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 my 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