Hollywood Taxes: A Tycoon in TV Land

Chapter 39 – Hank Attacked

As expected, Ron immediately struck at Sheldon's soft spot—his deep-seated belief in his own uniqueness and irreplaceability. You could see this same trait in how he later talked about Stephen Hawking; in Sheldon's eyes, Hawking was the only living scientist whose intellect even approached his own.

Ron had said nothing, but Sheldon was fuming, "I'm talking to you!"

"And I don't want to talk to you," Ron replied, completely unbothered. "I just want to eat Mom's food."

He smugly grabbed one of the placemats Sheldon had knitted, slid it under his plate, and plopped himself down on the couch—in Sheldon's exact spot.

Mary, seeing Ron's tactic was actually working, just sat back with a pleased smile and watched the show.

"I am not replaceable!" Sheldon shouted. "My research is groundbreaking—revolutionary, even—in the field of physics. Physics! Do you even understand what that means?!"

"If I had my death ray blaster right now, you'd be vaporized."

"Oh please," Ron said, taking a big bite of the thick, meat-stuffed pie Mary had made and letting out a satisfied "mmm." "That toy of yours can't even scare the neighbor's dog."

"Sheldon," Ron continued, "I might not know the first thing about physics, but I do know this—if you don't go apologize, you're going to lose your job. And without that job, you can kiss your beloved research goodbye. Is that what you want?"

"I can conduct my research anywhere!" Sheldon insisted, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. "I can continue it at home using a whiteboard!"

He was clearly grasping at straws now—trying to out-logic someone who didn't even speak his scientific language. Unfortunately for Sheldon, while Ron may not understand theoretical physics, there was someone here who did.

"Cut it out, Sheldon! Stop being childish!" Leonard finally stood up, voice firm. "You know damn well you need me to help test those theories of yours!"

For a moment, to Sheldon, Leonard looked like a towering giant.

"Enough already. Pull yourself together. You're a physicist—you belong in a lab, not hiding out at home."

Sheldon finally lowered his proud head.

Right on cue, Mary handed him a plate—stacked with his favorite foods.

"Eat up," she said warmly. "Then go with your brother and apologize, properly this time."

Sheldon stood frozen in place, silent.

"Sheldon, why aren't you eating? Do you need a formal invitation now?" Ron asked impatiently.

"You're sitting in my spot…" Sheldon muttered, head down.

Ron sighed, picked up his plate, and stood up—he was nearly finished anyway. Sheldon quickly shuffled over and reclaimed his sacred seat on the couch.

---

Half an hour later, Ron was driving Sheldon to Caltech, with Leonard following behind in his own car. They arrived one after the other.

"Do you want me to come with you to the president's office?" Leonard offered helpfully.

"Relax. I've got this. And if things go sideways, I can always call the board of trustees," Ron said confidently.

In the end, it turned out to be even easier than expected. It was almost as if the school president had been sitting there waiting for Sheldon to come apologize. Everything went smoothly.

---

Meanwhile, things were not going smoothly for Hank.

After bringing in a few street punks who might've been tied to drugs, Hank expected at least a pat on the back. Instead, his commanding officer dragged him into the office and exploded in a fury.

"Hank, how many times do I have to tell you? This case is closed! I'm only going to ask you this one more time—when are you heading back to the border?"

Hank shook his head. "Chief, I'm telling you, this case isn't as simple as it looks. It's far from over. Just give me a little more time—once I get to the bottom of it, I promise I'll return to the border unit."

The captain rose from his chair with a heavy sigh. "Fine. Effective immediately, you're suspended without pay for insubordination. Hand over your badge and firearm. You're done—at least until you figure out where your priorities lie."

"Yes, sir." Hank replied solemnly, taking out his badge and sidearm. He set them gently on the desk, lingering over them with a heavy heart—they had once been symbols of pride and honor. Now, he walked out of the office like a man in a daze.

Everything felt surreal, like he was sleepwalking. He didn't even remember how he got back to his car. Somehow there was a small bouquet of flowers in his hand—probably meant for his wife. But he couldn't even recall when he'd picked them up.

Just as he was about to start the engine, his phone rang.

The caller ID was a mess of scrambled characters—a corrupted number. Curious, he pressed "Answer."

He had no idea that simple gesture just saved his life.

"Hank Schrader, listen to me carefully. Two men are coming to kill you," said an older, raspy voice on the line.

"What did you say? Repeat that!" Hank thought he must've misheard.

The caller ignored him. "They're approaching your car. You have sixty seconds to escape."

Spam call? A prank?

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but cut the crap! Who the hell are you?" Hank snapped, his finger hovering over the "End Call" button.

"They're almost here," the voice replied, then immediately hung up.

Hank tried calling back, but the number—just gibberish—wasn't reachable.

A wave of unease settled in. He hunched low in his seat and quickly dialed Ron while scanning the surroundings through his mirrors. Better safe than sorry.

A middle-aged woman coming back from the supermarket? Definitely not a threat.

A hunched-over man shuffling along? Unlikely… but not impossible.

Instinctively, Hank reached for his gun—only to find his holster empty.

Right. He'd just turned it in.

The phone finally connected.

"Hank? What's up? How'd the interrogation go? I'm almost at your location. Want to meet somewhere and go over the details?" Ron's voice came through, calm and casual.

Hank felt a little steadier. "Listen—someone just called me. Said there are hitmen on the way to kill me."

"Stay put—I'm coming right now! Just keep breathing until I get there!"

Ron ended the call without another word.

That was when Hank saw them.

Through the windshield of the car ahead, he spotted the reflection of two bald men approaching. They didn't look friendly. These had to be the assassins from the mystery call.

There was no time to question who had warned him or why. All that mattered now was staying alive.

The two bald men suddenly split apart, flanking the car from both sides.

They were going for a pincer move.

Sensing the danger, Hank started the car, ready to make a run for it and regroup with Ron. But just as he shifted gears, a third bald man popped up from behind the car and raised a gun—

—and fired directly at Hank.