Part 3 — My Accountant Neil
The name on the red tab was Neil Garber. My accountant. The man who had prepared my taxes for twenty years, who came to Thanksgiving with a pumpkin cheesecake and always asked how my knees were doing.
Agent Ortiz of the IRS criminal investigation division gave me a hand up. “Mr. Mercer, nobody is accusing you of anything,” she said. “We needed your trailer to prove how the records moved. Your cooperation will count with the court.”
The boxes held tax returns. Ten years of false filings for businesses that never existed, claiming refunds and credits that paid out to accounts Neil controlled. My trailer carried the originals between his offices in San Diego and Boise so that no single revenue office could ever compare the two sets.
The photographs of my home were in the file as a courtesy to himself. Neil wanted to feel safe. He used to say he only wanted to keep things peaceful, and I think he almost believed it.
The worst part was learning that my own tax returns had been quietly altered for years. Neil had been taking small amounts from my refunds, and I never looked closely, because I trusted him.
The most dangerous person in your life may be the one who keeps all your numbers.
Neil was arrested at his Boise office, calmly packing a briefcase. He pleaded guilty to tax fraud, conspiracy and obstruction. The court ordered him to repay more than $3 million and sentenced him to seven years.
The IRS corrected my returns and refunded the missing money, with interest. Every driver who had used Neil received a letter explaining how to file amended returns, and a helpline staffed by a very patient woman named Gloria.
The seized funds also covered the cash bonuses I was owed. I put them toward a hearing aid for my wife and a new set of tires for the truck I was no longer driving.
I hired a young accountant in Fresno, a woman named Priya who explains every line out loud. I kept every receipt, and I read every page of the return before I signed it.
At Thanksgiving, my wife baked her own pumpkin pie. It was a little lopsided, and it was the best thing I had eaten in ten years.
