Cutting the Tail, Losing the Hand

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Then it happened. The interoffice phone rang.

A quick check of the caller ID showed the Situation Room desk at headquarters, same as last time.

"Agent, a document with a rather ominous-sounding title just came in for you. It's Castle Rock Construction Group again. Shall I send it up right away?"

"Yes, thank you. Please do."

The moment I set the receiver down, Team Leader Margo dragged a chair over to my desk.

"What was that about? Your face says it's nothing good."

"Castle Rock filed another document."

"What? On what grounds? Sarah, go brew some coffee— no, never mind. Sit. This is one we look at together."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Sarah came halfway over the partition, face flushed with excitement.

A few minutes later, the electronic file landed in my internal inbox. It was a hefty one. I opened it on the spot, and a cover page filled the screen.

Margo narrowed her eyes.

"A voluntary amended return? Wow. That's practically a confession. Leo, that's impressive. A company that size ended up waving the white flag over what one investigator said. They know that once a re-examination pins the tax down, penalties stack on top — so I guess they chose to kneel first."

"That's how it reads, but... I'm not so sure. For a simple surrender, there's an awful lot of paper here."

I began scrolling slowly down through the file. The notification bar threw up a staggering page count. Page one was the cover; page two, the power of attorney naming their representative. The body proper began on page three.

And then.

"...Huh?"

My reaction slipped out on pure reflex, and for a moment the whole office went quiet.

"What is it, Leo? Something ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wrong with the contents?"

"For the withholding taxes we flagged, they're conceding only nineteen workers."

"Nineteen? Shouldn't it be all thirty-five?"

"Yes. And as for the remaining sixteen — here's what they wrote."

I pressed my finger to a single line.

Sarah's pen stopped mid-note.

"...Isn't that the company whose accounts we froze the other day?"

"Yep."

"So the remaining sixteen workers' taxes just get dumped wholesale onto Mr. Palmer... I mean, Palmer's hardly blameless, but he's about to wear every last drop of that filth."

Margo snatched the mouse clean out of my hand. Her eyes swept left to right, fast. Then, at the final entry in the attachments list, her hand stopped. A single line was written there.

"Wh-what!? Leo, this is—"

Sarah, who had been reading along, sucked in a breath.

I read the line twice.

Just when I thought things were settling down pleasantly, Castle Rock had gone straight for the classic tail-cutting play.

In one day, they shoved both of the people willing to testify for us to the edge of a cliff.

The picture snapped into focus in my head. As of today, Keller stood named as the accused. Which meant that in court, their attorney would look straight at Keller and tell the judge: how can you trust the word of a man who latched onto the prime contractor just to bury his own crimes?

By the same logic, it wouldn't be long before Palmer was in no better shape than Keller. Both testimonies wobbling at once. Whoever's handiwork this was, they'd come in swinging with exquisite precision.

"Leo."

Margo's voice had gone low.

"This is a bit... no, I'll be straight with you. We just got outplayed. If those two get hit with legal action this fast, the ladder we were climbing into Castle Rock disappears."

"I know."

"If you know, why do you look so calm?"

Instead of answering, I scrolled the document back to the first page. Honestly, I was angry. But this anger was a slightly different animal than before.

Six years ago, when the staffing-office owner had yawned while holding out that envelope, I could do nothing. Back then I held nothing in my hands. All I did was sign the memorandum, turn away, and walk down a rain-drenched street.

But now was different. Now I had skill. I had the authority to issue seizure notices, the clearance to open bankruptcy estate files... and, above all, the backing of the twelfth floor.

With our little meeting-that-wasn't wrapped up, I went to lunch and came back.

Pop. A red dot bloomed over the stack of pages I'd printed out.

A dull ache tugged at my temple. This was the second one today, and I'd already flipped through more than fifty pages since morning. The type was starting to bleed like water-soaked newsprint.

I shouldn't push it. On nights like this, even after getting home and switching off the lights, a red afterimage stayed printed on the inside of my eyelids. But I couldn't shut my eyes now.

Just a few more lines.

The dot swelled, stretching into an arrow. But the direction its tip slid was strange. It wasn't pointing at the numbers.

Bottom right corner of the return. Not the body text, not the amounts — the arrowhead stopped dead on a tiny document-management stamp. Inside the stamp was printed a six-digit number. The date the document had been created.

...Three days ago?

I flipped open my planner and found the date of the meeting at Castle Rock. This paperwork had been drafted two days before it. I checked the stamp on the next page, then the one after that. Every single date matched.

"Team Leader."

"What."

"That document you were just looking at — it was already finished before Sarah and I ever stepped into Castle Rock's conference room."

Margo's glasses slid down her nose.

"...What?"

"Concede nineteen, dump sixteen onto the subcontractor, then criminally charge Keller personally so his testimony falls apart. The entire scenario was already complete on paper."

The office air went leaden. Two investigators from the neighboring desks poked their heads out from behind their monitors. Sarah raised her hand, careful and slow.

"But... doesn't that mean something's off? They knew in advance what we'd throw at them. The only people from our side in that conference room were the three of us — Team Leader, Leo, and me."

"...I can't say for certain. But one way or another, our information got out."

I let out a sigh.

"That said, they had no idea which box I'd point ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to or which clause I'd ram through the door. Of that I'm certain — I watched Derek's expression come apart right there in the conference room."

"Then what exactly leaked?"

"For now, just the direction of the investigation."

I rapped the desk once with my pen cap. Margo's face set hard.

"...Leo. You're telling me there's someone inside this agency who's been watching your caseload and feeding it to the other side."

"Yes."

"Who?"

I didn't answer. But then, wasn't it obvious? The whole recent string of it came flooding back — the corporate investigators from the ninth floor, posturing at my desk.

Sherman, that was his name...

In an instant, the man's face overlapped with something the Commissioner had once let slip over the phone.

Sherman spent four years under Carter Northrop.

...So he'd been Castle Rock's little errand boy all along. The one small mercy was that the agency's personnel system kept records — every investigator's case assignment history, every journal access log. Anyone senior enough with the authority could pull them anytime. Which meant the answer had already settled itself. I closed the file quietly and decided the morning's findings would be going back up to the twelfth floor.

Commissioner... this is about to give you another headache.

The next morning, I took a moment to breathe deep in front of the elevator. However much of an alliance we'd built, he was still the Commissioner. My fingertip felt faintly heavy pressing the call button.

The floor arrived before long.

"By now I could set my watch by you. You have no idea how many calls a day I'm fielding because of you lately."

"I'll repay you in collection results."

"I received a report that two point three million dollars in tax landed today alone. Your one-day achievement. It was so absurd I made my secretary confirm it twice."

He accepted the papers with a hollow laugh — Castle Rock's amended return, and the two-page summary I'd prepared. Halfway down the page, his finger stopped at the management stamp.

"...Hm? This document was drawn up before you went to that meeting."

People who made it to that seat really were cut from different cloth. Along with the thought came a small knot of relief in my chest — the Commissioner across from me had not kissed his way up the ladder.

Sam Oliver removed his glasses and pressed the bridge of his nose.

"Leo Kim. I know exactly what you're here to request. A pull of the internal access records, yes? The flow of events does point to an insider leaking information."

"Yes — I don't have the clearance myself. And taking it to Team Leader Margo feels a little... delicate. Well, with your sign-off, half a day should do it, no?"

"...You handle my authority as if it were your own. Well, no matter. Your track record is in a class of one. Much as it galls, I'm in a position where when you say jump, I ask how high. But — what if nothing turns up?"

"Then I leapt to the wrong conclusion. In that case I'll write out an apology by hand. A disciplinary statement to go with it. But it won't come to that. Every last piece of circumstantial evidence is pointing at Sherman."

Sam regarded me for a long moment. Then he picked up the desk phone.

"Personnel Records? Ah, it's me. Pull the case assignment history and the journal access logs for Agent Leo Kim — the last thirty days, all of it. Accessing accounts and timestamps too. Yes. Now."

Receiver down, he leaned back into his chair.

"You truly are frightening to work with. Catching one man isn't enough for you — you're going for his eyeballs too. Don't tell me you've already got a plan to flip Sherman and use him someday?"

Isn't that going a bit far? I smirked inwardly and kept my poker face. That misunderstanding seemed better left standing than corrected.

He fished two paper cups out of a drawer and tipped the thermos. Watching him pour, I passed over the second page I'd brought.

"Oh — and please take a look at this. The document in which Castle Rock admitted today, with its own hand, to misclassifying nineteen workers."

"I'm reading. What's your point?"

"You know the safe harbor clause of Section 530 only opens if all three conditions hold? Yesterday, in their conference room, I pointed out their third condition had collapsed — and somehow, today, they went and conceded it in writing. I suppose the fire on their feet demanded it."

Sam's eyes widened a fraction.

"...So in other words, they've permanently lost that safe harbor shield."

"Yes. And what's more, a voluntary amended return carries the effect of fixing the tax liability all by itself. We no longer have to prove a thing. As of today, the payroll tax and penalties for those nineteen workers are simply confirmed, collectible debt."

"And how much does that come to?"

"Principal, penalties, and interest — around four point one seven million dollars."

Sam Oliver stopped with the paper cup halfway to his mouth.

"...So Castle Rock, with a piece of paper meant to do nothing but cut off its tail, accidentally coughed up four million?"

"Yes. And that's not even the end. The next part is more fun."

I tapped the final line.

"Castle Rock filed criminal charges against Keller today. In that instant, Keller became a man retaliated against by his prime contractor."

"Retaliated against?"

"Keller testified to me that the prime contractor manipulated the settlement headcount and pushed him down the chain. And the day after he gave that testimony, the contractor charged him. On those facts, Keller could qualify as a subject of whistleblower protection proceedings."

Sam Oliver said nothing for a good while. Then he set the cup down and dragged a hand across his face.

"Ha... so they promoted our witness into protected status with their own two hands. Leo, just how far ahead are you seeing..."

"In any case, once protection attaches, Keller's testimony picks up a great deal of credibility in court."

I closed the file.

"This gutless outfit tried to cut off its tail and took its own hand off with it."

Sam Oliver studied me for a long time. Then he glanced at the 1954 black-and-white photograph hanging on the wall and let out a short sigh.

"Leo Kim. It's a genuine blessing that you're in this organization. If you'd gone to the other side, I'd have hung up my coat long ago."

"Well then, just keep watching my back so it never comes to that."

"Aren't I already? Here I am past quitting time, at your word, pulling access logs of all things. I feel like some fresh hire hanging on his boss's every word."

Same hour, ninth floor. Brad Sherman had his cell pressed to his ear in his office.

"Yes, yes. Don't worry about a thing. That investigator's just being run on side errands for Collections — he has no real teeth. And I left the jurisdiction-transfer request on file, so I can build a pretext whenever I like..."

The voice on the other end pressed him with another question.

Sherman gave a short laugh.

"Oh, come off it. What backing could a single field agent possibly have? The man's good at his job, I'll grant you, but you won't find anyone willing to wade into the water with you against a major corporation. Yes, yes. Rest easy."

Call ended, he tipped back in his chair and woke his monitor. A faint smile hung at the corners of his mouth. A superior inside the agency, in bed with Castle Rock, had dangled a promotion if only he handled this matter cleanly — so the team-leader seat already felt half his.

And why not? With an executive-grade figure minding his back, what minor variable could possibly reach him?

Seriously — where does some nobody with zero connections get off strutting at his superiors?

The next morning at 8:40, the moment I clocked in and hung up my jacket, Sarah swung her monitor around.

A new document sat on the internal bulletin screen.

Objections to jurisdiction barred. The Commissioner had a vicious way with a sentence.

With that one line, no one in this building would ever be able to lay a finger on this case again. I read the short clause through once more and laughed for real. Watching a conversation held over paper cups get carved into official stone within a single day made me feel, all over again, the weight of the man named Sam Oliver — and of just whose shadow I stood in.

Sarah clapped both hands over her mouth.

"Leo — isn't that the guy from the corporate investigation team, the one who came demanding we hand over jurisdiction...? Isn't his face being dragged through the mud completely?"

"Dragged through the mud is the least of it. I'd wager he's tearing himself apart inside right now."

Team Leader Margo Chen drifted over, coffee in hand, and read the bulletin. Then she took her glasses off and polished the lenses very, very slowly.

I sat down and pulled up the tax assessment determination form. Final assessed amount: four point one seven million dollars. The sum Castle Rock Construction Group had admitted with its own hand.

But about halfway through filling out the form, the outside line rang.

"Hello, this is Leo Kim, Collections Division, Internal Revenue Service."

"Agent Kim. This is Derek Bohn."

Startled, I set down the pen I'd been rolling between my fingers.

"I hear that late last night, word got around about our document-management stamp."

...That news was already out? Just how many people inside the IRS were in Castle Rock's pocket? I listened in silence as he went on.

"Agent Kim, I'd like to meet with you privately for a moment. Without the company's representatives — just man to man."

I looked out the window for a moment. The finance chief of a company that had sent men to destroy evidence was asking to meet me alone, no counsel present. In my experience, that meant ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠either a bribe incoming or a man ready to jump ship. Honestly, neither option tempted me much — but conduct like this was, in itself, the behavior of someone with his back to the cliff. I nodded, playing along.

"Very well. One condition."

"Name it."

"I'll be recording. And that recording may be entered as evidence in whatever legal proceedings come down the line. Knowing that — do you still wish to meet me?"

A very long silence pooled through the receiver. After a moment, Derek Bohn forced the words out.

"...Yes. Even knowing that, I would like to meet you."

© Kim Okji#1v8mj