Mendy Kraus appeared, rubbing his eyes and staring in bafflement. “Hey, guys, what did I miss?”

“You,” Sternheim pointed. “You’re up, finally. Good morning! Say Modeh Ani!”

The accountants laughed uproariously.

“How many coffees, Mendy?” Rubin asked. “Yochi, I hope you’re tallying?”

Yochi marveled at the sight. Forehead creases suddenly smoothed, eyes came alive. It was like watching some sort of resurrection.

“I must admit that was super validating, Mendy,” Kashevsky said. “Sometimes I think of you as my head hits my pillow and it messes with my sleep.”

Kraus still looked bewildered and the guys rejoiced in teasing him. Yochi, basking in the rare light atmosphere, had the sudden thought: I know how to create a matzav. Why am I frying my brain here?

Rubin coughed. “Guys, if Big Boss shows up now, we’re toast.”

“You don’t toast family,” Kashevsky said.

Yochi squirmed. His father-in-law shouldn’t complain about this. It was important to breathe sometimes, even if a few minutes of work time were squandered in the process. He was willing to bet that everyone would be more productive the next hour. It was good. It was healthy.

Yochi himself was definitely more productive when he returned to his desk. He knocked out a complicated report and even squeezed in a quick call to Pessie.

“So nice to hear your voice in the middle of the day!” Yochi could hear the smile in Pessie’s voice.

They chatted for a minute, and then Pessie said, “We need to talk about Hindy.”

Yochi drummed his fingers on his desk. “Right, you told me about the flare-up. Is it that bad?”

“It’s terrible, her neck looks like pizza. But right now I’m so worried about what happened in school on Monday. I called her teacher and she claims it was a one-time incident, but honestly, Yochi, I’m nervous. This could turn into a disaster.”

“I know,” Yochi said. He was quiet for a minute. “We need to research this phototherapy. Maybe that’ll help.”

“Maybe.” Pessie sounded flat.

Yochi got her. She was frustrated, they were all frustrated. They’d run from doctor to doctor for years, they’d taken their daughter off dairy and flour and sugar and nightshade vegetables. They’d cut out high fructose corn syrup and citrus fruit and anything anyone’s brother’s boss’s son-in-law’s neighbor ordered them to cut. They tried every cream they’d ever heard of, but they weren’t getting anywhere.

A light blinked on the phone on Yochi’s desk. Extension 101, his father-in-law. Big Boss.

“I need to go,” Yochi told Pessie. “We’ll talk.”

He hung up and pressed the button near the blinking light. “Yes, Shver, what’s doing?”

“Are you busy now?”

Was that a rhetorical question? Of course he was busy, and of course he would make himself available for whatever his father-in-law needed.

“Can you come to my office?” his father-in-law asked.

Yochi frowned. This had to be important if they couldn’t talk over the phone. “Sure. Coming right over.”

Something niggled in Yochi’s stomach as he walked down the corridor. He was pretty sure this wasn’t a work question. When he passed Kraus’s cubicle, he tensed.

Was it about the video? Had his shver gotten wind of it? Was he going to give him a dressing-down?

Yochi slowed his pace. His father-in-law was probably mad. Fifteen minutes of precious work time, wasted, just like that. When he served lunch and supper and snacks and opened the conference room for Minchah and Maariv every day to prevent time-killing.

Well, Yochi could explain. A work environment was just as important as any holy deadline. The firm’s accountants were human, they needed to unwind sometimes. A break didn’t hurt the output, on the contrary, it improved it.

He felt calmer by the time he reached his father-in-law’s door. He gave a light knock and entered.

“Yochi. How are you?”

“Great, thanks. You?”

“Baruch Hashem. How’s Pessie, the kids?”

“Good, good.” Yochi debated for a minute if he should mention Hindy’s psoriasis, but just mumbled, “Baruch Hashem.”

Yochi sat with his back straight, waiting for the axe to fall.

Chananya Hartstein coughed. “Okay, Yochi. I want to talk to you about TTS.”

Not the video. Not Kraus. TTS Freight Brokers. The audit.

“Kaufman called me,” his father-in-law continued. “He’s worried.”

Yochi jerked his shoulder. “He calls me once an hour, minimum. I get that he’s worried, but really, I’m on it.”

His shver rolled his pen between in his palms. “I told him I’ll review his tax returns, see if everything looks good. If everything looks good, an audit is a headache, but he has no reason to worry.”

“I’m on it, Shver. I know what to do.”

“Yes, I’m sure of that.”

His father-in-law started clicking his pen. Yochi shifted. Finally, the big boss rolled his chair back. “I took a few minutes to look into their files. The state allocation, on their 2016 return. It was never applied.”

“Allocation?” Yochi repeated. “They’re in—”

“Their offices are in New Jersey. But they have nexus in New York too.”

Yochi’s fingers went cold. He licked his lips, swallowed. “Shver?”

“Yes, Yochonon.”

“I’m going to take care of this audit.”

Mr. Hartstein’s eyes narrowed. “TTS will have to pay. A lot. Tax, retroactively, plus a lot of interest. I don’t want to think how much.”

Yochi was quiet.

“And they’re going to leave our firm. You know that, right?”

Yochi nodded. It was quiet in the room.

“I know that,” Yochi said at last. “And I realize it was my mistake.”

His shver didn’t respond.

“I’m going to take care of it,” Yochi went on. “To the best of my ability.”

It was quiet again, his shver clearly waiting for him to go on. Binick’s voice echoed in Yochi’s ears. He pictured a resort. Elephants shambling across fields. Mango trees. But more than that, he pictured the headiness of coordinating, running, leading. Succeeding.

Yochi took a deep breath. “And after that,” he said, “I’m going to move on.”

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 736)