She'd done it over time, taking a few thousand each pay period to pay things she believed more important than taxes.
She's already been fired though I've endured the front page news calling my character into question because she did it on my watch and I'm desperate to make things right.
I'm also tired and hurt.
Twenty years earlier a lowly bookkeeper became my partner and in that time we'd built a spectacular company and she was one of the highest paid CFO's in the state.
If money was running short, she could have easily asked for help and it would have been given.
Instead she put everything at risk by not paying the federal Government taxes.
To this day I don't know if she fell in with the wrong crowd of advisers, funneled money through accounts she eventually got back or was simply in way over her head.
Mulling these thoughts over, one of the other's sits back speaking ruthlessly to the other.
"Do you have a copy of the Profit and Loss statement from ..." he demands in the most intimidating way ... like a Mobster on a shakedown right before he does bodily harm.
The President of a bank with greasy black hair, he's short with a Napoleonic complex and an Alabama accent ... a hateful man who's clawed himself to the top.
"I do," the other fearfully stammers in response.
A head full of white hair, he's the Chief Financial Officer because he was bored being retired ... "There's only so much golf you can play" and now he's doing his best to right someone else's wrong.
"Then get it now," the banker hisses.
Jumping up the old man knocks his coffee cup over, hurriedly pauses to clean the spill and pees the pants of his three peace suit a little.
"NOW," the banker orders.
The old man rushes from the room.
Staring from the end of the table, my chin resting in my hands, I ask, "Why'd you do that?"
Diabolically the little man laughs, "I'm good at it, aren't I?"
Grinning, he stares explaining, "I'm gifted with making people scared to do the right thing."
"Is that what you're doing?"
"You watch," he laughs, "he's too scared to not give me everything I want."
I don't like him ... and didn't like him from the moment we met several years earlier but now he's the Chairman of the Board of Directors and I'm President and Chief Executive Officer of the company.
He doesn't much care for me either.
For the moment though, we're stuck with each other, managing a mess that makes both of us look bad.
Now wishing he'd stayed retired the white hair man rushes back with stacks of papers ... the wet spot on his pants larger from where he tried to clean the piss ... and with a cracking voice says, "Here they are."
The meeting drones on but I go the French West Indies in my mind ... hot weather ... white sandy beaches ... crystal, clear aqua-blue water ... topless girls.
When it was all over ... the Banker won.
Banks normally do.
Mentally I was gone but the white hair man remained until he was no longer necessary and then he was gone too.
It's a funny way for thirty years of your life to come to an end.
For three decades I sacrificed most everything I had for what I believed ... if people would merely help others everything would be better ... God is love ... if we just love each other then the world becomes like God intends ... Love is all you need ... all you need is love.
Well, it's sad, but it's not true.
You need bankers too ... or at least people with money who'll help.
You need arms to fall into when people are mean as Hell, forever taking more than you're capable of giving.
You need those who reach out to you when you don't give a continental damn about reaching out to them.
You need people who'll talk with you ... not to you ... when you have nothing to say ... listen when you do ... and share drinks in silence when there are no words to be shared.
You need those who'll buy the drinks.
And you'll need those who'll order "Sweet Tea" when the last thing you need's another drink.
At the end of Jesus' life, he makes his way into Jerusalem and on the same day ... according to the ancient text ... does three things.
Rides in on a donkey like it's Mardi Gras hearing crowds sing, "Hosanna, Heysanna, sanna, sanna Hosanna."
Get's really mad at what passes for worship and throws over tables full of money, pulpits, offering plates and ... basically scares the Hell out of everybody so they flee an otherwise normal worship service ... which infuriates the Priests watching their profit margins shrink substantially.
Then, obviously because he can't get enough of a good thing, Jesus returns to the Temple for the third time in the same day, strolls around the courtyard, quite proud of himself according to the Greek in Mark's Gospel, and is confronted by the Priests and CFO's who are feeling the sting of lost money.
"By whose Authority did you do this?" they hiss like Bankers.
Cocky, Jesus answers, "I'll tell you what ... you answer this question first ... then I'll answer yours."
Not waiting for a response, he asks, "So when John the Baptist baptized me ... who gave him the authority ... Heaven or ... you guys? ... meaning organized religion.
Those guys have no response because if they say, "Heaven" it means you can be of God without organized ... and if they answer "He's one of us" ... then everybody might want to become "one of us" ... and get the perks of being special ... separate ... set apart ... holier than you ... better than you.
After giving them plenty of time, Jesus basically says, "Screw you! ... if you got nothing to say ... I've got nothing to say."
But the question remains.
Who gave John the Baptist the authority to baptize Jesus?
Let's be honest John was nuts.
He lived in the woods ... wore clothes made from dead animals ... ate locust and honey ... which I've never seen in a Grocery Store ... even Whole Foods ... told everybody they're nothing unless they turn their lives around.
People loved it.
John was crazy popular, in constant trouble because he criticized the Government then told everyone who cheered, they're no better than anyone who ever got elected.
But he was humble about it.
"I ain't nothing either," is how he put it. "Someone's coming along who's better than me."
The someone was Jesus ... a cousin John didn't know he had ... but recognized immediately ... baptized under protest ... and soon afterward was publicly executed by the Government with his head, literally, being served on a silver platter.
What a crazy question Jesus asked the powers that be!
Who gave this crazy man the authority to do the things he did.
The powers that be couldn't answer because if it wasn't them doing it ... the Presidents, CEO's, Bankers, Lawyers, Elected Officials, Priests, Popes and Meteorologists ... then it must be God but God doesn't run the world ... they do.
So where did John get his Authority?
The powers that be don't know ... and if they do ... they're keeping it suppressed.
If it's the people ... well ... they seem to have put all their trust in Presidents, CFO's, Bankers, Lawyers, Elected Officials, Priest, Popes and Meteorologists who have nothing to do with low life's like John.
So where did his Authority come from?
I know.
You do too, though you may not remember.
It came from John, telling himself to follow the things he believed in ... give it everything he's got ... damn the consequences.
You know what?
God blessed it.
Jesus sought John's blessing before he ever did anything.
It's the same for you and me.
When we bless ourselves with the Authority to be us ... damn the consequences ... God blesses that ... cause we're giving ourselves the power to be what God intended all along.
"Hey," I say to the white hair man in the Board room that day, "will you excuse us. We need the room for a moment."
He looks at me ... so grateful ... I'll never forget that look ... so long as I live ... and he leaves.
"What?" the Banker spits. "That was unnecessary. We aren't finished."
"We are," I say, standing and leaving him there.
Walking away I hear him ordering me to return. He's not finished with me.
I walk to my car, drive home, grab a six pack and hit the beach.
Several months later, I'm forced to resign.
I have no doubt when they cut off John the Baptist's head and placed it on the silver platter to hand to the Kind who'd ordered it, he grinned a little.
He's the one remembered.
Not them.
He's the one God used to introduce the Messiah.
Not them.
He was the one with the Authority ... not them.
I was too.
So are you.
