by Joe Nobody
After gazing at the family pictorial history for a bit, the couple turned back to the kitchen when something caught Wyatt’s eye. He planted his feet as he pointed out the laundry room door. Over the years, they had marked David’s physical development on the frame. Varied colors of inked notches with correlating dates indicated the progress of their son’s increasing height. The opposite frame documented Sage’s growth. “That’s the kind of thing that is priceless,” he said, “That’s what we’ll miss the most.”
Morgan waved him off, “I’m not so sure Wyatt. I pass through that doorway every day, and to be honest, I don’t think I’ve noticed it for years. If you hadn’t pointed it out, I probably wouldn’t have thought about it.”
Wyatt wasn’t so sure. He’d watched Morgan change since the trouble began. Now, more than ever, she seemed determined to protect him from her frustrations. There had been a variety of examples to confirm his hypothesis. Her monthly appointment at the hair salon had been replaced by a bottle of hair color purchased at the drug store, and Sage was her new stylist. The first few attempts hadn’t produced the desired effect, resulting in Morgan strolling out of the bathroom with slightly moist eyes and sporting a hat. Wyatt had expected a far worse reaction than what his wife presented. He often wondered if she hid the pain from him intentionally. Regular manicures and gym workouts were sacrificed as well.
Still, she had soldiered on, never complaining about the losses she was experiencing. Occasionally, Morgan would vent about the way things were impacting the children. When Sage graduated from high school, the celebration had been a much less elaborate affair than her brother’s only a few years before. Sage had never complained as far as Wyatt knew, but her mother claimed to know it bothered the girl. With promises like, “We’ll make it up to you one of these days, baby,” the hurt had slowly healed.
Promises of better days ahead seemed to keep everyone’s spirits buoyant at first. But then the days didn’t really get better; in fact, they got worse. The family’s positive attitude showed signs of weakening as they faced the holidays. By Thanksgiving, blessings seemed to be in short supply, and the collective outlook showed flu-like symptoms – tired and achy. By Christmas, the malaise had progressed to pneumonia, and by New Year’s Eve, hopefulness was on full-blown life support. Everyone had promised each other the next year would be better and different, but the optimism seemed shallow and forced.
Wyatt cleared his head of the past and refocused on the present. Morgan had left him pensively reflecting next to the height chart, while she returned to the kitchen for a refill. When he joined her, she fairly beamed at him as she announced, “I think there’s a silver lining in all this, and even if you don’t agree with me, please keep it to yourself. I want to believe…no, I have to believe that we will be better people if this money thing forces us to shed some of our materialistic ways. Now, even if you don’t think the same thing…Wyatt please, pretty please, let me believe that. It’s the only way I’m going to pull through this change without being bitter.”
Wyatt nodded his understanding. “I agree 100%. If we are going to do this, we have to look at it like a positive step forward. We’re doing it for a simpler life…we’re leading the way, not running or being chased.” Wyatt swept his arm around the house, “Who needs all this stuff anyway?” He paused for a moment and used his best salesman’s voice. “As far as I’m concerned, we are taking this step to purge all these petty material distractions from our relationship. We want to concentrate on our love for each other and experience more of nature and the great outdoors.”
Morgan burst into hysterics. She tried to contain herself, but couldn’t. Wyatt’s feigned hurt look didn’t help her efforts. After a few attempts, she finally managed to blurt out the words “Horse feathers,” and then it was Wyatt’s turn to lose it.
A good hearty laugh seemed to brighten both their moods. Morgan looked her husband in the eye and smiled. “Do you love me?”
Wyatt’s look was just as genuine. “I do. With all my heart, I do.”
Morgan enjoyed their connection for a moment before raising her cup in a toast. “Let’s do it then.” Wyatt touched his cup to hers with a loud clink, and then they kissed.
AP Press Release –New York, New York – U.S.A. 08:00 February 2, 2017
Today, Moody Investments Limited announced a downgrade on US government debt. Effective immediately, US issued treasury bonds will carry a B- rating, lowered from a previous grade B assessment. A quote from Moody’s senior manager cited the continued economic stagnation and the federal government’s inability to reduce the deficit as the justification for the change.
This is the third downgrade of the once bellwether bonds that has occurred in the last six years.
Analysts anticipated the move since the US debt topped $19 trillion last week, and efforts to reduce spending stalled in Congress.
Thurmond Howell, senior analyst at Bork, Sterns and Lewis, stated, “This move is going to make it even more expensive for the federal government to borrow money. The international financial markets are becoming more agitated over the staggering amount of US debt. Fiscal stimulus measures have failed, while entitlement programs have grown.”
The announcement is expected to result in further downward pressure on the Dow Industrial Average, which has already lost more than 300 points in the last three trading sessions.
In related news, the US Department of Commerce reported yesterday that core inflation rose to a level of 4.4% for the fourth quarter of 2016. This news was welcomed by European stock exchanges in late trading, as analysts there feared the Federal Reserve’s polices were artificially suppressing inflation.
Houston, Texas
February 2, 2017
Wyatt had been on the computer practically all day. He picked up the pad of paper resting next to the keyboard and leaned back, causing the chair to squeak. “I should’ve put that in the description,” he thought. Yesterday, after reaching their decision to live on the boat, Morgan spent her day off inventorying household items. The couple had categorized every nightstand, blender, and knickknack to be sold, given away, or stored. They had gone to bed, emotionally and physically exhausted.
After this morning’s coffee, Wyatt immediately began listing the items to be peddled on various online auction sites. Even though Saturday garage sales were a regular occurrence, he was surprised at the sheer number of items that still occupied their home. He also needed to make the rounds to the local charity drop-off, used furniture store, pawnshop, and Sage’s apartment to distribute boxes of items that were unmarketable on the World Wide Web.
Wyatt glanced at his watch and whistled. For the last ten hours, he had taken pictures, typed in descriptions, and set prices. Sites like eBay, Craigslist, and other internet based secondhand portals were all familiar territory now.
On one hand, Wyatt was impressed with how much cash they could potentially raise. Going from a nicely furnished, four-bedroom home, to the bare essentials required for onboard living was a massive undertaking. The couple agreed to store some things that neither could bear to part with, such as an antique hall table that had been in Morgan’s family for more than 100 years. The storage space would be paid using the proceeds from the sale of the other belongings. Hopefully there would be a significant amount of cash left over for living expenses on the water.
On the other hand, the process had been a depressing drain on them. To coldly walk through the house pointing at this, that or the other was emotional at times to say the least. Morgan, as usual, tried to keep things bright and cheery. She would point to a chair and say things like, “I never did think that went with the rest of this room, anyway.”
Wyatt knew it was all a facade. While neither of them were what he would consider materialistic people, no one could casually dismiss a houseful of possessions that represented a lifetime. The children’s bedrooms had been the worst of it. Wyatt felt like he was selling the foundation of his offspring’s security right out from und
erneath them. The secure, warm place they could always return to, no matter what, was no longer going to be there.
His wife surprised him by offering up some family treasures that he believed were “off limits.” At one point Morgan returned from her jewelry box with a handful of pricey-looking baubles. “These gaudy estate pieces once belonged to Aunt Barbara, and to tell the truth, I never did like her much. Can we sell them for the gold?”
Since the economy had been in the tank for years, Wyatt knew the value of secondhand items wasn’t what it used to be. For a few fleeting moments, he wondered if they could raise enough money to salvage the mortgage, but quickly dismissed the notion. Their comprehensive sale was a one-time event, and in a few months, they would be exactly back where they started, only with no couch to sit on or television to watch.
Morgan’s paycheck, any part-time work he could find, and the reduced cost of living should see them through. The proceeds from their going out of business sale would be the seeds of a new nest egg and emergency fund.
Wyatt was pushing away from the computer, fantasizing about a cold drink from the fridge, when his email dinged. He glanced at the screen and sighed. The small television in the spare bedroom had attracted someone’s attention in Oregon, and a bid was posted. “So it begins,” he said to no one. “So it begins.”
Alexandria, Virginia
February 2, 2017
The computer servers located in the Internal Revenue Service’s main data center didn’t detect the slight increase in the number of tax returns being filed early. They processed the thousands of normal taxpayer forms with the same speed and efficiency as the bogus submissions sourced from China.
As each digital return was processed, certain tests were made for data accuracy and completeness of the file. Social security numbers were verified against that agency’s primary database, and if there were no red flags, an electronic message was forwarded to the Federal Reserve to cut a check and mail it to the address indicated.
Each night, several summary reports were generated and disbursed to various managers, senior agents and others holding responsibility for the service’s daily operations. None of this analysis showed anything out of the ordinary or alarming. It was very common for those owed a refund to be the first to file and receive their checks. It was those who owed the government money that waited until the last minute.
Another trend that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the IRS involved the country’s economy as a whole. Years ago, government analysts recognized that as the economy worsened, taxpayers wanted or needed their refunds as soon as possible. February, in a healthy economic climate, was a sluggish month. During tough times, people e-filed their returns hours after collecting their W-2s - the net effect being the service’s workload increased earlier in the calendar year.
The digital gun aimed at the United States was armed with three different categories of ammunition. First, tens of thousands of returns from real, living Americans would be electronically filed. Their social security numbers were bona fide, as was their income. What was bogus was the amount of the refund claimed and the address where it was to be delivered. Wu’s software was designed to file these returns first because the IRS would only accept one tax return per social security number. Millions of puzzled Americans were going to get a letter back from the IRS when they tried to submit their legitimate tax returns.
The second bullet to be fired at the US was the dead file. Millions of Americans died every year, and while most estates would eventually submit the deceased’s final tax return, these filings tended to be very complex and rarely arrived at the IRS before April 15.
The final shot at the IRS computers was a series of amended returns. When MOSS received a refund for one of their bogus filings, a correction was immediately submitted. This double dipping of the fraudulent opening salvo resulted in even more US Treasury funds being mailed to addresses that were controlled by MOSS. This final wave was really not necessary, but the Chinese programmers enjoyed thinking about the bedlam they would cause in the American computer rooms.
The treasury began printing checks as requested by the IRS. There was no system in place that would recognize the high number of refunds being sent to post office boxes. Even less visible was the fact that many of the boxes were housed in businesses owned by immigrant entrepreneurs.
As the checks were delivered by the US Postal Service, the managers of the MOSS-funded enterprises, such as those opened by Zang in northern California, would gather and cash the checks. The monies were then deposited into the checking accounts managed by MOSS and almost immediately wired through a series of offshore accounts.
On the first day of the attack, a mere 10,000 returns were submitted. The average refund was $1,800, resulting in the United States Treasury being ripped off for a paltry $18 million. In reality, each false refund was actually a double whammy to the US government. An anticipated payment was converted into a liability, or money owed.
On the second day of the campaign, 90,000 false tax returns were submitted. The daily number kept growing until the tenth day, when over one million were transmitted. The relentless barrage of fraud continued to hammer the IRS’s system for weeks.
February 10, 2017
Cypress Garden Apartments, Houston Texas
Sage fussed around her small apartment, somewhat anxious to see her mother and somewhat annoyed at the intrusion. The rare visit by both of her parents was welcomed in some aspects. As she glanced around the living room, she tried to envision what a few more small pieces of furniture would do for the place. Her mom tried to describe over the phone what she was bringing from the house, but Sage honestly couldn’t picture some of it. No matter, she thought, this place is so desolate now, anything would help.
As she tidied up in anticipation of the parental visit, a small picture on the end table caught her attention. The picture captured an unscripted moment of family fun on the boat. She was spraying her father with a hose, and mom’s timing with the digital camera had been perfect.
Setting the photograph back in its place, Sage wondered what her dad’s mood would be. Constant conflict and turmoil had characterized their relationship for the last year or so. The interaction with her father was becoming more unpleasant every day, something or someone had to yield. Sage had opted for moving into her own apartment. Officially, her excuse had been a closer proximity to school; at least that was the polite justification for the change. In reality, she didn’t need to be closer to the college; she wanted to put distance between a house that simmered with stress and conflict, threatening her sanity.
A wave of self-pity welled up inside of her. It just didn’t seem fair that her life was so abruptly and wholly altered. The promise of an Ivy League school had been a mainstay of high school years filled more with exploring the nuances of organic chemistry than pep rallies. The household mantra had always been “If you make the grades, we’ll pay for the best schools.” Somewhere between receiving her acceptance letter from Wellesley and the second interview with MIT, that rug was wrenched from underneath her previously firmly planted feet. The beginning of his senior year, David had chosen a Dodge Ram dual cab truck, complete with lift kit and chilled leather seats. Sage bummed rides to campus when she could, but most often found herself sharing a bus seat with some lovelorn, coming of age junior high lad who fixated on her chest while she did her best to ignore him. The list of altered promises and disappointments stretched on and on. Memories of the ill-fitting, secondhand prom dress still caused her eyes to water.
David bailed for the army, and she couldn’t blame him for that. Isolated after David’s move, Sage found herself ill-equipped to manage the pressure of a crumbling family and a father who become more and more unpredictable as time passed.
She had always admired the way her dad easily managed the demands of a thriving business and bustling household. The last year before she moved out, he seemed to flounder. The strong embrace that had always grounded her in a sense of comfort an
d security began to weaken over time. As his hopelessness multiplied, her father withdrew and became hollow. Didn’t he realize this nasty situation affected more than just him? She wondered. It seemed like he just gave up right when she needed him the most.
Sage wandered to her bedroom and began folding blue jeans that had been sitting in a basket for three days. She knew her mom would notice and comment. Sage thought about how close she was with her mother, thankful of the relationship. Still, mom would fuss and bluster over Sage living out of the laundry basket. Is something wrong at school? Are you feeling okay? Thoughts of the interrogation made her smile, but still, she didn’t want to go through it today - especially not in front of her father.
As she folded a slightly worn dishcloth, Sage’s mind drifted back to the time immediately prior to her move. She would never admit it, but the suggestion of her leaving home had been a cry for reassurance. Dad seemed to be focused on switching off lights to save electricity, not about her future. The final straw came the day she left a package at the discount store while she was refilling a prescription for her mom. When she had discovered the missing purchase, she had asked for the keys to return and retrieve it. Her father had become sullen and upset over the wasted gasoline. His scolding still resonated in her ears. Her protests that it had been an accident just made the situation worse.
Carrying the folded towels to the kitchen, Sage replayed that day in her mind. It wasn’t his being upset over the gas that pushed her out. That episode had been just another example of his attitude. The message that day made it clear that he no longer cared about anything other than his own problems. The failure of the family business was important, and Sage understood that. Wasn’t her life important too? Did everything have to be about him and the business?
