The Run Around

by Bernadette Franklin

  “I wonder what it says about us that we view a company just being decent as a good thing.”

  “You make a fair point. But they pay your wages on time, and they let you work for others as long as there’s no general conflict of interest.”

  “And since I’m not auditing the kind of businesses my company has any interest in, it’s no big deal.”

  “They like the stench of money.”

  “That they do.” I rolled my shoulders and grimaced at the various snaps, pops, and creaks. “I’d like to maintain that clause wherever I work next, but a lot of corporations don’t allow it. That’ll make the job hunt difficult. I can probably get an exemption for the folks I already do accounting for, but I’d have to make a list for them to ensure there’s no conflict of interest.”

  “You’ll be fine. You always land on your feet, and you always find that little loophole that lets you get away with just about anything. If you have any issues, give me a call. If you’re tired of big corporate, there’s a lot of smaller businesses who’d love to hire someone like you.”

  While true, I’d take a hard kick to my income, which was half-decent for my age and experience. It helped I’d added on as many certifications and extra schooling as I could get—it also helped I’d entered the workforce free of debt thanks to working myself to near death and having a little help from my birth parents, who’d left us enough to get our educations.

  My adoptive parents had worked hard to keep us free from debt, too.

  “I’ll figure something out. Also, my brother is an ass, and I’m going to teach him a lesson. Play along.”

  “How do you want me to play along?”

  “I want you to pretend I don’t exist.”

  “What on Earth has gotten into you?”

  “He hung up on me, and you know what you told me once upon a time after a bad day.”

  “I regret telling you to stop getting mad and start getting even,” Wolfgang muttered.

  “It’ll be fun. All you have to tell my brother if he calls you asking about me is that you don’t know anything about what’s going on, and since you hate lying, I’m not going to tell you what’s going on.”

  “I don’t hate lying, I just hate lying without a good reason. If Mat has gotten you that mad, I’ll tell him I don’t know what’s going on for you. It’s his own damned fault, anyway. He should’ve known better than to poke you with a stick, although I’d appreciate if you didn’t take advantage of this situation to use your name in a pun.”

  I pouted, as there were so many good choices of inappropriate puns for the situation. “That’s just not fair, Wolfgang.”

  “Save them and use them on your brother the next time you speak to him. It’ll drive him wild.”

  “No, Wolfgang. There’s no Hope for my brother.”

  “Damn it, you!”

  I laughed. “Thanks for the assist, Wolfgang. I’ll call you after I’ve made a better game plan.”

  “I look forward to it.” He hung up, and I smiled.

  Amy wasn’t the only one who could give my brother the run around, and Wolfgang wasn’t the only one looking forward to it.

  Five

  I enjoyed catching the cheaters.

  Some people liked to call Washington D.C. a swamp. As a general rule, I agreed with them. In a place where sketchy politics ruled, accountants could make or break most situations. The good ones ferreted out illegal dealings, the kind of transactions that brought the FBI knocking at a business’s door. Scattered across the United States were firms with one purpose: to check if a company could pass an IRS—or worse, an FBI—audit.

  From the instant I’d stepped into college until graduation, I’d made it my goal to be an auditing accountant, the type of person who could learn any secret from an account ledger.

  Had I known the reality of the life of an auditing accountant, I would’ve run the other way and done something a little easier, a little saner, and a lot less stressful.

  In good news, thanks to my inability to leave well enough alone, I’d acquired the appropriate licenses and certifications to work in Maryland, New York, Delaware, New Jersey, and Virginia, along with the prized ability to be hired by the worst Washington had to offer.

  They liked when their accountants understood the nuances of nearby states. The wise ones lived on solid ground, doing their best to forget Washington might flood out on them at any given point in time. The flash flooding had done a good job of reminding people Washington could go for a swim at nature’s leisure.

  I’d been one of the lucky ones; my apartment had dodged being a flood victim by a mere half a block.

  As I’d had my fill of floods and swamps populated with politicians, I needed to extend my search to one of the places I was licensed to work without having to pass a test.

  New York City made the most sense, would offer the best chance of moving up in the world, and would make it difficult for my brother to track me down. The hustle and bustle of the city would annoy me, as I preferred the green places Washington boasted. But I’d grown tired of fast food joints with bulletproof glass, the awareness I lived at the epicenter of politics in the United States, and the special brand of snobbery the politically inclined brought to the table.

  New York City had its fair share of snobbery, but it also possessed a certain charm Washington lacked.

  I headed home, got onto my laptop, and began my search. With my skills, licensing, and general certifications, I’d qualify for most accounting positions, although I avoided the managerial hellholes destined to test my patience and not my math skills. If I’d wanted to manage people doing the math, I would’ve gone in for a standard business degree and joined the ranks of know-it-all snoots out to take over the world.

  I liked the math.

  The numbers never lied, and if I poked at them enough, they could tell me an entire company’s story, including who had ethics, who cheated who, and if someone tried to skim funds to line their pockets.

  I enjoyed catching the cheaters.

  If I were a little more tolerant of politicians, corrupt government, and the game of making money, I would’ve applied for a job with the IRS. Alas, I would rather drink shots of rusty nails, broken glass, and battery acid. I supposed the IRS’s reputation had something to do with it.

  The tax code also contributed. When the documents could break a table when printed, it needed a major overhaul—and a lot fewer loopholes. I’d spent an entire year of my life learning about the loopholes, how to best use them for my clients, and why they existed. The why of it had taken me all of ten minutes to figure out.

  Greed corrupted the heart of the American economy, and it was my job to make sure everyone kept their fair share of their money—and find extra ways to keep the government from taking their hard-earned wealth.

  The IRS then went out of its way to find loopholes to get around the loopholes, resulting in an intricate dance with the rich and powerful. The real losers were people like Wolfgang, who worked hard for their money. With the game rigged against him and most Americans, only the lucky managed to claw their way up from the bottom.

  I tried my best to give them a chance to be lucky.

  Hell, I wanted to be lucky, too.

  Turnover happened in New York with alarming frequency, and a plethora of new jobs waited for my application. I spent an hour updating my resumé before I sorted the jobs by the ones I thought would pay the bills and have enough left over to enjoy life for a change. Before I could chicken out and resign myself to the same old same old, I hit submit on the first three.

  The first three mattered most; they convinced me I really wanted to bail town at the earliest opportunity.

  Having a midlife crisis in my late twenties sucked, but I figured I’d have a chance to have a better midlife crisis in my thirties. Then, I might be able to afford to splurge on a nice new car. I checked my savings account, narrowing my eyes at the number.

  Apparently, not having a student loan and paying into m
y savings account as though I had one had worked some miracles in my bank account. While I wouldn’t be splurging on a new fancy car, I could certainly go to the dealership, trade in my piece of shit, and leave the lot with something used but nice. Nice would be a requirement in New York.

  Money mattered, and driving a rust bucket would be a black mark against me.

  Fortunately for me, politicians churned through cars, resulting in a surplus of good used vehicles with minimal miles, proper rustproofing, and all the bells and whistles. With the three important resumés out the door, I could spare the extra hours to take my car to a dealership and get a new vehicle. It would eat up the afternoon, assuming one was open.

  The internet knew everything, and while some dealerships closed early on Sundays, I found a few open.

  A new car, a new job, and a new life. I liked it.

  Giggling, I grabbed my keys and purse. Conquering the world would take a lot of work, but I could do something for me for a change. I expected my choice to bite me in the ass, but I’d make do somehow.

  Despite everything, I always did.

  The used car dealership offered a range of vehicles from rusted antiques to barely used, and while my bank account wouldn’t appreciate it, I targeted somewhat sporty vehicles less than two years old with no accident reports. I cared less about the miles than I did about the general conditions of the vehicles, which did a good job of limiting my choices to a handful of possibilities. I gave a hard pass to the cars from brands with a history of being found on the roadside in need of repair, which left me with a choice of three.

  The soft-top convertible tempted me, but I’d freeze to death in the winter, so it left my list.

  The two-door would crank my insurance bill, which left me with a boring gray mid-range Mercedes with most of the bells and whistles. I liked its mileage, although I wondered why anyone would spend so much money on a vehicle only to drive it fifteen thousand miles.

  The dealership liked the mileage, too, along with the car’s general good condition and its perks.

  After an hour of arguing with the salesman and putting in some serious thought about heading to a different dealership, I got the vehicle for three grand more than I wanted to pay, which was six grand lower than they wanted me to pay. My credit, pristine since the day I’d reached adulthood, would let me walk off the lot with it for a decent monthly payment, but they’d get more interest out of me than I liked.

  I took the loan on one condition: the car would no longer be gray when I finished with it, and they would not penalize me in any fashion.

  Then I notified my insurance company my new car would be silver and accented with blue glitter.

  Keys in hand, I went to the nearest body shop that handled custom paint jobs. The owner, five minutes from leaving for the day, sighed when I entered. “How can I help you?”

  “Can you paint a car silver with blue glitter?”

  I expected he got a lot of odd requests, but the instant the word ‘glitter’ left my mouth, he stared at me as though I had lost my mind.

  “Blue glitter?”

  “I want my car to turn heads when I drive down the street. I also want it easy to spot in a parking lot. It’s also less tempting to steal a car that has to be repainted to hide.”

  “I have worked with glitter before. Let me check if I have any blue in stock.” He went into the back of his shop and left me alone to admire the photographs of far fancier cars than mine decorating the walls. Within five minutes, he returned. “I do have blue. I have pink, red, orange, and green as well. What kind of car?”

  I pointed outside. “It’s a Mercedes. If I pay for a rush job, think you can do the work in a hurry?”

  “I can, but it’ll take a few days.”

  “Got a loaner?”

  “I got a loaner if you can deal with a piece of shit.”

  I laughed. “I just traded in my piece of shit. As long as it is street legal and parts don’t fall off while I’m driving, I don’t care what condition the car is in.”

  “Just for that, I’m going to loan you the slightly nicer piece of shit. I’ll need to see your proof of insurance and license.”

  As I’d just dealt with the insurance issue at the dealership, I pulled the documents out of my purse and handed them over along with my license. “If you do the protective coats, I don’t care if it takes an extra day or two, and if you happen to also do rust proofing, if you could make certain my baby is extra protected, I’d be grateful and show my gratitude in the form of appropriate and immediate payment.”

  “I charge half up front for supplies and the rest upon delivery.”

  I took out my credit card, which needed to get some exercise anyway. “Do you have things like those luxury steering wheel wraps?”

  “Give me a budget of five hundred, and I can add some bling to your interior so it matches your exterior.”

  I would own a glittery masterpiece, and I’d never been so excited in my life. Was a midlife crisis supposed to be so fun? “I am also really sorry for keeping you late.”

  “When a polite young lady comes into the shop with a good job I can do and a budget, I’m always willing to play ball. Business has been light lately, so your timing couldn’t be more perfect for a rush job. I’ll even get started tonight so it’s ready as soon as possible.”

  “I hope you’re charging me a rush fee for that.”

  “It won’t be much. I appreciate a challenge, and figuring out how to make your car sparkle elegantly will be a good challenge. Your color combination is a good choice, though. The silver should work well with the blue. I only have one question for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Do you want a standard silver or a metallic silver?”

  “I’m not sure I understand the difference.”

  The shop owner reached behind the counter and pulled out paint samples. He set a silver square in front of me, the color I expected on a car in a lot. “This is standard silver.” Then he set another square down, which looked remarkably like molten silver but a lot shinier. “This is the metallic shade; it’s a little darker but has a lot better luster and turns heads. The glitter will make it look like there’s gemstones encrusted all over the vehicle.”

  “I don’t care what it costs, but I want that,” I replied, pointing at the metallic sample. I set my credit card on the counter and shoved it towards him. “Please. I’m not above begging.”

  He laughed and took my credit card to his register. He set a price list in front of me and explained the charges, adding them to his machine as he did so. Seven thousand dollars later, and I’d have a very sparkly car with some interior surprises. All in all, I viewed it as a most excellent start to my midlife crisis.

  Once I wasn’t so pissed at my idiot brother, I’d have to thank him. I needed a brand new me, one that wasn’t tied to my brother at the hip and involved him nosing about in my daily life anyway.

  He had a life to live, and so did I.

  It was up to me to make my new life a good one, and it began with putting me first for a change.

  As expected from my job hunt, the first two days brought in zero results, but I dedicated every free moment to casting a wide net over the entirety of New York City. I also began the tedious search for a new apartment. After paying Washington prices for rent, the cost of living in New York didn’t put me off as much as I thought it would, although I’d have to hope I landed one of the better jobs if I wanted to be able to have a decent living. I held some hope.

  Accounting work could pay off in the right place and the right time.

  To expand my options, I delved into the banking world, something I’d generally avoided due to the insane regulations and its cutthroat nature.

  The morning my Mercedes was scheduled to be finished, my new cell rang, and the display informed me someone called me from a New York number.

  I viewed the call as a good sign; the last time I’d hunted for a new job, the employers opted for email until they wan
ted me to show up in a hurry. I answered, “Hope Kensingvale speaking.”

  “Good morning, Miss Kensingvale. My name is Garret, and I’m calling on behalf of Cercson Investment Group. You submitted a resumé with us several days ago. We have an interview opening on Friday afternoon at two. Are you available?”

  “Please give me a moment to check my calendar,” I replied, knowing full well I had absolutely nothing scheduled at the time of the interview and would enjoy taking my new car on a long drive if it was ready and opportunity allowed. I headed to my desk and tapped at my laptop to offer the illusion of handling the task. “Yes, I’m available. Can you tell me more about the position, please?”

  “It’s an unusual one, but you have the skills and certifications we need. While we’re typically an investment firm, one of our offices does, from time to time, do accounting audits of businesses to help them better use their finances. We work with their accounting department to determine how they can improve their general operations. Honestly, we’re a poorly named business, as we’re not really in the business of investments. We’re in the business of making businesses work better, and we offer a full range of services for businesses wishing outside assistance. After a legal firm was charged for embezzlement of funds following the assault of an employee, many legal firms in our area have opted to have external audits of their accounting teams done. We’ve been hired by one such firm, but their operations are much larger than we anticipated, and I don’t feel our current staff is capable of handling the job without bringing in another auditing accountant. The position will require a lot of hours at first, as they want the job done in a timely fashion.”

  “How unusual.” I considered Garret’s explanation and wondered why so many firms would request auditing at the same time after one firm ran into trouble. “May I ask a question, sir?”

  “Of course, Miss Kensingvale.”

  “While it’s not unheard of for a company to do a test audit and bring in a third party to handle the work, especially if they think they may be running afoul of a new IRS rule, why would so many legal firms request outside auditing at the same time? Legal firms typically hire competent accountants and are very careful about IRS regulations.”