Three days after the establishment of the new tax department.
A group of tax officers in bulletproof vests stormed into a shoe factory in Tijuana with about 600 workers.
They dragged the boss out of his office directly.
"Don't! Don't shoot! I'll pay," the bald boss cried out in panic, raising his hands and shouting loudly while his eyes darted shrewdly around him, only to see an armored vehicle with an English acronym written on it: JDJS. (Just Do the Job, Sir)
"We have received a tip-off that you've been evading taxes."
"How could that be! Impossible, I've paid every quarter, wait, my nephew is in your tax department, this must be a misunderstanding," the bald man said hastily, and spotting his nephew hiding behind, his eyes brightened, "Mike! Mike! Come and vouch for me."
