Chapter 161
The Third Path
Chapter 161 The First Path
8:30 a.m. West Wing of the State Capitol, VIP Cigar Lounge.
This is a private space specifically for senior members of parliament to rest during breaks in meetings.
Jim Caldwell was sitting on a leather sofa, legs crossed.
He was in high spirits. In another hour and a half, he would launch the long-awaited coup at the hearing.
Once Russell Harrison is ousted, the Mellon Group will deposit another $100,000 into his secret account in Switzerland.
He had already mentally planned how to use the money many times.
$100,000 is enough to buy a decent villa outside Indianapolis, enough to send two sons to prep schools on the East Coast, and enough for his wife to spend three months in Florida every winter.
Suddenly, the door was pushed open.
Caldwell frowned, about to reprimand the intruder.
But when he saw the person's face clearly, his displeasure turned into vigilance.
A young man wearing a coat walked in.
He casually closed the door, then lightly flicked the lock with his finger, locking it.
"This is the members' lounge, young man. You've come to the wrong place."
Arthur ignored him. He walked straight to the single sofa opposite Caldwell and sat down as if it were his own living room.
He took a tan-colored kraft paper envelope from the inside pocket of his coat and gently placed it on the coffee table between the two of them.
"Senator Jim Caldwell. This is Arthur Kennedy, from the U.S. House Select Committee."
Caldwell's hand, holding the cigar, trembled slightly.
He had certainly heard of that name.
Over the past few days, Wall Street lawyers have been discussing the young journalist who holds a congressional pass and fought his way from New York to the Midwest.
Caldwell, trying to appear calm, said, "I haven't received any formal summons. If you want to speak with me, please make an appointment through my office and provide legal written documentation. That's the procedure."
Arthur chuckled softly. "Senator, I enjoy dealing with people who understand procedures. Because they usually have a deep understanding of procedures, which means they are well aware of the consequences of violating them."
Arthur tapped the brown paper envelope twice with his finger.
"Open it and take a look."
Caldwell hesitated for a few seconds before reaching for the envelope.
He pulled out the documents and glanced at them; the color began to drain from his face.
That was a copy of the share registration of "Continental Timber Development Company," which clearly showed the name of the controlling shareholder, Richard Miller.
The next page is a bridge invoice for the transfer of 3,000 acres of land in Terre Haute by the Midwest Agricultural Trust.
The destination of every payment, and the date and number of every interstate email, were carefully marked in red pen.
The last page is a draft of an investigation initiation letter bearing the insignia of the U.S. Congress. The heading reads:
Recommendation for a federal investigation into alleged interstate mail fraud by Indiana Senator Jim Caldwell.
Caldwell's hands began to tremble violently.
The cigar slipped from his fingers, burning a black hole in the expensive Persian carpet.
He didn't notice. All his attention was focused on the lines of printed text.
Interstate mail fraud.
That's the federal government's most effective weapon, far more useful than any form of corruption, bribery, or abuse of power.
Because if your business involves mailing documents across state lines, or if your funds are transferred across state lines through banks, federal prosecutors can take you to court.
He knew that the Mellon Group wouldn't take the fall for him.
They paid him to buy the power he held, not to buy his life.
Once he's on the radar of federal law enforcement, they'll immediately cut ties with him and pretend they never knew him.
His friends in the state legislature are even less reliable; they may have some influence in the state courts, but they are nothing in the federal courts.
"You—" Caldwell's voice completely changed.
"Where did you get these things? This is—this is a forgery! You're framing an elected representative!"
"Forgery?"
"Senator, you're a smart man. You should know very well that once federal investigators officially get involved, all they need to do is retrieve Richard Miller's mail records from the General Post Office, and they can confirm every detail of this deal within 24 hours."
Caldwell opened his mouth, wanting to refute, but couldn't say anything. He knew Arthur was telling the truth.
The General Post Office keeps records of every single interstate mail shipment.
It's not difficult to verify by following the records.
Arthur continued, "Interstate mail fraud carries a maximum penalty of twenty years in federal prison. And you should know that federal prisons are not under Indiana's jurisdiction, so none of your friends in the state legislature can help you."
Caldwell's forehead began to bead with cold sweat.
He recalled an acquaintance he had met in Chicago last year, also a state legislator, who had been taken away by the FBI for mail fraud.
As a result, he was sentenced to fifteen years and is currently serving time in Leavenworth Federal Prison.
When his wife visited him in prison, she told people that the man was so thin he was just skin and bones, and his hair was all white, making him look like a sixty-year-old man, but he was only forty-five.
"What do you want?" Caldwell swallowed hard.
"Money? I can give you money. One hundred thousand? No, two hundred thousand! As long as you make this disappear forever—"
Arthur chuckled softly and shook his head.
"I don't need the money, Senator. Do you know what the circulation of the New York Herald is now? Eight hundred thousand copies."
For every 10,000 additional copies of my column sold, the newspaper gave me an extra 200 yuan bonus. I have absolutely no need to take money from someone like you.
Arthur looked directly into Caldwell's eyes.
The oppressive feeling made Caldwell instinctively want to back away, but the back of the sofa blocked his way.
"I've come to you to show you a way to survive."
Caldwell was stunned.
"You now have two paths before you," Arthur said, holding up two fingers.
"The first option is for you to proceed as planned and forcefully push through the Agricultural Asset Restructuring Act at the hearing in an hour. Then, I will read out this letter initiating the federal investigation in front of all the state's legislators and reporters from forty newspapers."
"You will be taken away on the spot by federal marshals. Your political career will end this afternoon. Your name will be forever linked with the words 'corruption' and 'traitor,' printed on the front page of every newspaper tomorrow."
Caldwell's lips were trembling.
The image flashed through his mind: federal marshals weaving through the crowd, handcuffing his wrists, a flurry of camera flashes. Reporters chased after him, shouting questions, but he couldn't answer a single one.
The next morning, his wife opened the door to find it piled high with newspapers, each one featuring a front page photo of him being taken away. From then on, when she went grocery shopping, neighbors would point and whisper behind her back.
At school, his son's classmates would throw crumpled paper at him and call him "the son of a prisoner."