Page 106 of Bourbon Bliss
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m in trouble with the IRS.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“The tax evasion kind.”
“Tax evasion,” I said, more to myself than to him.
“I don’t want you getting wrapped up in this,” he said. “Turns out Andrea was fudging the numbers. She was underreporting my income, so it looked like I owed less. But she was taking the full amounts out of my bank account and pocketing the difference. To the IRS, it looks like I was lying on my taxes to get out of paying. In reality, I think Andrea’s been stealing.”
White hot anger snaked out from my chest, filling my veins with fire. I clenched my hands into fists, digging my fingernails into my palms. “She what?”
“Yeah. And my dumb ass had no clue. I have to meet with my lawyer, and there’s going to be an audit. We’re trying to keep this out of the press, but a reporter called me this morning. My lawyer thinks someone at the IRS leaked the story. This is turning into a shitstorm. That’s why I have to go.”
“Indictment for tax evasion requires that the taxpayer knowingly and willfully committed errors over a period of time.”
“I’m well-aware of the definition at this point.”
“And the error amounts would need to be significant,” I said. “There has to be a way to track where Andrea was putting the money.”
“Yes, June, I know that. And we’re working on it.”
“How long have you known about this?”
“Does it matter? A while. Look, I’ll handle it. My life is in chaos right now and I need to get my shit together.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?”
That was what really bothered me. This was a problem I could have helped him through. I wasn’t a tax accountant, but I understood more than the average person.
“I didn’t want you to be involved,” he said. “This is serious shit, June.”
“I thought we were serious.”
“We are.” He turned to me and there was no mistaking the frustration in his voice. “I can’t fix this overnight. I have to get this squared away before I can move forward with you.”
I could feel the wall he’d erected between us as sure as if I was standing in front of actual brick. He’d kept this from me, didn’t want my help. And now he was leaving.
“I could have helped,” I said, although true as it was, the sentiment seemed useless now. “I have a better-than-average understanding of—”
“Damn it, June, I don’t need another accountant.”
I pinched my lips closed and stepped backward. “All right. I’ll let you handle it.”
“Good.”
I no longer wanted to sit and have dinner with him. I was confused, but more than that, I was angry. He didn’t need another accountant? Was that all I was good for?
“I’m sure you’re very busy packing. I’ll just leave the meal and let you get back to what you were doing.”
He didn’t argue, or try to get me to stay. So I left.
34
George
Iwasn’t used to being lonely and bored, but sitting in my house in Philly, I was both. For a decade, I’d had practices and workouts. Training sessions and PT appointments. Team meetings, game film, training camp. I’d had media appearances and charity events. Photo or commercial shoots for endorsements. I’d had plenty to keep me busy, even in the off-season.
