8. Wand Licensing Office

A disappointed Tina and Newt returned to the elevator.

Newt was quiet. He wasn't stupid; he just didn't understand the situation.

The elevator was eerily quiet, even the goblin operator refrained from speaking as he maneuvered the elevator to a specific floor.

When the metal elevator door opened again, they were greeted with the sight of a narrow, stuffy, windowless basement room.

The room felt like a cold, damp sewer, a stark contrast to the usual grandeur of the Magical Congress.

Anyone assigned here was likely on the verge of being fired. Combined with the Madam Chairman's earlier comments, it wasn't difficult to speculate that this former Auror lady was currently on probation.

Leading Newt, Tina walked past an automatic typewriter. Although no one was operating it, the typewriter continued to work on its own.

It spewed out documents that folded themselves into clever little mice covered in words. The mice then scurried along the pipes extending to various offices.

Some discarded documents transformed into mice and slid down the pipes, chewing into piles of paper scraps.

Tina's desk was in the far back, a little messy, and covered in dust. A wooden sign hung in front of it, reading "Wand Licensing Office."

The small cabinets were filled with wand applications, and there were several on the table.

Newt glanced sympathetically at Tina. Everything here seemed lifeless, reminiscent of the "House Elf Resettlement Office" where he had once stayed.

Tina pulled out the chair, dusted it off, and sat down. She discreetly looked at Newt. She felt incredibly embarrassed by what had just happened. Their eyes met, further fueling her annoyance.

"Ahem—" Tina cleared her throat, trying to sound serious and professional. "So, have you obtained a wand permit? All foreigners coming to New York must have one."

"I applied by post a few weeks ago."

"Scamander... were you still in Equatorial Guinea at the time?" Tina asked suspiciously.

"I had just completed a year of fieldwork," replied Newt. "I'm currently writing a book about these magical creatures."

Tina inquired, "Is it something like a 'Guide to Extinct Creatures'?"

"No," Newt responded without hesitation. "I intend for this book to help people understand why these animals should be protected instead of killed."

"Goldstein!" a voice interjected urgently. Tina instinctively cowered as if trying to hide from a wild beast.

"Where is she? Where is she?"

A middle-aged man with thinning hair approached, looking helplessly at Tina like an ostrich. "Goldstein!"

Tina knew she couldn't hide, so she reluctantly stuck her head out."Sir Abernathy," Abernathy asked, holding his forehead with a headache, "Did you go to the investigation team to meddle in other people's business again?"

Tina started to speak but stopped.

He continued, "Where on earth did you go?"

Tina replied vaguely, "What...?"

He looked at Newt and asked, "Where did she catch you?"

"I?"

Newt quickly glanced at Tina, who winked desperately. For a moment, Newt didn't understand what she meant, so he hesitated.

"Are you following 'Second Salem' again?" Abernathy noticed the exchange of glances between the two.

"Of course not, sir," Tina defended herself quickly, but her face looked pale and reluctant, making her sophistry unconvincing.

Da da da--

The sound of leather shoes colliding with the floor resonated crisply. Abernathy turned his head to look, stood up straight, cleared his throat, and said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Graves...sir."

Grindelwald walked gracefully with his hands in his pockets, exuding confidence and pride.

But this was not just Grindelwald. As a descendant of the Twelve Aurors, Percival Graves was a figure held in high regard by the Magic Congress, akin to a male god.

It's hard to say if it was this magnanimity that led to Grindelwald being chosen.

"Good afternoon, Abernathy."

Upon seeing her old leader, Tina appeared much calmer than before. However, her rushed words sounded a bit unusual as she said, "Mr. Graves, sir, this is Mr. Scamander from the UK. There is... a very crazy creature that somehow escaped and wreaked havoc inside the bank."

Grindelwald glanced at Newt and added, "Mr. Omer from the Wizarding Defense and Muggle Affairs Department reported that a robbery with serious consequences occurred at the Steen National Bank in New York this morning..."

"Robbery?! No, no, no, that's impossible, sir. It was just a Niffler. I've already dumped everything it stole into the vault..." Newt anxiously defended, but as he spoke, Newt suddenly paused, "No! No! I didn't empty much of it—"

"Gold, the gold products in vault No. 131 of the Steen National Bank of New York were swept away," Grindelwald interrupted, "The value is over three hundred and thirty thousand US dollars."

(PS: The U.S. gold price in 1926 was US$20.6 per ounce [31.1 grams], which is approximately US$0.66/gram. The highest price in 2019 was US$2,070/ounce.)

"Gold?! I don't see any gold..." Newt said blankly.

Grindelwald said calmly, "Don't be nervous. Let me see the little guy."

Was he concerned about how much the Muggles lost?

He didn't care; his purpose was simply to see Newt's box!

Tina let out a sigh of relief. Her old leader was still reliable.

But Newt's heart was pounding in his throat as he said, "That's just..."

No one paid attention to him, and Tina directly picked up the box from the ground and placed it on the table.

Once opened—

Six varieties of baked goods were neatly arranged in the box, emitting a delightful and appetizing fragrance.

...

...

...

!!!