Hollywood Taxes: A Tycoon in TV Land

Chapter 35: The Border Homicide Case

"Sheldon got fired?" Ron turned to the other scientists with mock surprise. "So… does that mean your university's throwing a huge celebration party tonight?"

"Of course~" Howard nodded with a smug grin.

"Ron!" Mary shot her second son a fierce glare. "I don't recall raising you to treat your brother like that."

Ron waved his hand casually. "Don't be mad, Mom. I'll head over to his school right now and shove my revolver down the dean's throat until he rehires Sheldon."

"I just want to know—what did he do this time?"

Leonard whispered, "He… insulted the new dean. Publicly. At the welcome ceremony."

Ron buried his face in his hands. Of course. That sounded exactly like Sheldon.

He'd been that way since childhood—adored by all the elders, the pride of the family—until he opened his mouth. The moment he spoke, his razor-sharp sarcasm would cut through steel, and the worst part was, he never even realized it.

Ron could already picture the scene in his head: Sheldon, standing on stage, delivering a biting commentary with zero regard for social tact, while the new dean probably stood there mortified, wishing the ground would swallow him whole.

Still, Ron wasn't too concerned. In his eyes, the firing was just temporary theatrics. Sheldon was a rare talent—any halfway-competent dean would recognize that. And if the guy didn't? Then he didn't deserve to run a university in the first place.

Frankly, Ron figured he wouldn't even have to step in. Give it a few days. Once Sheldon caused enough chaos outside the institution, the dean would eventually be begging for an excuse to bring him back. After all, genius researchers like Sheldon were hot commodities for any top-tier school.

If Ron remembered correctly, Caltech had once offered Sheldon incredibly favorable terms to lure him in.

But that was all just speculation—and not the kind of thing he'd ever say out loud, especially not to Mary, unless he wanted another lecture.

"Ron, that's far too violent," Mary frowned. "This isn't Texas. I think we should handle this reasonably. Do you think I should speak to the dean myself?"

Ron hadn't been paying much attention—until suddenly, his eyes widened and he sprang upright. "No! Absolutely not! Mom, let me talk to Sheldon's dean, okay? Worst-case scenario, I've got some contacts over at MIT. If Sheldon's open to it, I can help get him a position there."

It wasn't that Ron suddenly had free time.

No—it was that he remembered something from the original timeline. Mary and Sheldon's dean had… well, something had happened between them. It was after George's death, and she'd been widowed for years. But still—George was alive and well in this version of events.

Ron figured it was best to keep things simple. No drama, no scandal. The last thing he wanted was to give his father—a proud football coach from Texas—a reason to feel humiliated.

"MIT?" Sheldon scoffed with disdain. "Please. How is that any different from a technical college?"

Howard's expression darkened immediately. He was an MIT graduate—and, among their circle, the only one without a PhD. Sheldon's comment only served to reinforce the insult.

Ron patted Howard's back in quiet sympathy.

"Alright," Ron sighed. "I'll go talk to your dean. But on one condition—Sheldon has to apologize."

"Absolutely not!" Sheldon protested fiercely, bolstered by Mary's presence. "I'd rather conduct independent research from home than lower myself before that unrefined imbecile!"

Ron rolled his eyes. Of course Sheldon would dig in his heels now that he had Mom to back him up.

"Okay, genius—what brilliant research have you been doing at home these past few days?"

"Scrambled eggs. Bioluminescent fish. Glow-in-the-dark tampons. And weaving," Sheldon replied, counting them off on his fingers.

Ron blinked. "Bioluminescent fish? Not bad. But… glow-in-the-dark tampons? What the hell for? You afraid girls will lose track of them in the dark and stick them in the wrong place?"

Ron was speechless. His eccentric little brother seemed to come up with a new wild idea every day. If it weren't for the fact that they shared DNA, Ron might've been tempted to do the world a favor and fire a bullet through that genius brain of his—from the other end.

Ron forced himself to suppress his growing irritation and ignored Sheldon altogether. He turned to Mary and said calmly, "Mom, you know how Sheldon is. The school wouldn't have fired him for no reason. In fact, we all know why it happened. If Sheldon refuses to apologize, there's no way they'll take him back. And let's be honest—he was in the wrong."

Ron's words were firm, leaving no room for argument. And although Mary had always doted on Sheldon, she was still a reasonable woman at heart. With a sigh, she relented.

"Alright, we'll do it your way. Sheldon, you'll go with your brother tomorrow and apologize. In the meantime, I'll pay a visit to Mr. Taosie's family—I've been meaning to meet that boy your father keeps praising so much."

"Mom!" Sheldon blurted out in panic. "I—"

"Sheldon!" Mary snapped, her tone sharper than ever. "You will go with your brother tomorrow and apologize. Otherwise, you'll be grounded until I say you can come out."

Sheldon finally fell silent, completely deflated.

With the issue more or less resolved, it was time for a much-needed break. Ron treated himself to a hearty, satisfying breakfast. After clearing his plate, he dragged his exhausted body back to his room and collapsed into bed, catching up on sleep until noon before heading back out for the day.

—

At the DEA office, Hank's team was deep in a meeting, reviewing a grisly new case.

"There's been some strange activity down in El Paso," Hank said as he paced at the front of the room. "The Border Patrol stumbled on a multi-homicide case. A truck was found torched—loaded with bodies. The entire trailer turned into a giant oven. You can't even imagine how disgusting it was."

He paused to let that image sink in.

"The Border Patrol's been playing hide-and-seek with smugglers for years, but this time it was different. As soon as they made contact—boom—they were hit. And hard. I'm talking one driver and nine undocumented migrants. No signs of shooters, no gunfire. And let me be clear—that truck wasn't just carrying people."

One of the agents raised a hand. "So, what are we talking? Meth? Cocaine?"

"No," Hank said, shaking his head as he continued pacing. "Doesn't look like a drug run."

"Then why's the Border Patrol dumping this case on us?" the agent asked, clearly puzzled.

"They're not dumping it on us," Hank corrected, turning sharply to address the room. "I asked to take it. My gut tells me this was the work of cartel higher-ups—maybe the Jettas Group. The problem is—how the hell did something this brutal happen on our side of the DMZ?"

He let that hang for a beat, then added, "It feels like a cover-up. Maybe a roadblock. Or maybe… someone crossing the border knew something they shouldn't—and this was about tying up loose ends."

Just then, the door swung open.

Ron strutted in like he owned the place, casually grabbing the coffee cup an officer was just about to hand to Hank. He drained it in one gulp and gave a satisfied sigh.

"Sorry," he said without a hint of remorse, "I've been eavesdropping outside the whole time."

But his face said it all—he wasn't the least bit sorry.