C17 (1/2)

”Did that old lady and her granddaughter upstairs always live here? Have you seen the parents of the child? ”

”No visitors came to them. The kid occasionally took money and asked me to buy them some daily necessities. He was very generous and gave me a lot of tips. I haven't seen much of the old woman, hardly ever come down, but there's a letter for her, and I slip it under her door on the first of every month. ”

”What letter?”

”I can't read.” The security guard threw up his hands.

I looked at the file rack on the TV and saw a few sparse letters inside.

”Give me her letter, and I'll bring it up.”

The security guard was staring at the series without noticing what I was doing. I read Maria's letters one by one — most of them were credit card advertisements and notice of utilities.

A letter caught my attention.

The letter came from a very famous trust company.

Trust companies are so popular among the rich class in the United States that if a millionaire has assets worth more than $300 thousand, he or she can set up a living trust.

The living trust is to entrust your money to an institution for the rest of your life, and the institution will give the beneficiary a sum of money every month until your death in the form of a gift. The reason why he did this was to avoid taxes.

Inheritance taxes in the United States are quite high. For example, if parents leave their children a legacy of 1 million, the tax will be deducted by at least a few hundred thousand. But if you could find a trust company and give your child a few thousand dollars a month in the name of a gift, over time, he or she would be able to transfer 1 million dollars in full before his or her parents died.

At this point, I had no time to be polite or private. I quickly opened the letter — just as I had guessed, it contained a cheque for $50 thousand.

The beneficiary's name was Maria. Jones.

This kind of trust cheque should be sent to Maria's home on time every month.

And for the Trust Level, the name was: Johnson. H.

Johnson. H? It was a familiar name. I seem to have heard it not long ago.

Ding! With a violent shake, the elevator stopped on the sixth floor.

In my mind's eye, I saw the couple kissing in front of the town hall, and the line of scrawled calligraphy under the black-and-white photo:

Giving to Johnson. People who also loved life. Your faithful friend, Dovano.

Wasn't that the name of the previous tenant? The ”neighbor” Maria talked about who had emigrated to Australia in a hurry over ten years ago, and did not even want a room full of treasures anymore?

Maria said that he had lost contact with him, yet received his cheque every month?

However, the name Johnson had a high usage rate in the Western World, which was equivalent to the name X Wei in China, X Army was the same, and H was only an abbreviation. I do not have sufficient evidence to prove that Johnson is the same as him.

The only way is to find out the full name of that Johnson at 610 and then call the trust company to verify their names. If they are really the same person, then I can prove to Lina that he is lying.

I have to go in again, 610.

In order not to alert me, I called home from the control room:

”Darling, what are you doing at home?”

”He's playing chess with Alpha.”

”I have to work overtime today. I have two bank repayment forms on my desk that haven't been mailed. Today is the deadline for mailing it out. Can you go to the post office and mail it for me?”

”You careless bastard, alright, then I'll let Alpha go home first and help you mail it.” Lina hung up.

I hid myself at the corner of the first floor lobby. After confirming that Lina was out, I turned around and went to the elevator.

As expected, the key to the 610 had not been returned to Maria yet. Grabbing the key, I effortlessly opened the door to 610.

It would take Lina about thirty minutes to go to the post office. I wanted to find the mysterious tenant's name within this period of time, so I entered the study room almost without thinking.

The study was elegant, with a Victorian lamp on the desk and several branded pens scattered on it. I frowned, this Johnson seemed to have evaporated into thin air, as though he took almost nothing with him.

I rummaged through the drawers and, with little effort, found a letterhead drawer, a very delicate camera, and a few rolls of undeveloped film.

The business letter had Johnson's full name: Johnson. Harkes.

Halix was the full name of H, and also Johnson's surname.

I took the letter home and dialed the trust company.

”Hello, I would like to modify my trust business. The beneficiary is Maria. ”Jones.”

”Okay. Are you the client?” A sweet female customer service voice.

”Yes.” I lied.

”May I know your name?”

”Err …” Johnson. ”Halikes.” I read out the names of the 610 residents.