Hollywood Taxes: A Tycoon in TV Land

Chapter 34: Sheldon Gets Fired

After walking out of the FBI office, Ron once again deeply realized the importance of having a few reliable people on his team. In fact, he made a silent vow: once Toretto and his crew were back in Los Angeles, no matter what, he'd bring them into the fold.

Sure, Toretto stole, fought, drank, and even killed—but Ron knew one thing for certain: the guy was solid. A good man. (At least, by the twisted standards of American morality.)

Still… someone like that might be tough to control under direct command. Maybe it was better to treat them like unofficial assets—kind of like how "Mr. Nobody" had used Toretto's crew in the past.

But unlike that guy, Ron had no intention of screwing over his friends.

Back at his own office—still a wreck thanks to the recent plane crash—Ron tossed the cleaning duty to Andy, while he himself settled back into his real job.

People often thought a federal agent's work was all guns, action, and car chases. The truth? Most of the time, Ron was buried under mountains of paperwork and data. Especially now, after getting a call from the big boss upstairs, demanding a full report on the incident ASAP.

So there he was, drowning in data: control tower logs from before the crash, detailed flight telemetry, banking activity and tax records of every person remotely connected to the event.

Sure, the FBI had conducted some surface-level questioning, but Ron didn't put much stock in that. If you really wanted answers, you had to dig. And when it came to digging through financials, Ron—ex-taxman—and Andy—ex-banker—were much more qualified than most agents.

"Boss, seriously… we need more help," Andy groaned, stretching his stiff limbs. "We're not getting any younger."

Ron didn't even look up. He continued flipping through files, replying calmly, "Of course we do. I know that better than anyone. But they have to be the right people. Not like those clowns we tried out last time—wannabe tough guys with nothing to offer. If even one of them had a useful skill, I would've kept them on."

"Well, what kind of help do you need? Maybe I know someone. You know I came out of Shawshank Prison, right? That place is packed with talent. And great conversationalists, too."

Ron finally looked up, eyebrows raised. Wait a minute… that sounded familiar.

"If prison life is so wonderful, why'd you even leave? Should've stayed in that paradise."

Andy chuckled. "I'm not like the rest of them. Most of those guys are real criminals. Some may regret what they did, but plenty of them wear their crimes like badges of honor—no shame, just pride."

Ron nodded, unsurprised. He'd dealt closely with prison systems during previous assignments. In those long, dull days behind bars, inmates often turned their rap sheets into bragging rights.

"Fine," Ron said with a sigh. "Here's what I need: someone like you—financially savvy, sharp with data analysis, someone who can help process intelligence and handle themselves in a fight. Not a desk-bound wimp like you, no offense. And hey, if that person happens to be a beautiful woman, I wouldn't complain."

Andy smirked. "Let me guess—ideally, she's a perfect blend of that blonde bombshell you've been flirting with and the dark-haired, big-busted vixen from last month? Long legs, full chest, flawless face—a deadly sexy goddess in heels, right? Boss, what do you think this is—a spy movie?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Get real."

Ron nodded furiously. Andy, exasperated, threw up his hands in surrender—he had long since accepted that his boss was an unrepentant womanizer.

"Think about it," Andy sighed. "A woman who checks all those boxes—brains, beauty, body, and combat skills? If she's not a runway model or Hollywood actress, she's probably some tycoon's pampered canary locked up in a mansion somewhere. No way she's working as a field agent.

And even if she did have a brilliant mind, you think she'd have the time or motivation to study finance and train for combat? Come on."

Ron was about to shrug it off, used to Andy's lectures, when suddenly a jolt ran through his body.

Wait a minute—who says such a woman doesn't exist?

He suddenly remembered—Fast & Furious 4! Gal Gadot's character—what was her name again? That woman was exactly what Andy had just described. Gorgeous, deadly, a skilled driver, and capable in a fight.

Too bad he couldn't remember her name…

"Well," Ron said, voice filled with daydreamy hope, "maybe one day we'll come across someone like that. A real elite agent."

Andy rolled his eyes so hard they almost got stuck. "Sure, boss. And maybe one day she'll fall madly in love with you and you'll ride off into the sunset together. Keep dreaming."

But Ron wasn't joking. In fact, deep down, he was certain that once the Fast & Furious 4 plotline came into motion, he'd do everything he could to win her over—Gal Gadot or not.

Later, after ordering takeout, Ron and Andy buried themselves in work until the early hours of the morning. Andy, whose age was finally catching up with him, tapped out and fell asleep right there in the wrecked office—still littered with debris from the plane crash.

Ron took a short break, then dragged his exhausted body home. As he stepped into his apartment complex, a familiar voice from the neighboring unit froze him in his tracks.

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

In the living room next door, in addition to the usual four (Leonard, Sheldon, Howard, Raj) and Penny, there was another familiar face.

Mary Cooper—Sheldon and Ron's mother.

After a warm hug, Ron playfully scolded her: "Why didn't you tell me you were coming to L.A.? I would've picked you up at the airport! We could've toured the city. I know Texas gets boring—you must've been dying to get out for a bit."

Mary gave him a fond smile. "Not really, Ron. Back when your father's team played away games, I traveled all over with him—including L.A. He always said, 'If I were coaching the Texans, I'd crush every sorry team in this city.'"

Ron laughed, then grew a bit more serious. "How's George doing? You've been watching his diet like I asked, right? You know what he's like—turn your back for a second and he's elbow-deep in fried food."

That—Ron knew—might have been the biggest change he'd brought to this world.

Unlike in the original timeline, George Cooper Sr. hadn't died young from a heart attack. Thanks to Ron's constant nagging, monitoring his meals, and dragging him out to exercise, the old man was still alive and kicking.

"Of course," Mary replied, her eyes still sparkling with pride. "Before I left, I made sure Missy's keeping an eye on him."

Then her gaze sharpened.

"But you, Ron. You have let me down. I told you when you moved to L.A.—watch over Sheldon. He's your brother. The one thing I've always wanted is to see the two of you looking after each other. And now look!"

Ron threw up his hands. "He is fine, isn't he? I called him right after the crash to make sure he was safe. God as my witness."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Mary said, fuming. "Did you even know Sheldon got fired from his university job?"