By All Accounts, They’ll Be Forever in County’s Debt

Smythe the Pencil Pusher stared across the table at Elrod the Bean Counter, scarcely able to contain his glee.

“Have you ever seen anything this bad?” he asked.

“Not since my daughter’s homework,” Elrod said, “but she’s only 8 and doesn’t understand decimal points or long division.”

“How long you figure it’ll take us to sort this out?” Smythe asked.

“Dunno. I’m guessing six, seven months.” He began giggling. “Who knows, the way things are going, maybe a year.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Smythe said, smirking.

“Wouldn’t be a bit surprised,” Elrod retorted. “The Riviera, Tahiti, a new Mercedes; how about a boat? Heck, we might be able to retire.”

The auditors were hip-deep in Orange County’s financial records. Although both had more than 20 years of experience in public-finance accounting, even they marveled at what they saw before them. Everybody at the firm knew whoever got the Orange County job probably would never have to work again. It was an accountant’s dream, and Smythe and Elrod would have run over their grandmothers to get the assignment.

“Hey, you’ll get a kick out of this,” Smythe said, scanning three thick files from the dozens of boxes that filled the room. He handed the first two to Elrod; they were marked “Cash Flow Analysis” and “Amortization Schedules.”

“Yeah, so?” Elrod said.

Smythe handed him the third file, marked “Whatever You Do, Don’t Look In Here.”

“I see what you mean,” Elrod said, as he started thumbing through the file. “I suppose they figured nobody would ever find it.”

The file contained a maze of columns and tables and reference charts and, oddly enough, a pair of sweat socks. To the untrained eye, many of the reports might have looked authoritative, but Smythe and Elrod weren’t fooled.

“Something stinks,” Smythe said.

Elrod tossed the socks into a trash container. “Look at this paper trail,” he said. “You talk about cooking books; these guys are gourmets. Whoever put these books together obviously didn’t think anyone else would review them. Look at this ledger: where he was supposed to enter ‘Balance on Hand,’ he just wrote in ‘Oops.’ ”

Smythe couldn’t suppress a laugh over that one. “It’s almost like they were trying to see how far afield they could go without anyone catching on. This may have started out as some kind of a scam, but I think it became sport by the time they finished.”

“Give me the file for the public schools,” Elrod said.

“I can’t find it,” Smythe said, rummaging through the stacks.

“It’s the one marked ‘Suckers’ ” Elrod said.

Smythe emitted a low whistle as he pored through another folder marked “Payment Transfers (Tee-Hee).” It was one of those whistles that registers on the scale somewhere between disbelief and awe.

“This money trail covered more ground than Lewis and Clark,” Smythe said. “It started in the investment pool, then went to the interest pool, then out of that and back into the investment pool, then out of that and into the general fund. They did everything but create a company called “The Dummy Vendor Corp.”

“Geez, these guys must have been really sweating,” Elrod said. “Do you think you could have pulled off something like this?”

“Sure, as long as nobody ever asked me to explain what I was doing. You and I both know the world is full of small-time and big-time frauds. If it wasn’t, there’d be no need for guys like you and me.”

“I know it doesn’t sound likely right now,” Elrod said, “but assuming we ever finish this job, it’d be a shame just to end it here.”

“You mean--?” Smythe said.

“Exactly,” Elrod said. “Seminars, instructional videos, how-to books. This is our chance to cash in. They’ll be writing textbooks about this one.”

“Whoever said accounting was boring?” Smythe said. “Man, it just doesn’t get any better than this.”

“That’s for sure,” Elrod said. “A toast to Orange County, my friend. And to think we almost went to law school.”

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday.