The Legendary Genius of Tax Evasion

"Senior, why the long face?"

"Ah, that obvious, huh? I just got off the phone with Castle Rock's CFO. Derek."

"...I'm sorry, what? That Derek Bohm, in person?"

"Yep. We agreed to meet one-on-one this afternoon."

Sarah's eyes went wide as saucers.

"Alone? You can't! I've seen the look in that man's eyes, and it was absolutely—"

"Sarah, how long have you been on this job? A day or two?"

"Aigoo, what am I supposed to do when I'm worried!"

My words got cut off midway as Sarah stamped her feet, and the jolt rattled the cup hard enough to slosh a little coffee onto the saucer. Watching her, I had to smile.

"Sarah. There's something I need you to do for me."

"...Yes, sir. Go ahead, tell me what—"

"Contact the bankruptcy trustee and have them dig up last year's Castle Rock settlement-sheet template file from the estate records. Not a printout — I need the original template. Ideally live data we can pull up in real time."

"The template? You don't need the contents?"

Sarah wore a blank look for a moment, then let out an "Ah—."

"...You need the author information on it."

"Sharp as ever."

"I—I did graduate second in my class from the Graduate School of Taxation, you know! The competition that year was no joke—"

"Okay, okay. Save the bragging for later and go run your errand."

With a pout on her face, Sarah started clacking away at her keyboard. Meanwhile, I walked over to Team Leader Margo Chen's desk.

"Team Leader. I have a private meeting this afternoon with Derek, Castle Rock's CFO. Filing my advance report now."

Margo set her coffee cup down mid-sip.

"...A report? Not just a heads-up? And what kind of private meeting is this? It won't get dangerous, will it? I can sit in if you like."

"No. I'm the one who should go alone. They're coming without a representative, so we match their numbers — otherwise there'll be talk afterward."

"Then at least record the thing—"

"I gave notice of that on the call as well. They agreed to it."

Margo studied me for a moment, then took off her glasses. She didn't wipe them.

"Leo. I'll grant that you read the board well. But this one's different. Have you thought about why they'd suddenly want to come alone?"

"Broadly two options, I'd say. Sweet-talk me onto their side, or flip me over to it."

"...No, there's a third."

Margo lowered her voice.

"They're coming to manufacture leverage — something to sink their teeth into and drag you around by."

I didn't answer. I'd already factored that third possibility into my calculations, after all. For both our sakes, I could only hope it wouldn't come to that.

Seven o'clock in the evening. Seated at the window table of the coffee shop we'd agreed on, I could see Derek Bohm walking up through the glass.

"Investigator. Have you been waiting long?"

"Just got here myself. Please, sit."

Without preamble, I set the recorder down on the table and pressed the button. Derek Bohm glanced at it and gave a short laugh.

"Quite the impatient one, aren't you?"

"I'm simply going by procedure. My temperament itself is easygoing."

"...Haha. Of course it is."

He placed a modest coffee order and, while doing so, laid a document envelope on the table.

"Have a look at this first."

Two sheets came out of the envelope.

The first was a copy of a settlement agreement dated six years back — a memorandum of damages settlement concluded between the staffing agency and the bereaved family. I accepted it slowly and began to read.

...Where had I seen that amount before?

Only after reading the items twice did my eyes drop to the signature line. And there it was — in the handwriting of me at twenty-six.

...Oh. Right. This one's about me.

For an instant, something squeezed tight at the back of my throat. I put on a calm face and lifted my coffee for a sip, and while I focused on the feel of it sliding down my throat, I just barely got the tremble in my fingertips under control.

Found a six-year-old sheet of paper in a single day. Impressive. An organization that could pull records this fast — I could well imagine how easily it had been skating past IRS audits all these years.

"Director Bohm. Why are you showing me this?"

"Investigator."

Derek Bohm leaned forward.

"Between the cases you are currently handling and yourself, Investigator, there exists a clear conflict of interest."

"Six years ago — the Northeast Logistics warehouse site. The prime contractor on the site where your father suffered his accident is our company. And at this very moment, you have levied against two of that company's subcontractors back to back and are combing through the prime contractor's records."

He paused there briefly, then lowered his voice.

"For what happened back then, I offer an apology — belatedly — in the prime contractor's name. At the company level, or failing that, I will personally pay additional compensation for your injuries."

I snorted.

"Keep your money."

Even with the care home's $4,500 a month raking my account bare every month, I did not want this man's money. The moment I accepted, my father's death would have its price fixed — and I had no intention of pricing it at a few coins from these bastards.

What I intend to take instead is something else entirely.

Castle Rock. Their ruin. I meant to bring them down, thoroughly — from the subcontractors right up to the prime contractor, without sparing a single line of the ledgers. Seeing the looks ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on their faces the moment it all came crashing down would be satisfaction enough for me.

He slid the second sheet across. This time it was a personnel form for public employees.

"Returning to the matter at hand — here is what I wished to say. Under the employee standards of conduct, a person with a personal conflict of interest is barred from a given matter, is he not?"

...So it was this, after all.

I studied him for a moment. Smooth work, as I'd expected. This man hadn't come to threaten me. He'd come to have me pulled off the case — through procedure, by the book. I smirked to myself.

As if I wouldn't have prepared for at least this much.

"Director Bohm."

"Yes."

"I once reported my own father's name to the IRS. Do you understand what that means?"

Derek Bohm's fingers stopped moving.

"...What does that mean, exactly?"

"To be precise, in my very first week at headquarters I filed a pre-registration of grounds for recusal. Under the federal employee ethics regulations, Section 502 — the personal conflict-of-interest disclosure provision. The parties named were the Castle Rock Construction Group and every one of its affiliated ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠business partners. Because I wanted to handle the investigation into my father myself."

"Th-that's so, but? There's no way that would—"

"Of course, as you well know, it wasn't accepted. I didn't get the authorization."

"Whew. Naturally not."

"Well then — just a little while ago, the authorization came through. With remarkable timing."

I slid a photograph across to him — one I'd snapped with my phone some time ago. The document in the picture read:

"And just below that, in the approval box, sits a signature with a very recent date. Care to see who signed off on it?"

The color began draining from Derek Bohm's face.

"The Commissioner's office seal... You've had the Commissioner standing behind you all along?"

"Think whatever you like. Maybe I do. Maybe I don't."

I knew as well as anyone that it was a bluff. But so what? If it stung, he could go make himself a Commissioner-level backer of his own.

For a moment, silence sat itself down at the table. The hiss of the espresso machine letting off steam sounded unusually loud.

Too bad for you, Derek, isn't it?

To tell the truth, I had waited six years for this moment. From the instant I took on this case, I had known that sooner or later someone would come at me with this exact card. Which was why, ever since my field-office days, I had prepared my countermeasure down to the last bolt.

"Investigator."

Derek Bohm gave a low laugh. There wasn't an ounce of strength left in it.

"To be honest with you, I came here today planning to say this one thing and go home. On the way over, I was even thinking I'd already won."

"I'm sure you were."

"But looking at it now — I hadn't."

He raised his head and looked at me. The tension that had clung to his eyes drained away, and something else settled in its place: the eyes of a man hunting for an escape hatch.

I slid the recorder a little closer to the center of the table. It felt like exactly the right moment to take firm hold of the room.

"Director Bohm. Now it's my turn to talk."

"...Go ahead."

"That amended return ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you sent — the management stamp on it turns out to have been created two days before our meeting. Wasn't it?"

"...Was it, now?"

"Yes. Which leaves exactly two possibilities. One — you prepared that document yourself, in advance. Two — someone above you put a document they'd already prepared into your hands."

"..."

"My read is the latter."

"On what grounds?"

His eyelids twitched once. No — twice.

"Back in that conference room, when I asked you to open the workers' comp settlement box, you were genuinely flustered. Would the man who wrote the script himself have reacted like that?"

Derek Bohm leaned back into his chair, very, very slowly. A long while passed before he asked — wearing the expression of a man who had finally decided something.

"...Investigator. Section 6672 — the one assessed against individuals personally. Could that apply to me as well?"

There it is.

Judging by his face, the man had finished deciding how to conduct himself from here on out. In his eyes I could see the admission that he'd lost, and beneath it the arithmetic of how to shrink his own share of the blame. It was the exact same sequence Keller and Palmer had run — those two, who'd talked such a big game — so I was more than half certain of it.

"You asked about the personal assessment? Of course it applies."

I answered him briefly.

"The Trust Fund Recovery Penalty isn't assessed by job title — it's assessed by whether you held the authority. Anyone with the power to decide how the funds are disbursed and the power to approve the returns is on the hook, CFO or chairman alike."

Derek put on a stricken expression.

"...I am not the one who drew up that sheet."

Passing the buck first, as expected. I'd watched this play out any number of times in this line of work, and still the frustration boiling up inside me was hard to choke down.

"Then who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠did draw it up? This sheet."

"..."

"Director Bohm. Give me the name here and now, and I will use it as a statement of cooperation. Refuse, and tomorrow morning a notice of proposed assessment goes out addressed to you personally — with today's recording attached to it."

Derek Bohm dragged a hand down his face. Below the cuff of his shirt, I could see the pale band his watch had left on his wrist. Apparently at some point he'd taken it off. Every expensive-looking thing stripped away, dressed in nothing but a plain shirt... Even that was a calculation — a way of not provoking my dislike.

"You won't tell me, then?"

After a stretch of stillness, he opened his mouth.

"...Raymond Oh. The legendary mastermind of tax avoidance and tax evasion in this business. Have you heard of him?"

© Kim Okji#1v8mj