mixed with the constant ringing of telephones and people's emotionless, hushed conversations.
"It feels like breaking into the viscera of a giant machine that's been running for a hundred years," Anna said, watching the staff in grey-blue uniforms moving mechanically like worker ants through the massive office maze.
She unconsciously moved closer to Jay. "They look… like their souls have been drained."
"You're lucky to be assigned to the East Precinct, where we excel at slacking off. If you were at Central, you wouldn't be any different from these people."
Jay also stopped to watch them.
Everyone wore a plastic ID badge on their chest. The colors distinguished their rank. But here, it seemed all colors were covered in a layer of grey dust. Most of their faces bore a numb fatigue born of long-term exposure to numbers and regulations.
Occasionally, someone would look up at the two uninvited guests. Their hollow eyes held no curiosity, only a hint of slight impatience at being disturbed.
"Don't think too much. If you think too much, you'll be assimilated."
They found Erica Hale's cubicle in the most remote corner.
It was right next to an archive storage room that smelled of aged dust. One of the overhead fluorescent tubes was broken, flickering intermittently, making the area oscillate between light and dark.
Unlike other workstations piled with files like landslides, Erica's desk was exceptionally tidy, even rigid.
Files were stacked with sharp angles, pens were arranged in strict parallel lines, and the single CRT computer monitor was wiped spotless.
Erica herself was buried in a thick stack of tax forms, reviewing them line by line with a small ruler, occasionally writing notes in the margins with an extremely fine pencil.
She appeared to be in her thirties, her hair pulled back into a meticulous round bun. A pair of rimless glasses sat on the bridge of her nose. The same uniform looked crisp and professional on her.
Jay gently tapped the edge of the partition.
Erica Hale looked up. Her gaze quickly swept over Jay and Anna's faces, landed on their uniforms and badges, and finally returned to Jay's face.
She showed no surprise, merely speaking in a steady tone:
"Officers, the Department of Taxation generally does not welcome visitors without an appointment. What can I do for you?"
"Ms. Hale? Jay Li from the East Precinct, and this is my colleague Anna Ramirez. We heard you are the person here least likely to turn a blind eye to 'mistakes,' and we need a pair of professional eyes."
"Mistakes? There are likely too many. This city itself is a mistake." Erica Hale's eyes fixed on Jay's face like sharp swords. "Unfortunately, I am just an auditor. Also, I don't accept gifts."
The low hum in the office seemed to grow louder at that moment, like a bird of prey spreading its wings.
Jay awkwardly placed the box he was carrying on the floor.
"This… isn't a gift. These are… financial records seized in a child trafficking case. If we can sort out the chain sooner, maybe… we can avoid more victims."
Without a word, Erica reached out, pulled a few files from the edge of the box, flipped through them, and frowned.
"If these are criminals' accounts… well, they certainly hired a terrible accountant. Inventory, cash flow, tax, and insurance documents are all mixed together."
She placed the files back exactly as they were, without a millimeter of deviation. "God, this guy's CPA license might be forged. Accountants would faint seeing this stuff…"
"Ah… yes, yes, yes. They certainly can't compare to a professional like you."
Jay turned sideways and touched his face guiltily. He hadn't cared about order or classification when moving the stuff. To save time, he had dumped files from categorized cabinets indiscriminately into the box.
"For the sake of the children, I will handle it as quickly as possible. It will take about three to five days. Leave your card; I will notify you if I finish early. Also…"
Erica neatly wrote an account number on a sticky note and handed it over. "You know this kind of extra work isn't free. One thousand dollars. Thank you for your patronage."
Coming out of the Tax Department, even the cold, noisy air of the Gotham streets seemed much fresher.
Jay took a deep breath and rubbed his face vigorously, as if to completely replace the stale, moldy paper smell in his lungs.
"That was terrifying. That Ms. Hale… she looks at people like an X-ray machine. I almost thought she discovered the income tax I failed to report last year." Anna was taking deep breaths beside him. "She's like the spirit of that building made flesh."
"Remove the word 'almost.' She definitely saw it." Jay replied absentmindedly.
He kept his hand in his pocket, his fingertips rubbing the receipt. Fortunately, getting reimbursed wasn't difficult these days. "People like that live in numbers their whole lives. Looking at us is like looking at two bad ledgers filed in the wrong category."
Their boots crunched on the semi-melted black slush as they walked slowly along the sidewalk toward the municipal parking lot at the other end of the street.
"It's almost noon. What should we eat? Donuts again?"
"Blech~" Jay dry-heaved.
That stuff was sickeningly sweet to him, as if the sugar frosting was free! The first time Jay ate a donut, the sweet smell lingered in his nose and mouth for the entire day.
"Forget it! Chow mein in Chinatown?"
"No, that stuff is too oily." Anna shook her head in disgust.
"Salad then? Sigh…" She sighed and gave a perfunctory salute to apologize. "Every day it's these boring, trivial matters. Isn't there anything exciting… Sorry, Sir."
"No need to apologize. In the near future, exciting things will come one after another later…"
They walked for less than five minutes when they found a crowd gathered under a glass-structured commercial building.
"Let's go take a look."
The two pushed through the crowded onlookers and found it wasn't a common incident like a restaurant owner beating up a dine-and-dash customer.
Two business people in suits and a middle-aged man who looked like a researcher in a white lab coat were standing in a standoff, shouting at each other.
——————
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