Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 96 : The Small Transfer Goes First

The kraft paper envelope was new, with two crisp folds pressed straight across the flap.

He Xiufen turned the spine toward the window light, uncapped the pen, and wrote four characters on the blank line: Separate File: Under Review. When she finished, she clicked the cap back on and slid the envelope across the table.

”Load it.”

Shen Zhixia laid out the documents one by one: the duplicate from the Chengnan Notary Office; four photos of the hard drive—front, back, side, label; three photos of the four engraved marks inside the casing; the photocopy of the August 14th inventory record; the photocopy of the sampling record retrieved from the old building on August 19th. At the last item, her hand stopped at the edge of the page.

”This page is connected to the housing case,” she said. ”Used for cross-referencing.”

”Once youʼve cross-referenced, it becomes something else.” He Xiufen braced both hands on the table. ”You stuff this into the housing case file today, and tomorrow at the hearing the other side can flip the whole thing with one sentence—youʼre using material from outside the case to argue this case.”

”Which is why it gets its own ledger.”

”One case per ledger.” He Xiufen said. ”It hasnʼt become a case on its own yet. Right now, itʼs waiting.”

Shen Zhixia stacked the pages and slid them into the envelope, then took out a blank hardcover notebook and wrote the same four characters on the cover: Separate File: Under Review. She opened to the first page.

The sun had moved off the windowsill, leaving a pale white streak. At the top she wrote two words: Same Origin. Below that she made two columns. The left one she headed ”What Can Be Seen,” the right one ”Not There Yet.”

In the left column she wrote four lines, quickly:

— Bank loan approval record, top row of the signature field handwritten surname ”Shi,” final stroke flicks upward. Photocopy.

— Qingyuan Testing sampling record, sample receipt column contains two handwritten characters, first one is ”Shi.” Photocopy.

— Nine years apart.

— The flick on the final stroke in both cases—where the stroke starts, the angle of the slant, the sequence of the lift—visible side by side.

The right column she wrote slowly:

— Whether itʼs the same person.

— What the other half-character reads as.

— Who this Shi is.

— Whether he signed it himself, or signed for someone else.

She finished and pushed the notebook across. He Xiufen read it from top to bottom, then tapped a finger on the last line of the right column.

”Keep this line,” she said. ”And donʼt rush to fill it in yourself.”

”The conclusion column.”

”Leave it blank.” He Xiufen pushed the notebook back. ”Writing ʼlooks likeʼ in the book is something you keep behind closed doors. Putting a ʼyesʼ on paper means waiting until it grows its own legs.”

Shen Zhixia closed the notebook, but not before glancing at the two columns again. The left column had paper behind it; the right column held nothing at all. Both sides were the same length.

Her phone vibrated at the corner of the desk—a voice message from Cen Hong. Background noise: the beeping of a barcode scanner.

”Mom looked at the photos twice last night. She asked me if the four dots were a number. I said no. She said, then are they a four.”

Shen Zhixia listened and typed back one line: Tell her theyʼre four dots; we havenʼt figured out the number yet. She sent it and set the phone face-down on the desk.

[Thud. The separate ledger has been opened. The words inside are waiting for a name to claim them.]

* * *

At noon the downstairs stove fired up, scallion oil drifting up the stairwell. He Xiufen came upstairs carrying a basin of cleaned greens, nudged the empty safe key into the drawer with her free hand, and snapped it shut.

”That notebook, youʼve flipped through it three times this morning,” she said.

”Iʼm thinking about something.” Shen Zhixia said. ”Thereʼs only one place this surname can come from. Who signed the sample receipt column—itʼs on the paper. And who else looked at it, who approved it after—thatʼs in that stack too.”

”That stack is sitting under the seal strip dated the fourteenth.”

”Iʼll apply to retrieve it.”

”Fine.” He Xiufen sat down. ”When.”

”This week.”

”This week you have three things.” He Xiufen counted on her fingers. ”One hundred and five transactions, one by one, each one needs its own receipt—get the full list in hand within two days. Twenty-seven units handing over keys at monthʼs end, one dated photo of the door lock per unit. The evidence-examination date still hasnʼt been set—go ask at the Case Filing Division, and even if you get no answer, you still go.”

”And the drive.”

”The drive doesnʼt move today.” He Xiufen set the vegetable basin down. ”Listen to me.”

When she spoke, she wasnʼt looking at Shen Zhixia. She was looking at the documents on the table.

”Iʼve fought lawsuits for people for thirty years. Iʼve lost. Iʼve had people curse me to my face. None of that scares me. What scares me is someone holding a good thing in their hand, holding and holding, until the person wears out and the thing is still sitting in the cabinet.”

”I wonʼt do anything reckless with it.”

”I know you wonʼt.” He Xiufen said. ”But this morning when you looked at those two columns, your eyes went straight to the right side. If all you look at are the questions, the road wonʼt grow itself.”

Shen Zhixia didnʼt answer. She looked down at her hands. Yesterday sheʼd touched the iron casing, and her fingertips still seemed to carry a faint trace of metal.

”The door above that key has been locked nine years.” He Xiufen said. ”It wonʼt open a day early just because youʼre in a hurry today. But with those 1,042 households—that money is genuinely moving out.”

”Two things, and I canʼt put either one down.”

”Then take them one at a time.” He Xiufen stood and picked up the basin. ”Get the living peopleʼs money back first. The key in your hand—keep it quiet. Iʼve seen people rush to open a door. The door didnʼt open; they collapsed first.”

[Thud. The key can wait; the door isnʼt going anywhere. The money wonʼt wait.]

* * *

Shi Lei came up just as the sky was darkening, hard hat under his arm, pant legs dusted white with plaster.

”Sis, Wanshun Building.” He didnʼt sit. ”I hauled a delivery there this afternoon. Sixth floor.”

”Still there?” He Xiufen came out from the back.

”Still there, and theyʼve added equipment.” He pulled out his phone. ”When I went up, the door was open. Three copiers running at once, paper flowing out like water. There were pages stacked on the table, and every single one had a blue circular stamp in the lower right corner—foreign script. I couldnʼt read a word of it.”

”Did you go inside?” He Xiufen asked.

”No.” Shi Lei said. ”I set the boxes by the door and waited for them to sign. After they signed, I stood at the doorway counting the shipment and accidentally pressed record on my phone.” He turned the screen toward them: two photos. One showed several cardboard boxes stacked at the doorway; the other was a courier waybill stuck to the corner of a box. The sender field was a string of foreign script. The recipient field was printed in small characters: Jiangzhou Hongkun Investment Management Co., Ltd. At the bottom, the signature field showed a date: August 24, 10:03.

Shen Zhixia zoomed in and moved the phone under the lamp.

”The twenty-fourth,” she said. ”Yesterday.”

”I left right after counting.” Shi Lei said. ”On my way down I ran into that one with the thin black-frame glasses, carrying a hard-shell bag, getting into the elevator with someone else. I was standing with my back to them. I heard three sentences.”

”Repeat them.”

”ʼThe certificationʼs ready.ʼ” Shi Lei said. ”ʼThat transfer has to go out by next Tuesday.ʼ And one more—ʼSend the small one first. Test the waters.ʼ”

The room went quiet for two seconds. Downstairs, Tang Guoʼs livestream light flickered past the window.

”Say it again.” He Xiufen pulled a sheet of paper and a pen from the drawer. ”Word by word.”

Shi Lei repeated it. He Xiufen pushed the paper over: ”Write it down. Sign it. Thumbprint. Which delivery run today, what time you entered the building, what time you left, and whether the delivery note is still around.”

”In the truck.”

”Bring it tomorrow morning, and add a written statement.” He Xiufen said. ”Also—the sixth-floor jobs. Donʼt take any more of them.”

Shi Lei acknowledged, but stood there without leaving.

”Sis, if the moneyʼs already out the door—”

”Donʼt think about that yet.” Shen Zhixia said.

Tang Guo poked her head up from the stairwell: ”That stack of paper on the sixth floor. Can I film a clip?”

”No.” He Xiufen said. ”This goes in the ledger. Not on camera.”

[Thud. The certification is ready. Every day from now on counts against the day it leaves.]

* * *

Shi Lei went downstairs and left. He Xiufen pulled up the waybill photo again, her fingertip resting on the string of foreign script.

”This only proves something came in from outside,” she said. ”The sender is a string of characters. The recipient is this company. Whatʼs inside—canʼt see it.”

”Once translated documents reach the certification stage, it usually means materials are being submitted to an institution overseas.” Shen Zhixia said. ”Once the materials are complete, the next move is money.”

”He didnʼt say where it was going.”

”No. But while theyʼre handling certification, theyʼre also moving money out. Iʼd guess itʼs going offshore.”

”Guesses need paper too.”

”I know.”

”Good that you know.” He Xiufen folded the page Shi Lei had written and slipped it into the separate ledgerʼs envelope. ”Two things tomorrow. Police station—add this in. Last time we gave them the preliminary inquiry; this time itʼs a lead. Second thing, the procuratorate.”

”Iʼll make the call.”

She took her phone down to the stairwell. The stairwell was dark. The phone rang four times before the other end picked up.

”Shen Zhixia.” he said. ”Itʼs late.”

”Zhou Yu. Iʼve got a date.”

”Go ahead.”

”Before next Tuesday, a sum of money is leaving Jiangzhou. My guess is itʼs headed overseas.”

There was no immediate answer. She heard the rustle of paper, as if heʼd stepped out of a meeting room.

”What do you have?”

”A photo of a courier waybill. A delivery worker as a witness. And a time that sounds right to me. Nothing else.”

”A waybill wonʼt get a case opened.” Zhou Yu said. ”Anyone has the right to mail materials abroad. I need two things: one—what this money is designated as, which company itʼs leaving from, and how far itʼs gotten. Two—who said those words. A name, or something that can be matched to a person.”

”Iʼll go find the name.”

”Donʼt go looking alone.” he said. ”Iʼll start poking around on my end, see if anyoneʼs already reported the route this moneyʼs taking out.”

”Zhou Yu.” She said his name. ”What if itʼs going through proper channels?”

”Then all the more reason to get ahead of it.” he said. ”Proper channels can send money out—and they can also wash money with a filthy source into a clean line on the books. What youʼre holding either becomes part of a case before it leaves, or it becomes one more line in someone elseʼs account.”

After hanging up, she stood at the stairwell and ran through those sentences again, then sent Lu Jibai a message: The certification is back. Moneyʼs leaving before next Tuesday.

He didnʼt reply right away. She went upstairs, printed out Shi Leiʼs waybill photo, and tucked it into the separate ledger. At 9:40, the screen lit up.

Lu Jibai: For money to go out the door, someone at the bank has to sign off.

Lu Jibai: Finding the signer is more useful than blocking the wire transfer.

She stared at those two lines for half a minute. Last time, outside the courtroom, heʼd said the hand above this one wasnʼt in this building. Todayʼs two lines were about the same hand, just given a different unit number. She copied both lines into the hardcover notebook, and beneath them added one line: Before the thirtieth. Next Tuesday was their deadline; the thirtieth was the one sheʼd pushed up herself.

Downstairs, He Xiufen was turning off the lights. She shut off the last one and called up the stairwell: ”Sleep. There isnʼt much daylight left.”

The light went out. Shen Zhixia lifted one corner of the glass desk pad and slipped a narrow strip of paper underneath—only a date on it. The old ones under the glass were still there, their edges curled: the half-sentence from nine years ago, the bank isnʼt the last pocket either, money goes first, gap leads outside. This one carried no one elseʼs voice. The words were her own. She pressed the glass back down and lowered the desk lamp.

The thirtieth.

[Thud. Five days.]