Fred usually leads the first part of the Monday breakfast ritual talking to the numbers, flicking through the wads of paper as management – consisting of the CEO, Ian, Sam, the marketing director and James the owner’s son. Ian is usually lost in the pages, gently dipping his crumbly croissant into the foam of his cappuccino, slowly lifting the drenched broken-off piece to his mouth, savouring each piece as if in tandem with his concentration on each page of the 20 page report. Fred’s croissant inevitable sits on a plate with a bite out of it as he presents in between slurps of hot coffee.

Sam usually turns to page 4, scrutinizes the turnover figures, and then over the next page to review commissions paid. He always sits with 2 croissants and a soup bowl of café latte ravishing the lot as quickly as his review of the 2 pages.

James: “Guys, do you know that my father received one of these lifestyle questionnaires from the Revenue yesterday?”

Sam chokes on the last big bite, with a splutter, as Fred pauses mid sentence, having just regurgitated a column of figures. Ian looks up cautiously;

“Really?”

“That’s a worry,” says Fred. “Hmm … those bastards,” mutters Sam … “… do you think we’ll get the same treatment?”

“Probably” shrugs Fred, knowing his tax affairs balance beautifully.

Ian shuffles uncomfortably in his chair. “What is the effect of this …?”

“I’ve heard that these SARS Tax Special Investigation scroungers love jumbling quick assessments with 200% penalties slapped on to force you to the settlement table, … rumour has it that they indirectly earn commission off their collections …”

“That’s ridiculous and outrageous” blurts Sam, “those bastards are not coming near my stuff …”

“But, Sam, I have been warning you about this possibility for months now … most of our competitor boards have undergone a similar fate …”

“Fred, I don’t care …”

“Sam, Sam, Sam … you can’t have that attitude, if they find your stuff is in a shamble, we all come under fire.”

“They are not getting near me …”

“What are you going to do? Run and hide from them?”

“No, … I’ll get an interdict via my cousin, who is a lawyer.”

“On what basis Sam? Come-on be realistic! The Revenue are allowed to audit you.”

“No, they’re not, I have constitutional rights.”

“Maybe, but they are not limitless.”

Ian looks at the fracas developing. A small bead of sweat forms on his left temple. He feels it trickle down his short side-burns. His friend Trevor Sharpe was arrested for fraud late last year, at home in front of his family. It was a Friday afternoon. Bail was only posted on Monday morning. Cheryl, his wife, became hysterical. She was hijacked only 3 months before and the police failed to act. Now they were in her house arresting her husband for alleged tax fraud.

Trevor ran a successful business. He was in a sector of the motor industry, cut?throat and tough! But good money. Margins are often made off the books with large sums of cash being traded unofficially. Trevor’s mistake, like most, was that the cost of his lifestyle did not tally with his declared earnings.