Last November my mother called from Florida to discuss her favorite topic: Dottie, her on-again-off again housekeeper/best friend she’s employed for twenty years. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she said. “Dottie keeps asking for pay day advances.” Twelve-hundred miles away in New York City, I told her I’d solve the mystery when I came home for two weeks at Christmas—the maximum amount of time I could handle in the sunshine state. I didn’t give Mom’s problem with Dottie any thought. A new problem would have emerged, by the time I arrived home—it always did. [byline]
But when I walked into our house on Christmas Eve, everything was fine. Dottie looked like a tourist who won the lotto on a hot summer day. “I got a big check coming,” she said as she decorated the Christmas tree. “I’m getting five grand in tax returns!” This, I knew, was impossible. She worked part time in 2011, making approximately $300 a week for six months, a grand total of $7,800—only $2,800 more than her supposed tax return. I asked her how she figured. “I found a miracle worker,” she said. “All my neighbors in Carver Ranches use him. He has a white Bentley and promised me I’d have my money in two weeks.”
Instead, the IRS called. Her check had been mailed to an address in Georgia. Fearing fraud, Dottie went to her accountant’s office. A line wrapped around the small blue and white shopping plaza where C&K Tax Consultants was housed. A sign said, “back in 15 minutes.” Other people were waiting, too—but the accountant never showed up.
“He fucked over the whole hood,” Dottie said. “They’re gonna kill him if they find him.” As rumors spread that he had fled to Georgia, the community increased their search.
They found him on a talk show."
— “How to Be Rich and Fabulous in Florida According to the Cement Butt Nurse (Alleged)”—my new article on The Billfold/The Awl.