117: Chapter 117, that's it? Reverse profiteering, the CIA handing over an ATM.

Fu Haoran hung up the phone with Jimmy, his face expressionless.

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He leaned back in his office chair, mentally reviewing the things he had done.

Illegal immigration?

Check.

Unidentified financial flows?

Check.

Stashing military-grade weapons?

Check.

Cross-world smuggling of military industrial technology?

Check.

Any single one of these, if picked out, would be enough for him to rot in federal prison until he was smooth as polished jade, or to experience the limited edition American electric chair.

But Fu Haoran felt that if something big enough to warrant the electric chair had truly happened, it wouldn't be the CIA coming for him.

At the very least, it would be fully armed Secret Service agents knocking on his door.

As someone with tradition etched into his bones, Fu Haoran always felt that a boss who didn't want to be a local tyrant wasn't a good Reincarnator.

So what if it's a few CIA agents?

If push comes to shove, sinking them in the ocean, burying them in the dirt, staging a car accident, or faking a suicide... these are all ancestral traditional crafts of America.

If things really get out of hand, a few more physical warnings should do it. At worst, he could let the CIA Langley headquarters experience an authentic gas pipe leak; surely the CIA would be sensible enough to shut up.

Soon, the CIA people arrived.

A group of people marched in aggressively, dozens of them in total; the scene was quite grand and intimidating.

Fu Haoran just glanced to the side, and his subordinates from the Hive City understood immediately, silently surrounding the CIA personnel.

They didn't draw guns; they just toyed with the Power Mauls in their hands, causing the usually arrogant CIA agents to instantly lose their nerve.

For this kind of salary, why risk one's life?

They were following their superiors out to make some extra cash, not to die in the line of duty.

The two leading supervisors, Cole and Miller, realized that if things continued like this, they might lose control of the situation, so they walked straight into Fu Haoran's office, intending to regain the upper hand.

As the office door closed, Cole and Miller threw a file directly in front of Fu Haoran.

The file fanned out, filled with dirt on Fu Haoran.

Illegal immigrant status verification, abnormal large-scale cross-border capital flows, recruitment of a large number of illegal immigrant laborers... every single item was clearly marked.

"Mr. Fu, these things are enough to have you deported, all your assets in America confiscated, plus ten years or more in federal prison."

Cole crossed his arms, looking down at Fu Haoran with a tone full of threats, "Your shipyard, factories, and docks will all be seized by the state. You won't be able to step foot in America for the rest of your life."

Cole and Miller stared at Fu Haoran. Seeing him remain silent, they assumed he was intimidated. They exchanged a look, both seeing the smugness in each other's eyes.

But they didn't know that Fu Haoran wasn't listening to their threats at all; he was just waiting for them to get to the point.

"I've waited all this time for just this?"

Fu Haoran felt a wave of disappointment, even wanting to call security to throw them out.

Illegal immigration?

With one phone call, he could have someone in the White House Office process an Extraordinary Ability Green Card for him; he was just too lazy to do it.

Unidentified sources of funds?

The money in his accounts was all charitable donations from wealthy individuals, with books done by the Big Four accounting firms. Forget the CIA, even if the IRS came, they wouldn't find a single flaw.

Fu Haoran had thought the CIA had found something real and had even prepared a backup plan to deal with it, but this was it?

Fu Haoran leaned back in his chair, raised his eyes slightly, and spoke in a tone as flat as if he were asking what was for dinner, "Nothing else?"

Cole froze for a moment, clearly not expecting this reaction: "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if it's just these trivial matters, you can leave. I don't have time to play house with you."

At that moment, Miller finally spoke: "Mr. Fu, don't be in such a hurry to see us out. There is an agreement in front of you. If you can handle it, we can settle all these troubles for you."

As he spoke, he took out a bidding contract and placed it in front of Fu Haoran.

Fu Haoran flipped open the contract and scanned it; it was a maintenance bid for two US Army warships.

Miller introduced: "This is an official Navy repair project. We will bid in the name of your DYB Company, help you handle all the qualifications, and ensure you win the bid."

"Our requirement is simple: within three months, complete 70% of the repair progress for the two ships and restore the warships' autonomous sailing capability."

"You find a way to control the maintenance amount yourself. Any part exceeding the basic budget, you will advance the payment yourself."

"You find a way to handle the procurement of military equipment and spare parts needed for the repairs. We can help with the procurement if needed, but the cost will be on your end; we will help you secure the approvals."

"In exchange, after the task is completed, 30% of the finally approved excess amount will be deposited into your overseas private account, and we will handle the remaining 70%."

Miller pushed the contract in front of Fu Haoran and tapped the table: "I'll give you one day to consider. Sign this contract, and all your dirt will disappear overnight."

Cole and Miller crossed their arms, waiting for Fu Haoran to be conflicted, hesitant, or even to haggle.

Everyone in America knew that the maintenance of these two ships was a bottomless pit. Local shipyards had calculated that even just repairing 70%, the cost would approach 700 to 800 million US dollars. With many uncertainties in between, it was impossible to make money, and one might even go bankrupt.

But Cole and Miller didn't care about that; they were certain that the Chinese man before them wouldn't dare not to accept.

In the end, he would surely spend money to buy peace.

But they didn't expect that after Fu Haoran finished flipping through the contract, he picked up a pen and, without even blinking, signed his name directly at the bottom.

Cole and Miller were stunned, exchanging a look of pure bewilderment.

They had prepared a bellyful of threats and inducements, and they didn't get to use a single word?

"Mr. Fu, did you read the contract terms clearly? You have to advance the excess part yourself, and if it's not approved, you bear all the losses yourself," Cole couldn't help but remind him, fearing he hadn't understood.

"I read it clearly." Fu Haoran pushed the signed contract back, a smile playing on his lips, "Is there anything else? If not, I won't see you out."

Cole and Miller walked out of the office in a daze, clutching the contract.

It wasn't until they got into the car that Miller snapped out of it and sneered, "As expected of a Chinese person who hasn't seen the world. Give him a little bait and he bites. A total sucker."

Cole nodded, rubbing his hands together, his eyes full of greed: "Just wait. Once he puts his money in, it'll be a toss-up whether he can even recover his costs. We're guaranteed to profit."

They didn't know that back in the office, Fu Haoran had just received the calculation results from Jarvis.

Jarvis: "Sir, according to calculations, for 70% repair progress on the two warships, labor costs are 82 million USD, steel and spare parts costs are 97 million USD, for a total cost of 179 million USD. The basic budget is 200 million USD."

"If we procure and install original equipment as required by the US Army, it will cost an additional 500 million USD, bringing the total cost to 679 million USD."

Fu Haoran looked at the calculation results and began to think.

If he followed the requirements in the bid, this deal wouldn't lose money, but it wouldn't be profitable enough either.

This didn't fit Fu Haoran's character.

As a veteran civil engineer, how to save money was a mandatory course.

If he really followed the Client's requirements, there wouldn't be a damn bit of profit.

As long as the project was completed and met the acceptance requirements, how much money he could scrape out depended entirely on his own ability.

As for the arms dealers designated by the CIA? Only an idiot would use their channels.

The Americans' original parts were obscenely expensive. Anyway, as long as the parameters matched and they worked, what did it matter whose parts were used?

The parts replicated in the Warhammer World cost less than one-twentieth of the original ones.

The CIA wanted to use him as a front to earn the price difference and control him?

Perfect. What he lacked was money and a protective talisman from the US military.

In this round, it wasn't certain who was fleecing whom.

Fu Haoran picked up the internal phone and called Jimmy in.

"Go to East Asia immediately and set up a wholly-owned subsidiary in my hometown, Rong City." Fu Haoran pushed a prepared set of documents over. "From now on, the bulk of the shipyard employees' salaries will be paid through the domestic subsidiary, and all social insurance and housing funds will be paid domestically."

Jimmy was stunned, looking puzzled: "Boss? Why do this? Our company in America is a legal operation. Doing this... won't there be risks?"

Fu Haoran didn't say he simply didn't want to pay taxes to the American tax bureau; after all, only by reporting lower salaries could he pay less corporate and personal tax.

"There are three benefits to doing this," Fu Haoran explained patiently.

"First, tax avoidance."

"The highest federal income tax in America is 37%, plus Montana state tax and social security tax. Half of a worker's salary is scraped away by the tax bureau."

"In East Asia, the highest income tax is 45%, but after deducting social insurance, housing funds, and special additional deductions, the actual tax burden is less than 15%. The workers actually get more money in hand, and our company's book revenue is lowered, reducing corporate tax by 90%."

"Second, capital transfer. We are being watched by the CIA now. There's no guarantee they won't come knocking one day, so I need to prepare in advance."

"Third, team retention. With the bulk of their salaries in East Asian accounts, if they want to jump ship to a competitor, they'll have to consider their livelihood. Core technology allowances and year-end bonuses are all held in domestic accounts; leaving means giving up that money. No one will walk away from money."

Jimmy's eyes lit up as he listened. He nodded repeatedly but then hesitated: "Boss, is this for everyone?"

"Yes, everyone," Fu Haoran nodded.

"Then the local American workers, will they accept it?" Jimmy frowned. "They'll likely resist this kind of operation."

"That's easy to handle." Fu Haoran smiled. "Just tell them that with the money in an East Asian account, if they get divorced later, the American courts can't touch it. Not a single cent will be divided, and child support won't have to be paid based on a full salary."

"Tell them also that East Asian income tax is low, and they can remit up to 50,000 USD back home every year, which also avoids taxes."

"East Asian medical insurance covers most things. A dental cleaning is only twenty dollars. Unlike in America, where calling an ambulance can bankrupt you."

After hearing this, Jimmy took a sharp breath.

This reasoning was simply a dimensional strike.

The local workers at the shipyard were either drifters recruited from taverns or old unemployed welders found on the streets. Which of them wasn't being suffocated by ex-wives' child support, IRS tax bills, and astronomical medical bills?

They couldn't possibly refuse these conditions.

"Alright, Boss! I'll get right on it!"

...

In the shipyard's finance office, senior welder Derek looked at the salary plan notice in his hand, his face instantly turning dark.

"What kind of bullshit is this? The bulk of the salary goes through an East Asian account? Isn't this tax evasion? Shameless! I'm going to sue them!" Derek slammed the notice on the table, his face flushed with anger.

He was an old welder who had worked at Newport News Shipbuilding for 28 years and had participated in the construction of Ford-class aircraft carriers. He had been unemployed for three years after shipyard layoffs. His ex-wife had run off with their daughter, and he had to pay 40% of his salary in child support every month, leaving him with a pile of credit card debt.

Although it was Fu Haoran giving him a new job that brought him back to life,

Why should his own money be managed by someone else!

The old accountant nearby looked up and said indifferently, "Derek, your current monthly salary is 12,000 USD. After federal and Montana state taxes, you only have 7,000 left. Subtract 2,800 for child support, and you're down to 4,200. After rent, car loans, and medical insurance, you don't have a cent left, right?"

Derek froze and then nodded, his expression grim.

"According to the boss's plan, you'll only be paid a minimum wage of 1,500 USD here in America, and the remaining 10,500 will go through the East Asian account."

"Income tax here in America will be almost zero. After deducting social insurance, housing funds, and income tax over there, you'll get 9,500 USD in hand, which is more than double."

Derek's breathing hitched, a hint of interest flashing in his eyes.

The old accountant indifferently added another bombshell: "Most importantly, the American courts can't track the money in the domestic account!"

"Your ex-wife can no longer take your income statement to a judge to increase child support! Even if she takes it to court, it can only be calculated based on the 1,500 USD minimum wage, so the monthly child support will only be 600 USD."

The image of his vampire-like ex-wife flashed through Derek's mind, along with his daughter complaining on social media about him being stingy and not fit to be a father. His clenched fist instantly relaxed.

He suddenly felt that this plan might not be so bad after all.

"Besides, did you forget the last time you had a heart attack and called an ambulance? It cost you 8,000 USD for ten minutes."

"East Asian employee medical insurance covers medicine for colds and fevers for a few dollars, and dental cleanings and fillings are fully covered. Even imported drugs are sold at fair prices. A major illness won't bankrupt you."

"You earn USD and spend it in East Asia; your purchasing power will increase several times over. Work for ten years and you can buy a villa with a yard in East Asia. When you retire, you'll never have to care about your ex-wife or the IRS again."

"Crucially, the money you save domestically cannot be frozen by American courts even if you go bankrupt or get sued. Even if you get divorced again, your wife won't get a single cent!"

"Now, what are you still hesitating for?"

Derek felt a bit ashamed. He had previously thought this was shameless tax evasion, but now he felt the boss was simply giving him a lifeline!

"I'll sign!" Derek slammed the table, picked up the pen, and signed the consent form.

In the entire shipyard, there was almost no resistance.

One worker, after signing, immediately blocked his ex-wife's contact info and shouted excitedly, "From now on, I'm never sending another cent to that vampire!"

This drew a round of laughter.

These workers were either drifters with gambling debts, old welders crushed by child support after two or three divorces, or technicians being chased by the IRS for back taxes.

Hearing that they could avoid taxes, prevent ex-wives from splitting their property, and escape the clutches of the IRS, their eyes lit up one by one. they scrambled to sign, fearing they'd miss out if they were late.

One engineer called his ex-wife on the spot and ranted into the phone, "From now on, child support will be based on the minimum wage! I won't give you a single extra cent!"

The only one who hesitated was a recent college graduate, but the old accountant patted him on the shoulder: "Kid, you've just arrived in America. You don't know how ruthless the IRS and ex-wives are yet. When the day comes that you receive a court summons, you'll know how merciful the boss's move is."

Everything was ready.

Next, it was time to pinch every penny.

Saving money had always been an art.

"Next, it's time to let these Americans see what true extreme operation looks like."