Fighting City Hall

Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, head in her hands, and reading a letter. She wasn’t freaking out, which I thought was odd – freaking out was a fairly typical reaction for her. But from her body language, and the body language of Grandma (who was reading the letter over her shoulder) I knew that the letter did not bear good news. I asked what was up. Mom got up…I could see she was shaking a little.

Mom: I’m calling the accountant.

Me: Mom…whats up?

Grandma gestured to the letter, and I picked it up. A quick scan told me everything I needed to know – we were being audited. I listened while Mom flipped the fuck out on the phone to Patrick (our accountant). I would credit her with being initially calm, but I don’t think she was – I honestly think she was shell shocked.

As I may have mentioned before, the finances were a complete disaster. Aside from somehow gaining the interest of federal tax agents, we rarely had any money to speak of. All the funds – mine, Tim’s and mom’s were co-mingled. No savings accounts, nothing set aside in a CD or a mutual fund. Everything in checking, everything together, and nothing tracked appropriately. Obviously, I didn’t have my own checking out – something Mom insisted that the bank refused to do for me since I was under age. I bought that for a while, but then I started to realize I knew plenty of people who had junior savings accounts. Didn’t matter, I suppose…I never pushed too hard, and the subject inevitably got dropped. On a slightly unrelated note, I didn’t get my own checking account till I was 18 and legally able to do so. I not only had to fight tooth and nail to get that accomplished, I had to do it behind Mom’s back because she refused to allow it. I was proud of that little checking account – proud when I put $25 in to open it, and proud of that little stab at independence. But that came later. For now, the routine was this: If I got a check in, I signed it over to her. If Tim got a check in, he signed it over to her, and it all went in the communal account. I didn’t know I was signing over money – nobody explained what was going on, Mom least of all – all I knew is “that’s the way it’s supposed to be done”. Looking back and knowing I could have refused to sign the checks over at any time, taken them to a new account and had my own money…well. It leaves me a bit dismayed. I could have managed my money better as a kid than my mother did as an adult. I probably would have kept more of it too. But I digress.

The accountant we had hired had been our family accountant for years – when Grandma worked at the courthouse, she met his mother on a bus. He took care of our finances ever since, and we were probably one of his bigger (and more complicated) clients. We made a lot of money in New York, so that meant a New York tax return in addition to the state we lived in. Plus, if I flew somewhere and did a commercial in ,say, CA…another tax return. Not counting Federal, of course.  Anyway. Mom spent the next few weeks flipping out.

Mom: Someone tipped them off! Someone sent the IRS after us!

Me: Who?

Mom: I don’t know. Maybe someone who wants to keep us from Russ! Or maybe Bob.

Me: Would Dad really call the IRS? Why?

Mom: I don’t know.
There were several meetings – we met with Patrick and the IRS agents in his office. They asked lots of questions, most of which Patrick answered. They seemed actually pretty nice, considering. You don’t imagine IRS agents to be nice…maybe sort of like Agent Smith from the Matrix. But these guys struck me as just people doing their job. Anyway, as they were wrapping up, they sort of looked at each other – the agents, I mean – and I could tell there was something in that look.

Agent: We’re just about wrapped up. We just have a couple questions for you…

I had a feeling I knew what was coming – Mom had coached me extensively. She didn’t seem to be worried about anything else, just this one specific thing.

Mom: If they ask you if you signed those checks, you tell them yes.

Me: But I did sign them. So, just tell them the truth. Right?

Mom looked a little uncomfortable.

Mom: Don’t give them a big speech. Don’t say anything. Just tell them that you signed them if they ask you. That’s all. Do you understand?

I told her I did.

Mom: If you say something wrong…if you tell them anything but that you signed the checks, I will get taken away and sent to jail. Then you’ll have to live with your Father.

This was her Ace card, and she knew it – still, she dropped it way too often. Despite that, it still had a dizzying effect on me. I certainly didn’t want my mother in prison. Besides, I had actually signed the checks…I was telling the truth.  It was all just the way things were supposed to be done. Right?

Anyway. The moment of truth.

Agent: Dan…did you sign this?

He handed me a copy from the back of a check. It was stamped from the bank – my signature, Mom’s signature, and our account numbers.

Me: Yeah. That’s my signature.

He seemed perplexed. It almost seemed like he thought he hadn’t heard me right.

Agent: You signed this?

Me: Yes.

Again, the agents exchanged a glance. And all at once…the meeting was over. They were packing up their briefcases. They said they’d call.

Some time later, they did – turns out we took off more deductions than were allowed, or something like that – and they hosed us to the tune of about $6k. Based on what I was making – which was in the hundreds of thousands – this was a pittance. Still. Mom called the agent at his office and visited her wrath upon him. I only heard her side of the conversation, but based on that alone I can’t imagine the agent said much.

Mom: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!? I’LL TELL YOU WHAT THIS IS – IT’S EXTORTION! EXTORTION FROM THE GOVERNMENT. WHAT YOU PEOPLE ARE DOING IS ILLEGAL!

I could have pointed out that, technically, anything the government does isn’t illegal – since they make the laws – but the point would have been lost on her. Regardless, I don’t even think she took one breath during that phone call. Her propensity for epic fits is truly astounding.

Mom: HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO EAT? HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO LIVE?

Eventually, he managed to calm her down. I can’t imagine her explosion helped the situation at all. Most people in that position understand that you can’t fight City Hall. I think she knew that too, but she wanted to make damn sure they came away with the imprint of her hand on their face (verbally speaking, at least).

As in all times of trouble, we turned to Uncle Richard. He was furious, but he didn’t think Mom’s screaming fit was a great idea either.

Uncle Richard: They’re bullying you. You know what you do with bullies?

Mom sat forward.

Mom: Bully them back?

Uncle Richard shook his head.

Uncle Richard: Tell everyone what they’ve done. Tell them everything.

He turned to me.

Uncle Richard: Write a book, Danny. I bet they leave you alone if you bring their actions to light.

I liked the idea, though I thought the subject matter was a little dry.

Mom: He can’t write a book about that. He doesn’t understand what’s going on.

Uncle Richard: He can read, can’t he? Just have him look over the files.

Mom shifted in her chair.

Mom: I don’t think anyone would want to read it…

Uncle Richard: It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even matter if it gets published. The threat is there. If the public sees the IRS beating up on a kid, it’s all over. And they know that.

I went home that night, and fired up my computer – a trusty Compudyne 486. As in 66 mHz. As in 3 1/4″ floppy drive. As in, for the early 90’s…it rocked pretty hard. I spent a couple hours on the word processor – I started with the title page, of course: THE IRS vs A 12 YEAR OLD KID. I had what I felt were good few pages, and showed them to Mom. She hated them.

Mom: It’s…not very good.

Me: I kinda liked it.

Mom: You’ve written better. You should probably stick to music. This book isn’t going to go anywhere.

And then and there, it fizzled out. I hate to say it, but I craved her approval (still do…probably always will). Uncle Richard asked about my progress on the book, and I halfheartedly told him I was working on it. It eventually got dropped. And why was Mom so intent on me not writing the book? I didn’t understand at the time, but I think I do now. I’d have had to research, which meant I would have had to go through the files and finances and figure out exactly what was going on in order to make my case. If I researched, I might find…other things. I might realize that the money was flowing like wine at a medieval feast. It might dawn on me that the funds should not only be handled differently, but actually kept track of and no longer be pooled in a common account. Which might end Mom’s free and easy access to big wads of cash. In short, I might get ideas. Me having ideas was the opposite of what Mom wanted, I think.

I’ve had years to think about this, and I’ve come to some conclusions. I don’t think the IRS was concerned with what my deductions were – I think they were concerned with whether or not my mother was committing fraud with my money. I think someone – I still don’t know who – tipped them off to the idea that embezzlement might be occurring, and lots of it. Based on the reactions of the agents, I think that was the main concern. As for the other stuff – the deductions and whatever – well, they had to find something, didn’t they? They had to justify their efforts. I get that. But what they didn’t count on, and what whoever tipped them off didn’t count on, was the depth and breadth of my naivete and how immersed I was in my mother’s world. Still, whoever was behind this was probably ultimately trying to do a good thing – they just didn’t understand the circumstances. I would have had to have known what was going on with my money (a virtual impossibility, since I was both underage and kept in the dark), and I would have had to lie and say I didn’t sign the checks. Even if both factors were in play, there was no way in hell I was going to send my mother to prison. Or be forced to live with my Dad. Still, the fact that someone knew what was going on (or thought they did) and cared enough to call both puzzles and comforts me. Who they were will probably remain another one of my life’s mysteries.