On Forensic Accounting & Choral Singing
a serious study
Leafy wasn't pleased. At all.
“I’m not pleased,” he said, redundantly, “At all.”
Balanced Ledger made a face. This caused her thick horn-rimmed glasses to slip forward and down her muzzle, and she had to scramble and hold them in place with a hoof, somewhat ruining the effect.
“None of us are, Mr. Salad. If we don’t handle this appropriately the result will be disastrous for the Equestrian economy. The president of one of our oldest banks has been dabbling in insider trading and embezzlement, and doing so poorly, at that,” she said.
“I don’t mean that. I’m not pleased we haven’t arrested him already. Normally when this happens Dotty and Sky Scribe go and make, like, a mountain of skulls in lower Manehatten to put the fear of Celestia in anyone else thinking about funny business.”
“I don’t think Her Majesty is who they are afraid of,” said Balanced Ledger, with a sly smile. It was a well known fact that the mere prospect of being audited by Sky Scribe was enough to cause bankers to leap out of their office windows in stark terror[1]. Somewhat less known is that Dotted Line had to move Sky Scribe’s office from Manehatten because every time he strolled down to get a sandwich for lunch he’d pass by the stock exchange and cause the market index to drop twenty points.
[1] Pegasus pony bankers, admittedly, but still, the thought was there.
“Well, yes, point is by this time in most cases we’ve arrested all the executives and anyone standing next to them just for good measure.”
“Ah, but those were clever crooks. Well, clever by the limited intellectual standards of financial criminals, at any rate. Their investments worked out. Gilded Guilder, on the other hoof, lost all the money he siphoned off his bank. As a result a major Equestrian bank—one of the big five!—has about the same capitalization as a lemonade stand. It’s running on good will, credit, and nopony realizing what had happened yet. When they do, there’s going to be a run, ponies are going to figure out the bank is a hollow shell, the bit will fall like a brick, and before you know it, the Equestrian economy is a smoking crater. Canterlot Mercantile Bank is important.”
“This just sounds like more reason to arrest him now before he flees,” said Leafy, peevishly.
“He agreed to cooperate fully in exchange for us holding off for a week.”
“That just gives him time to make good his escape!”
“Probably.”
“But—”
“We need that week. If we act fast and spend a terrifying amount of bits we can issue short term bonds, then acquire insurance by arranging for a rate swap with a major Qillin bank, say, then buy a put, right, on bonds nominally in Zebrican Dr—”
“Right. Right. Magic. Dark wizardry. Hold the eye of newt,” said Leafy massaging the bridge of his nose.
“You can’t—and this comes straight from the Secretary—arrest him for embezzlement, fraud, any financial crime at all until a full week has elapsed.”
“Yeah? You can tell Dotty that—”
“—he wants your word on this, Mr. Salad. He insisted.”
Leafy sighed.
“…fine. I give my word. I won’t be arresting him for embezzlement, anything financial at all, until a full week has passed. I promise. Does he want that signed in blood?”
“He said he’d get back to you on that.”
Leafy walked down the palace corridor, nearly trembling with fury. He couldn't be mad at Dotted—poor fuzzy bastard's only doing his job—but he could be mad at Gilded Guilder—greed of a dragon, brains of a small buttered turnip. And since he was going to be mad, he was going to be productively mad. It was time to get creative with the law.
For all that he was seething on the inside, he appeared calm, walking with practiced precision, one hoof in front of the other, with small delicate steps. Only his wings—fluffing and re-fluffing—betrayed how unsettled he was. By the time he got to his office, his wings looked as if he had just flown through a hurricane and then stopped and gone back in a few times more just for the heck of it. He stormed past his secretary with a mumble that could be, with a certain generosity of spirit, interpreted as a greeting and flung himself in his chair. He leaned back and shut his eyes, thinking.
Can't arrest him for what he did. Can't arrest him for what he didn't do—well no, I can, but I can't make it stick. So what do I... Cooperation, eh? Full cooperation? Well. There was a thing. What if we—
—he was roused from his plotting by a quiet cough. He opened one eye a hair, and saw his principal private secretary holding a tray with a sandwich on it. This merited the attention of both eyes. He leaned forward intent on the sandwich.
"Oh, Celestia, sweet and full of grace, you are a life-saver, Quillstroke."
"This is widely known, yes."
Leafy grinned.
"You do realize you don't have to make me lunch, right? Your job description is light on cookery."
"I thought it prudent to do so, sir. I saw that your mood was... stormy, and decided it would be best for the both of us if it were less so. Hence sandwich. If you were a volcano I'd be looking for a suitable virgin sacrifice to toss into the caldera. Luckily, you are easier to mollify. Pay attention to the almond-stuffed olives and the bell-pepper relish. They are exquisite."
Leafy bit down. They were.
"Still," he said, his mouth full, "still, you are making me feel guilty. For starters I definitely owe you lunch."
"Guilty, you say? Good. May I ask that you remember that guilt when time comes to determine the magnificence of the lunch you owe me?"
Leafy chuckled, and attacked the rest of the sandwich with gusto.
Warm and comfortable in a post-prandial glow, Leafy settled back to do some serious plotting. After about half an hour, he had all he needed. He heaved himself out of his chair, and sauntered out of his office.
"Off somewhere?" asked Quillstroke.
"Yup. To be the victim of a terrible crime. Don't wait up for me."
Gilded Guilder was going through his papers, making sure that the payment for passage to Zebrica was untraceable when the door exploded, flying off its hinges. Half a dozen Royal Guardsponies rushed in, armed and armored as if they were here to evict a somnolent dragon, and formed a perimeter around him. Behind them, quite slowly, came Leafy with the air of someone taking an evening constitutional in a park. He squeezed past the vast armored bulks of Corporal Swift Wing and Sergeant Hyacinth with a polite "Sorry" and a half-bow, and walked up to Gilded's desk. He leaned on it, then, hooves on the paperwork, and gave the banker his very finest grin, the sort light reflects off of with a faint metallic 'ting!' noise.
"What's the meaning of this?" Gilded asked, trying to mask how terrified he was. "Your pony, Dotted, said that it will be a week before--"
"Oh, no no no! Hah! No! Before you are arrested? Heavens forefend! We aren't here to arrest you—isn't that right, Sergeant," said Leafy, all smiles.
"Nossir," said Hyacinth. Her expression wasn't all smiles. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was the sort of expression they presumably taught you during guard training, the one that said “Don’t run. You’ll only die tired.”
"Then why are you here," asked Guilder, suspicious.
"Well, you promised full cooperation, yes?"
"Yes. But—"
"Well, we are here to be cooperated with. To be cooperatees. Cooperands? Anyway. I'm going to go through your papers, you see."
"Sky Scribe already went through—"
"—and now I'm going to do so again. You know. Second opinion."
"And the guardsponies?"
"Oh, they are just my bodyguards. Can't be too careful, you understand."
"So you want me to—"
"—give me your ledgers and stay put while we go through them."
"Then you'll leave?"
"'Course."
"Fine. Here you go. Please be quick. I still have a bank to run."
"Oh, of course. And you've done such a cracker-jack job of that."
Gilded supressed a growl, and hoofed a pile of ledgers over. Leafy grabbed them, and opened the first one. He ran his eyes over the page thick with numbers and yawned. He flipped a page and yawned again, extravagantly, spreading his wings to their full extent, before snapping them back.
"Celestia! This is boring work, isn't it, Gilded? It’s so easy to lose your place and all. Well. How 'bout a cheery sing-song to keep our spirits up? Lads, Sergeant? How 'bout it?"
"I don't—"
Before Gilded could get more than a few words of protest out, Leafy leapt up into the air, powerful wings causing instant chaos in the paper-strewn office. Gilded could only watch, helpless, as his precious ticket—to Zebrica and hence to freedom—got blown out of the window. He looked after it, despair beginning to settle onto him, and just as he was considering going after it—damn not being able to fly—Leafy began to sing.
"One thousand bottles of beer on the wall! One thousand bottles of beer! You take one down, pass it around..."
The guardsponies dutifully chorused after him, faces carefully blank, and eyes focused on nothing in particular.
Several hours, and nine hundred and fifty six bottles of beer later, Gilded started to seriously consider chewing his own hoof off to escape. He wasn't entirely sure how that would help, but that's the sort of thing you did to escape when desperate. And, heavens, was he desperate.
The singing was bad enough—more than bad enough—but this Salad fellow was the clumsiest pony alive. He managed to crash into the little cabinet of spirits for important guests and get liquor absolutely everywhere. The office smelled like a distillery exploded inside a dive bar. The carpet was probably a write-off, too. Then, then he had accidentally set fire to one of the ledgers and in the mad scramble to put it out—still singing—had accidentally triggered the little switch on Gilded's desk that opened up the compartment with the special ledgers. The ones with the routing numbers he meant to take to Zebrica. Of course the idiot didn't notice anything, but the ledgers were right there. And then the lunatic pony climbed onto his desk to belt out the four hundred and fifty first bottle of beer—apparently that was the best one—he slipped and swept all the secret ledgers into Gilded's lap. That meant he couldn't even move. If he even tried, not even the idiot pegasus would miss a small mountain of paper sliding to the floor. So Gilded sat rooted to the spot, praying Salad would run out of beer bottles soon.
"Forty-four bottles of beer on the wall, forty-four bottles of beeeeeer, you take one down—I must say you've been a terribly good sport about this Mr. Guilder, very cooperative—pass it aroooooooound—"
"Yes—well—anything to help out..."
"Forty three bottle of beer on the waaaaall—of course, now we'll have to go through your mail, too, and, yes, also your tax returns. Thoroughness is very important, after all."
"But—I—tax returns?"
"For the past ten years."
"That's preposterous!"
"You know, I think you are right."
"I am?"
"Yes. No idea what came over me."
"Yes, well, good, I—"
"Twenty years. At least."
"But—"
"And we'll need a comprehensive list of everypony you've employed, of course, and depositions from all of them and—oh, damn and blast," said Leafy. For the first time he looked genuinely upset and distraught and his smile slipped off.
"What now?"
"D'you know, I've completely lost count. Which bottle were we at again?"
"What?"
"Stumped too, eh? How about you officers?"
"Nossir," said Hyacinth.
"Really?"
"Nossir. No idea whatsoever. We were just following your lead."
“Astonishing,” said Leafy, who was astonished.
“No head for numbers. If we had one, sir, we wouldn’t be in the guard,” said Hyacinth solicitously.
"Ah well. I guess we'll have to start again. One thousand bottles of beer on the wall, one thous—"
And it was then that Gilded punched him. Hard. It seemed like the thing to do. A second latter the world became a blur of pain, and when he came to he was being held down, expertly, by six musically inclined guardsponies. One would have been enough. Three, overkill. Six now, was just a farce. He was as thoroughly arrested as anypony in history. Leafy rubbed his jaw, but kept his grin. He ran a hoof across his mane, smoothing a few hairs back into place. Satisfied that, whatever the state of his jaw, at least his coiffure was intact, he spoke.
"Ow. Why didn't you say you weren't a music lover, Guilder? Oh dear, oh dear. Assault on a public official in pursuit of official duties? That’s a very serious crime. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. And I thought we were friends, too!"
"But I—"
"—but nothing. As I said, very serious crime. It’s a class four felony, in fact. I’m a lawyer by trade, and trust me, it is dire. It has to be prosecuted, a case of compelling state interest without the possibility of nolle prosequi. But don't worry! I'll put in a good word for you at your bail hearing about, um... about a week from now, actually. Heh. Funny how that works."
"But you—"
"Oh and look! You found us some more ledgers," Salad exclaimed, quite cheerful, "you really are being very helpful. Tell you what, I'll have a word with the judge myself. To make sure things go well for you. It’s the least I can do."
"You—you—"
"Aw, shucks, you don't have to say anything. You are welcome. Now, take him away, please. The law is the law, after all. See you in a week, Gilded me old china."
The highly befuddled Gilded was taken out by most of the guardsponies, and Leafy calmly gathered all the new ledgers and made a mental note to thank Gilder's maid for the incredibly helpful information. Astounding what you find when dusting, apparently.
He loaded the ledgers into his saddlebags, signed a clipboard for Sergeant Hyacinth who was grinning openly now, in defiance of all ancient guardspony traditions, and sauntered out of the office, pausing to check again that his mane was still in perfect order.
It was.
The headline read “TIRED AND EMOTIONAL BANKING MAGNATE ASSAULTS PUBLIC OFFICIAL DURING ROUTINE AUDIT.” Just below it, in slightly smaller type was “PERMANENT SECRETARY SALAD SAYS NO HARD FEELINGS.” Spinning Top was very good at her job, after all.
“But I thought we—I—no, we agreed not to arrest Mr. Guilder,” said Luna. She was holding the newspaper down with both hooves, as if trying to keep it from escaping, and regarded it with very nearly cross-eyed intensity as she tried to decipher it. Modern times hadn’t been that hard to adapt to, but the Equestrian press was hell on someone not used to it.
“Oh, yes. Dotted Line gave explicit instructions to Mr. Salad not to finagle any way of arresting Guilder,” Celestia said.
“Then he disobeyed…?”
“Dotted Line said financial crime. This is not financial.”
“It seems careless of Mr. Line.”
“That he gave imprecisely worded instructions to a pony who, when he was practicing law, was widely known as ‘Loophole Leafy?’ Oh, yes. Quite unlike him.”
Lawyers are awesome when they help out.
Vree hee hee. :3
Ah, cockney rhyming slang! Wasn't expecting that.
Also, "tired and emotional." These are probably the first MLP stories that I've needed to use my anglophilia to sufficiently understand.
First section break, and hold on--- no, this is not the same arrest and chaos from Whom the Princesses. But that does provide some possible clues to Leafy's reaction...
It wasn't until "several hours later" that I was quite sure of Gilded's species. I mean, I didn't think he was a dragon, but that's the kind of thing I can just about see you doing...
That last scene. Just, that last scene. Imprecisely worded instructions to a lawyer he knows, and knows well? No, I'm convinced Dotted knew exactly what he was doing.
I lost it at the phrase “Don’t run. You’ll only die tired.”
I use that line a lot around the gaming table.
Great as always.
Blood for the blood bureaucrat, skulls for the skull filing cabinet, eh?
Ahh, what a beautiful use of an "accidental" loophole.
Somehow, I think Dotted Line knew exactly what he was saying to Leafy and got a result that pleased them both.
Do I see an adjusted version of "A Conflict of Interests" from Yes Prime Minister before me? I would expect nothing less. Utterly Smexy.
A couple minor notes. You've got a misspelling of sergeant and prosecute, unless British English is even more unlike real English than I think it is. Also, the omission of Leafy's full name in the first scene with Gilded feels weird, since it comes from Gilded's perspective and we have no reason to believe he's intimately acquainted with Leafy.
That said, I think I'd seen most of this before and enjoyed it pretty much just as much the second go-around. I'm still a very large fan of Sky Scribe and his memetic badassery. The bit with Luna and Celestia at the end I don't remember, but I thought it made for a nice capstone. Unfortunately, I feel at a bit of a loss for things to say about what I enjoyed. This was lots of fun, as your stuff always is, and as usual it was probably your Pratchettisms that most entertained. I love when you digress into little bits of amusing world detail and comic description. It's a style that's very well suited to Pony, and it's just a joy to read.
My only major negative comment here would be that I really don't see much point to the Quillstroke scene, unless it's just there to introduce a new character you plan to use elsewhere. And even then, I'd have to say I don't feel like it plays especially well. Quillstroke's voice feels too similar to your narrative voice as a writer on the bureaucracy stories, and that makes him feel really strange to me as a character. Everyone else you write has a very distinctive voice that helps give them more characterization, but Quillstroke comes off as the true epitome of a faceless bureaucrat.
Anyway, that was just a tiny bit in the middle of an otherwise wonderful little story. Thanks, as always!
No, but you will owe him for the tea he will need to stem the resulting headache.
Fun story. Of course, the president of a bank being arrested for ANY felony, financial or not, usually causes investors to flee the bank, which in this case would probably cause the financial collapse Dotted Line was trying to prevent. I hope Mr. Salad put his money into foreign currency before he made that arrest.
From the first time it was mentioned that Dotted had "very explicit" orders it was clear where the story was going, but well done all the same. Gilded really was incredibly stupid, wasn't he, thinking Leafy was actually a bufoon. If he knew it was a trap but still eventually gave in to his punchy desires that'd be different, but he is just- well. "Brains of a small buttered turnip" (haha!) indeed.
Unless Sargent is an old spelling of the word, I think that's an error. I think. Maybe?
You're this close to making me rewatch Yes, Minister. Don't push it.
I thought the mountain of skulls was purely metaphorical.
I ed when I realized that comment thread had spawned a full blown story-thing! Also when I saw you got this out before the 1st! I have to say, I ended up feeling pretty bad for Guilder, despite his guilt. Equestria sure is run by a very efficient bunch of public servants. I knew right where this was going as soon as Balanced Ledger said "any financial crime".
You named him Sky Scribe?
Well, when he audits, I'm sure he (above all others) knows there's more than one way to skin a horse.
Sometimes, a skilled civil servant has to issue an order without actually issuing that order, for legal reasons. Leafy has been working with Dotted long enough to know this not-issued but issued nonetheless orders when he hears them.
I figure that Gilded will be breaking rocks somewhere on the borders of Griffonstan for about the next twenty years. More, if those funds that he embezzled wasn't lost but made it into those foreign numbered security boxes.
4164046
Real English? ... you mean, the English they speak in England?
Glorious. Utterly glorious.
Wasn't the issue that the instructions were precisely worded? Why would they specify nothing financial if they meant nothing, unqualified? It's not a loophole if it is an exception made for that particular purpose.
Loved this chapter. What made me lose it and collapse in laughter was when the guards started singing alon:, still maintaining their stoic guard expressions.
4164046 I say leave the British English to the real Brits. Which is to gracefully for-fend the unnecessary lambasting of good writing with tangential commentary on grammar and spelling. Otherwise we shall be arguing that it is 'Serjeant'.
4167361 Not really, no. It was the exact impreciseness of the said instructions that lent to the desired resolution.
Bloody good job, again, Ghost. I only wish you'd write more often as I cannot adequately express the pleasure I get from reading these short stories.
...and my sister was an accountant for Enron, back in the Naughty Nineties. She quit the day she spent ten hours finding multiple 7 figure errors in the company books while the Board of Directors was debating what color to make the "E" on their stock certificates. "Those guys were idiots!" she said, and truer words were never spoke unless it was by Cassandra.
And I forgot to add:...so I enjoyed this story very much! Both for its own merits and for the slight but noticeable feeling of familial vindication it conveyed (even if that was fictive).
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4170532
Well I don't know but that in a cosmopolitan forum one should be free to speak as one chooses.
However as an American I'm kinda uncool about beginning a sentence with "Well I don't know but that..." Also, "one" instead of "you?" Gimme a break!
Speaking and writing the way you grew up speaking and writing should be good enough, but if you want to try something different...what the heck: on the Internet no one knows you're a dog, right?
4163788
A Good Pony Does Not Tell A Good Pony What A Good Pony Ought To Know.
I'm laughing. I can't help myself. This is just too close to real life stock market insanity to not be hilarious.
More chapters from you? Yes.
You see, if this line were written by, oh, pretty much anyone else at all, I'd call it bad writing. But it's not. I'm not quite sure what it does (although I'm fairly sure it has something to do with that scene being from Gilded's POV), but I'm sure it's on purpose and I'm sure it's not bad writing.
4183295
That right there is a prime example that British isles are in fact not all the way earthly.
Anywhere on the planet what pases for British dry humor would be sorted as dreadful waste. But Brits by some eldrich and unspeakable means make it is genuinely hilarious.
The bit of Cockney rhyming slang was inordinately amusing to me! Loving the series.
And now I see what you meant by Dotty being Vetinari. Except for being done by proxy, the Dotty/Leafy interaction is typical Vetinary/Vimes, and Leafy's modus opperandi is very much like Vimes going after someone he doesn't yet have anything concrete against. There's even hyacinth and Swift Wing playing the part of incompetent and gullible officers (though I assume that, contrary to Nobby and Colon, they just pretend to be incompetent and gullible).
I wonder if there is a deep horseshoe mark just to the right of Dotted's office
That being said, while I've seen this before, it's beautifully done, and well worth a read, specially for fans of the Blackboard Monitor.
I may be beating a dead... nevermind that. I may be repeating a dozen other people but Sargent is a name, Sergeant is a rank.
4710062
Actually, nobody mentioned it before. I can't believe I managed to make that mistake so many times in a row. This thing's been pre-read, too. Gah.
Anyway. Fixed now.
4164745
Probably. If, of course, it weren't for the discovery of the ledgers that let the bank recover all (or at least most) of the stolen money. With the bank flush with capitol, there should be little more then a minor reshuffling at the managerial level as a result of an individual committing a non-financial crime such as assault. A bit of minor, short term upset, but nothing of long-term consequence.
I can't believe I didn't figure out the meaning behind her name before.
That was hilarious, but I couldn't help noticing a little typo:
I friggin love this pony, she's like Alfred, a perfect Servile Snarker, yet useful too.
You're a monster Leafy.
That magnificent motherbucker did that on purpose!
Aaaaand Leafy joins the club of best ponies with Dotted, the two only original ponies in that club so far.
A buttered turnip? High praise!
I reviewed On Forensic Accounting & Choral Singing as part of Read It Later Reviews #66.
My review can be found here.
Take my word for it, I'm giving you a standing ovation for this brilliant and hilarious chapter.
My favorite line out of all of them.
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?
8483327
She's a communications director; spinning is her profession.
I now read your stories to get ideas for how to make devious and yet law-abiding heroes who do shadowy work in the government. I grasp tactics more readily than intrigue, so it's always a pleasure to find something that stimulates the imagination and instructs me in the latter. Thank you.
6357953
This presumes that the amount he siphoned off was not at least one order of magnitude less than the amount he cost the bank. I'm on my tablet, and the arc spans hundreds of strips, but I'll point out a villian from a webcomic called "Freefall", recently sentenced to work in a fast food restaurant.
I wouldn't be surprised if similar levels of inefficiency at high ranking fraud (at much less important companies?) haven't occurred IRL. If the mode of the fraud was "make my company very profitable (or only on paper?) so my salary keeps rising" I would hypothesize it would be the rule, rather than the exception.
I'll also mention people stealing perfectly good air conditioning units for the recycling value of the copper in them as a similarly fundamentally* inefficient crime. Whether or not this is a valid comparison I'll leave to those who have taken more than one class related to accounting, and/or any classes at all on criminal psychology.
*As opposed to, say, robbing people at knife-point in alleys, which doesn't inherently require hospital bills (or loss of life but that is harder to quantify financially), even if a certain amount of those might be an undeniable statistical corellation...
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Ahhh, a person of culture! Freefall Is one of my favorite webcomics. Mr. Kornada's crime is particularly heinous. Not only was he poised to wipe out 95% of the planets wealth, lobotomize all 450 million robots, AND Gardener in The Dark would have condemned a studied Shakespeare fan not just to acting the role of Jar Jar Binks, but effectively BEING Jar Jar.
Working at Cricket Burger is pretty damn appropriate
Sent me fairly giggling.