Balancing Books, Dodging Bullets

An Accountant that trades his boring life for something more rewarding.

Title: “Balancing the Books, Dodging the Bullets”

Greg Mildew was an accountant. Not the exciting kind, like the ones who laundered money in crime thrillers or had dark secrets. No, Greg was the kind of accountant who could make a spreadsheet cry from boredom. His most thrilling moment last fiscal quarter was discovering a duplicate invoice for toner cartridges.

He’d been passed over for promotion at Biddle & Harns Accounting every year since 2017, despite his punctuality, proficiency with Excel, and the fact that he had knitted the office a morale-boosting wall tapestry that read: “You Can Count On Us!”

Greg was currently standing on the curb outside the office, checking his phone. His Uber app said “Arriving: Blue Toyota Corolla.” One pulled up, so Greg opened the door and got in.

“Greg?” asked a deep, gravelly voice with an accent that had definitely been featured in at least three mob movies.

“That’s me,” Greg replied cheerily, clicking in his seatbelt. “Boring night, huh?”

There was a long silence.

“Uh,” said the driver, “You know this ain’t an Uber, right?”

Greg blinked. He looked over. The driver wore a pinstripe suit, dark sunglasses, and had a gold tooth. The back seat contained a briefcase, a baseball bat, and what Greg could only hope was a very realistic-looking water gun.

“…I did not know that.”

The driver chuckled. “Well, since you’re here, might as well go for a ride.”

Greg had nothing else to do until reruns of MasterChef Junior came on, so he shrugged. “Sure. I’m already in.”

“Name’s Vincenzo. Most people call me Vinny the Fish.”

“Why?”

“Long story. It involves a koi pond, a police raid, and a misunderstanding involving sushi-grade tuna. But listen, Greg, what do you do?”

“I’m an accountant,” Greg said glumly. “But not the cool kind. I reconcile petty cash and once I helped find a missing stapler receipt. I haven’t been promoted in eight years. My boss says I ‘lack a killer instinct.’”

Vinny turned, eyes wide behind his sunglasses. “Are you serious? An underappreciated accountant? That’s like finding a diamond in a dumpster. I’ve been looking for someone like you.”

Greg blinked. “You… you need someone to sort your taxes?”

Vinny leaned in. “I need someone who can make my cash flow look legal, my books look boring, and my income look like it came from a highly successful chain of yogurt shops.”

“You… want me to cook the books?”

“No, no. Just lightly sauté them,” Vinny said. “You’ll make double what you’re earning now. And no one at Biddle & Harns will ask you to organize the copy paper closet ever again.”

Greg considered this. It was illegal. It was dangerous. It was morally ambiguous at best. But also… double pay.

“Do I get dental?” he asked.

“Platinum. We have a guy.”

⸻

Greg’s first day working for Vinny the Fish started at 9:00 a.m. sharp in a warehouse office behind a seafood distribution center that definitely did not sell seafood.

“Welcome to Fishy Enterprises,” Vinny said, handing Greg a cup of coffee and a bulletproof vest. “Ignore the screams coming from the loading dock. Tony’s just dealing with a late delivery.”

Greg’s new job came with some adjustments. For example, he had to rename all the expense categories:
• “Bribes” became “Client Entertainment.”
• “Intimidation Expenses” became “Conflict Resolution.”
• “Explosive Devices” were listed under “Office Supplies.”

Greg found the work thrilling. Every day was a new puzzle, a new risk, and, for the first time in years, people appreciated his ability to color-code spreadsheets.

One afternoon, he was going over receipts with a man named Louie “No-Knees,” who, ironically, had very prominent knees.

“So this lobster dinner,” Greg said, highlighting a $3,000 charge, “was for… business development?”

Louie nodded. “We were convincing Sal not to testify. And he loves lobster.”

“Reasonable,” Greg said, typing “Client Retention Lunch.”

He began to thrive. Vinny even gave him a nickname: “Greg the Calculator.” It didn’t strike fear into enemies, but it did inspire awe during budget meetings.

But with great power came… unusual responsibilities.

Like the time Greg had to audit the gang’s crypto mining operation, which was actually a bunch of pigeons with USB sticks taped to them. Or when he had to explain to the IRS that the “gun-shaped paperweights” were legitimate promotional items.

The weirdest was probably the “Charity Gala for Orphaned Sharks,” which was really just a front for moving money between international shell companies. Greg gave a speech in front of a shark tank.

“We believe every financial plan should have teeth,” he’d said. Vinny had wept.

⸻

One day, Greg walked past a mirror in Vinny’s warehouse and stopped.

He was wearing a pinstripe suit, mirrored sunglasses, and a gold tie clip shaped like a pistol. He had a new watch, custom loafers, and a phone with face recognition.

He also had three burner phones, a safe full of cash, and an off-the-books passport under the name “Gary Mintleaf.”

Greg, the boring, stapler-finding, overlooked accountant, had become… cool.

But the honeymoon ended on a Tuesday.

He arrived at work to find Vinny pacing.

“The Feds are onto us,” Vinny said. “We got a mole.”

Greg gulped.

“They’re going to try to flip someone in the organization. Maybe even you.”

“Me?!” Greg squeaked. “I scream when I microwave fish in the office.”

Vinny narrowed his eyes. “You’d never betray me, right Greg? You’re family now. Like Olive Garden, but with more surveillance.”

Greg’s voice cracked. “Absolutely. Family. Loyalty. Breadsticks.”

Vinny smiled. “Good. Because if anyone talks, Louie ‘No-Knees’ makes sure they stay that way.”

Greg went home and made a pros-and-cons list about turning state’s witness. On one hand: immunity, witness protection, possibly a beachfront condo. On the other: dental, really nice suits, and the fact that he’d finally mattered to someone.

In the end, he didn’t flip. He instead helped Vinny launder money through NFTs of ferrets in business suits, and wrote a memoir titled Double Entry: My Life Between Ledgers and Legbreakers.

It became a surprise bestseller.

And Biddle & Harns? They eventually went bankrupt when someone accidentally filed their whole 401(k) as “miscellaneous.”

Greg smiled. For once, the numbers were finally working in his favor.

The End.