Read Novel Full Chapter 52 : Full Name of the Payee
Chapter 52 : Full Name of the Payee
At 6:40 on the morning of April 12, Shen Zhixia stood outside the noodle shop waiting for Deng Wei. Steam from the big pot poured out the window and blurred half of the "Zhengping" sign.
Before leaving, she had sent two texts.
"Where does the platform collect the merchant service fee from?"
The reply came quickly. "The merchant backend has a bill. The bill has the full name of the payee."
She stared at it for a few seconds, then sent another. "You've seen it."
"I've seen it," he said. "Back then, it hadn't changed hands yet."
She put her phone in her pocket. Hengtong had only changed its legal representative on February 3. She didn't ask exactly when he meant by "back then."
At seven, Deng Wei's scooter turned onto Back Street with a case of beer strapped to the back.
"Fei's Stir-Fry," he said. "Hometown buddy of mine."
Old Fei was forty-seven, had a burn scar on his arm, and wore his apron knotted hard around his waist. Hearing Deng Wei had brought her, he turned down the burner first, picked his phone up off the soy-sauce bottle, and wiped it on his apron.
"Is your restaurant listed on the platform?"
"It's listed," Old Fei said. "This whole street is. If you're not, people can't see you on their phones."
"How much do you pay the platform each month?"
"Two hundred forty-eight."
"When do you pay it?"
"Around the fifth." He rested his spatula on the edge of the wok. "Never misses a beat. Two years now."
"What's the money for?"
"Service fees." Old Fei gave an ugly smile. "I called customer service and asked what they serviced. They told me to ask the station."
"What did the station say?"
"Haven't known the people at the station for a long time now." He wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "Fei's is just me and my wife. Who ever comes to service me?"
Shen Zhixia didn't answer that. She asked him to open the merchant backend and pull up the bills.
Old Fei wasn't good at it. Deng Wei stood beside him and pointed out where to tap. After a few tries, the screen brought up a column of numbers, lined up line after line.
"-248.00 platform service fee"
"-248.00 platform service fee"
She reached over and took the phone, scrolling down herself.
March 5, February 5, January 5. The year before last, November 5 was a Sunday, so the deduction moved to the 6th. Further up, October 5, September 5—she scrolled all the way to the first charge at the bottom, December 5 the year before last.
"Can you go back any further?"
"Nothing before that," Old Fei said. "The shop had just gone up on the platform then."
She turned the screen toward him and asked, "Have you ever seen this last line?"
The last column of the bill was the full name of the payee: Jiangzhou Hengtong Delivery Service Co., Ltd.
Old Fei leaned in, read it twice, and shook his head. "Never heard of it."
"Two years ago, there was a court case with this name on it," she said. "It said the company had already stopped operating."
Old Fei's fingers stopped on his apron. He looked back at the oil in the wok and turned the fire down a little more.
"Then these past two years," he said, "who have I been giving my money to?"
She photographed ten pages of the bills, then tore a page from a hardcover notebook and read him his shop name and the amount deducted each month, line by line. Old Fei gripped the pen and signed crookedly.
"I keep it myself?"
"You keep it yourself," she said. "I'll take a photo."
"What good does a photo do?"
"It doesn't do any good," she said. "If someone comes asking you one day, you just take out your phone."
He shot Deng Wei a look. "If I sign this, will the platform shut my shop down?"
"Last month it shut down twenty of my accounts," Deng Wei said. "I'm still standing here on Back Street."
Old Fei thought for three seconds, then finished writing his name.
At the end of Back Street, the rolling door of Chengnan Station No. 1 was halfway up. The six o'clock wave had dispersed, and the eight o'clock wave was heading out, yellow vests flashing. Some of the faces she recognized, some she didn't. The curtains in the little room upstairs had changed color.
"The station's still open," Deng Wei said.
"The riders have changed."
"The route hasn't." He lifted the beer case off the back. "I counted. There are fifty-three shops hanging under this station. Some pay 248, some pay a little over 200, and a few pay by the quarter."
"How much does that add up to in a month?"
"A little over ten thousand."
The figure in her head settled as well. The passbook showed 11,800 yuan.
[Thud. Names can change. The route can't.]
On the morning of April 14, at Window No. 3 in the Enforcement Affairs Center, the number machine jumped to 29.
She slid three printed pages of bills and a photo of the page with Old Fei's signature under the window.
"Item four."
Liao Hong looked first at the footer, then read from the beginning. When he saw the full name on the last line of the bill, he moved the paper under the lamp at the window.
"Last time you brought me three names," he said. "This time you've brought me a number."
"There's nothing behind the names."
"What's behind the number, I can't see from here." He tapped the counter twice with the cap of his pen. "For money online, what I can check from here are the payment platforms. To get the merchant ID collecting the payments, we have to send a letter to the payment company. I'll issue the letter; you write the content—what do you want to ask it?"
"Who opened this ID, when it was opened, whose name is on the settlement account, how often the money's transferred and where to. Also the transfer records for the last twelve months."
"Twelve months." He copied those items along the edge of the paper. "Write out twelve months clearly, and they'll have an easier time answering."
She nodded.
"Also the Property Reporting Order," he said. "The fifteen days are up."
"None of the four reported."
"None of the four reported." Liao Hong pulled out a sheet and pushed it over for her. "Hurricane Express, Sutong, Jianhua, Hengtong—four names, all blank underneath. Wang Deshan can't read. He doesn't even recognize the words 'Property Reporting Order.'"
"Then he doesn't count."
"Whether he counts isn't up to him." Liao Hong smoothed the corner of the paper. "Behind people who can't report their property, there are people who can."
"Can you summon him in for questioning?"
"To compel him to appear, we need something first that proves he's the Actual Controller, or a directly responsible person affecting the performance of the debt." He turned the draft letter over. "What you have right now is three names, one merchant ID, and a passbook you photographed. You're missing one piece of paper."
"I'll go get that paper."
"The letter goes out in the next couple of days." Liao Hong pressed for the next number.
[Thud. If you want to see what lies beneath a name, first make the money's name show itself.]
On April 18, still Window No. 3.
Liao Hong pulled three pages out of the drawer, pushed them across the counter, and kept his index finger on them so she couldn't take them right away.
"It came back from the payment company. Read the first page first."
The first page was a merchant profile. Merchant name: Jiangzhou Hengtong Delivery Service Co., Ltd. Merchant status: Active. Activation date: October 17 the year before last. Settlement account section: account name Wang Deshan; bank: Jiangzhou Rural Commercial Bank Linhe Branch; account number ending in 6342; settlement cycle: by calendar month; transfer date: the 5th of each month.
The second page was a chart, twelve rows.
November 5 the year before last, 11,800 yuan.
December 5 the year before last, 11,800 yuan.
……
Last row, April 5 this year, 11,800 yuan.
The third page was a copy of the business license left when the account was opened. In the legal representative column was printed a name: Wang Yuhai.
She picked up the third page and looked at it for a long time.
"The license the payment company has is the old one," Liao Hong said. "Hengtong changed hands on February 3, and nobody sent over the new one."
"So the ID in his hands is still his own."
"That's how I read it," Liao Hong said. "If you're going to put it on paper, you write it yourself."
She took out her phone and scrolled through her photos. The passbook she'd photographed in Linhe Town on April 10 was lying open on the rice bin lid: account name Wang Deshan, account number ending in 6342. She held the phone up to the window glass, side by side with the reply.
The three entries she'd copied down last week—April 5, March 5, February 5. Of the twelve rows in the reply, row by row, those three dates were there too.
"I was the one who photographed the passbook," she said.
"A photo can't serve as evidence."
"I know."
"This can." Liao Hong pushed the reply half an inch closer.
She ran her eyes over the reply again. "That passbook account was opened around the time of that heavy rain the year before last."
"The merchant ID was opened October 17 the year before last."
"The account was opened before the ID."
"Three months apart," Liao Hong said.
"Three months apart, but the person is the same." She opened her hardcover notebook to the April 11 page and pointed line by line. "December 10, the Yunfan server room cleanup work order—approver, Wang Yuhai. The man who took Wang Deshan into town to open the account was called Lao Wang by his daughter-in-law. And on the business license submitted to open that merchant ID, the legal representative was still Wang Yuhai."
Liao Hong didn't answer right away. He squared the three pages and stapled them from the top.
"I'll freeze this merchant ID tomorrow."
"What about the bank account?"
"That account is under someone who isn't in the case," he said. "What I can freeze is the money that hasn't been transferred away yet. To touch that card, you need to get Wang Deshan's name into the case."
"I know."
"One more thing." He picked up the first page and tapped a phone number with his finger. "I'll call this number tomorrow and have him come in and explain clearly how the money moved."
"What if he doesn't come?"
"If he doesn't come, I have other ways." Liao Hong looked up. "Start drafting the joinder now."
[Thud. Set the bag in place before you cut the hole.]
At six in the evening, downstairs from Zhengping Firm, Ma Jianjun stood outside the iron railing with his scooter, his dinner in a tied plastic bag at his feet.
"Found it?"
"Found it."
"Where did the money go?"
"The service fees paid every month by the fifty-some shops under Chengnan Station No. 1," she said, "went into one passbook."
"Whose?"
"Wang Deshan's."
He kicked the kickstand down and stood still. He'd stood like this once on April 11; this time he stood longer.
"So the money paid out one shop after another on this street," he said, "and the 36,406 yuan written against me in the judgment, went down the same road."
"Into the same opening."
"If it can get in, it can get out," he said.
She didn't answer. Inside the iron railing, the noodle shop's exhaust fan spun loudly, pulling the onion-oil smell down from upstairs.
Upstairs, He Xiufen spread the graph paper out on the long table. The paper already held four names, three house numbers, and a lopsided card. Today she added a small square beside the card, wrote "Merchant ID," and drew a line connecting the two boxes. Along the line she noted: November 5 the year before last, first deposit.
"He changed people, changed signs, changed addresses," He Xiufen said, pressing the cap onto her pen. "But the route didn't change."
Shen Zhixia copied three lines from the reply into her notebook and reported the numbers: "Fifty-three shops, around two hundred each, over ten thousand a month. The passbook had 11,800."
"The missing few hundred comes from a few places that don't list and a few that pay quarterly," He Xiufen said. "Every bit of it is small change."
"Liao Hong says he'll freeze the merchant ID tomorrow."
"Freeze the ID and it stings." He Xiufen tapped the card with the butt of her pen. "Freeze the passbook and then he'll come."
Her phone rang. A number she hadn't saved.
She answered. There was a half-second of silence on the other end, then a man's voice, low and unhurried, with the clink of bowls and chopsticks in the background, like he was in a restaurant.
"Lawyer Shen."
"Who's this?"
"Wang Yuhai," he said. "Let's set a place to talk."
"How did you get my number?"
"It's on paper," he said. "The payment company called me this afternoon and said the court came asking about that merchant ID this morning. Since you've traced it this far, let's stop talking through paper."
"What do you want to talk about?"
"Money," he said. "You want money, so let's talk money. Leave everything else out of it."
"What everything else?"
"That old man in Linhe Town."
She held the phone, silent. He Xiufen looked up.
"You pick the place," Wang Yuhai said. "Tomorrow afternoon."
The call ended. The string of numbers on the screen was one she had seen on the merchant profile.
"Who?" He Xiufen asked.
"Wang Yuhai."
He Xiufen set her pen down on the graph paper and stared at the connecting line for two seconds.
"He made the first move."
"He told me to pick the place."
He Xiufen turned the graph paper toward her and rested the tip of her pen on the words "Zhengping Firm."
"Then let him come up."