[ WP ] Michael Fishbein , Rogue Accountant

`` This is The Fish.'' 
 
 `` Mr. Fishbein, your services are required. There's a car outside.'' 
 
 This was not an uncommon occurrence for Michael Fishbein. Typically, about once a month there was some random phone call at some ungodly hour with some ridiculous request about hiding money for some random would-be kingpin who thinks he's the next Scarface. A few filings, a shell company or two and five percent off the top later, and Michael `` The Fish'' Fishbein could go back to bed. It looked to be just another one of those days. 
 
 But this was different. 
 
 The typical theatrics were skipped. Sometimes, the limo driver would shade the windows. Sometimes, there was the obligatory thug with the black hood waiting in the cab. For some reason, they thought it mattered if The Fish knew where their hideouts were. It never mattered at all. All that mattered was that he knew where the money was. 
 
 The driver stopped at a nondescript office building, and the door was opened by the valet, who directed The Fish to the front door, into the elevator and to the sixth floor. The Fish was escorted to a nondescript office door, which opened to three grey suits and some familiar faces. 
 
 `` Good morning, Mr. Fishbein. Agent Hernandez, IRS. These are Agents Caufield and Wertz.'' The Fish rolled his eyes as the agents flashed their credentials. `` Again, Johnny? You could have just called, at least then I could have had my records ready.'' `` Take a seat, Mr. Fishbein,'' said Agent Wertz. With a heavy sigh, The Fish flopped into the closest chair and put his feet on the table. `` What is it this time, Johnny?'' he said, focusing on his rival, Agent Juan Hernandez.'' 
 
 `` Thanks for coming, Mike. Take a look at these.'' Agent Hernandez passed a stack of manila folders across the table towards The Fish. He did not even so much as glance at them. He launched into his typical defense speech. `` You wo n't find my name on anything in that stack, nor will I attest to any criminal activities. Furthermore, I want to talk to my attorn --'' `` Mike, this is n't an audit,'' interrupted Agent Hernandez. `` We do n't care about some drug dealer's piggybank. Look at the folders.'' 
 
 The Fish squinted skeptically at his old friend. He slapped the his hand down on the first folder, and opened it. On the front page was an 8x10 picture of an Arabian Sheik, named Omar bin Faziq. The name did n't ring a bell. As The Fish looked through the stack, Agent Wertz started to fill in the blanks. `` You're looking at Omar bin Faziq, who we have determined is managing the financial dealings of the Al-Haram network. Mr. bin Faziq is... for a lack of a better term, their version of you. Only better.'' 
 
 The Fish scoffed. As he thumbed through the stack of financial data, however, he began to realize she might be right. Corporation filings in Switzerland, China, Brazil, the Caymans, the US, Canada and Japan? All having NO discernible ties to the Al-Haram network... yet there it was in black and white. He was using tricks and scams that The Fish had never dared to try. Transfers of transfers, using wire funds to buy entire banking establishments, long enough to shield what looked to be secret transfers and withdrawals then selling the banks back at a small loss. He let out a slow whistle. Agent Hernandez said `` You see it, Mike? This is the stuff we used to talk about.'' The Fish nodded. 
 
 The Fish and Juan `` The Taco'' Hernandez were the best of friends in Yale. They were the envy of the Accounting department undergraduate section. They finished each others' proofs, shared the same skewed method of thinking that allowed for the most creative solutions to financial challenges. They both decided to start playing the market in their senior year using a method of evaluating quarterly reports that they generated together, and by the time they received their Masters degrees, they were already independently wealthy. Mike `` The Fish'' Fishbein was a wizard at swimming through unbelievable amounts of financial data in a snap, and Juan `` The Taco'' Hernandez was aces at setting up shell companies that were impenetrable from intrusion from outside regulatory sources. Their skills were legendary, until The Fish started taking on clients that were of rather... unsavory character. The Taco ( who hated his nickname ), joined the IRS in order to teach them how to find the money that he and his old partner were so skillful at hiding. They only spoke at their annual audits thereafter, and it was never pleasant. 
 
 `` So what does this have to do with me? What do you want me to do, serve my country?'' he spat. `` Hmph. I'm not going to help you seize all his assets for some goddamn moral victory. It does n't work like that anymore, Johnny.'' He slammed the folder closed and shoved it at Agent Wertz. 
 
 `` Mr. Fishbein, you do n't seem to understand.'' said Agent Caufield. He spoke with the gravitas that comes with experience and authority. `` We ca n't touch most of their assets, since they do n't reside in the US long enough to freeze them. But we ca n't have these funds in the hands of people who want nothing more than to murder every American they find, and to turn this country into a smoking cinder. They have to be stopped.'' With that, Agent Wertz passed the folder back to The Fish. 
 
 The Fish opened the files again, looking more closely this time. Phony prospectuses, financial disclosures that were n't disclosing any actual finances, all the old tricks. Agent Hernandez looked closely, studying his old friend. `` You see what he's done? He took our work, and improved on it.'' Perverted is more like it, thought The Fish. He could understand what they were trying to do. They wanted him to swim through the data, break the shells and deliver the data in a format that the IRS could swoop in and seize all the funds. Until he saw it. 
 
 There it was. Line 42 of page 368 of the 2013 Quarterly EBIT Statement of Hmisho Partners. That's what they wanted him to find. Four hundred twenty seven billion, five hundred thirty one million, seven hundred seventy three thousand dollars, in one lump sum, just sitting there, in one plain numbered account. That was it. That was the total sum or their money, compiled once per year so it could be traced and tracked and totaled before being whittled away, parsed and packaged and shipped around the world. He saw that the time was coming to recompile those funds again. That's when he would do it. He would swim through the murky morass of paperwork, and snag the biggest catch in the world. 
 
 Agent Hernandez spoke first. `` So Mike? Can you get it for us?'' The Fish kept his poker face on, however. He had no intention of letting the IRS reel this one in. 
 
 This fish was his. 
 
 
 *edit because words.
