His reputation was an illusion, and the mirror that reflected it, fragile, was broken from the inside. Stuart, however, pretended to be content with the life he led. It was a bland job, but enough to fill the attention and avoid during the day the ghosts that came at night to haunt him when the lights went out in the city. As an expert accountant, he had to advise his clients and keep their accounts in order, until he ran into Donovan.

The real estate business was booming for Donovan during the last crisis. He bought like crazy, from beautiful homes to modest apartments at skinny chicken prices. Stuart, in addition to doing the bookkeeping for his current employer, who soon demanded his exclusivity, also accepted the responsibility of performing risk analysis on every investment, not being his forte. After all, he was an accountant, not an economist. But, the proposal made by Donovan was irresistible to him.

Yes, the credit craze, without backing, grew without considering the consequences. Many families got deeply into debt. This was unsustainable and when they least expected it, the bubble burst, and with it the illusions of progress. Stuart was spared since he followed his father's advice: cut your coat according to your clothes.

Months after starting his relationship with the great lord, Stuart realized that Donovan's business was not enough, at least in the numbers he managed, to sustain the lifestyle expenses his employer was living. So, he decided to talk to him about it at the first opportunity he had, which happened to be just before Thanksgiving.

"Sir, Donovan."

"Tell me, Stuart."

"I don't mean to be inopportune, but I've discovered that the math doesn't add up."

"What do you mean, the math doesn't add up? Explain yourself, Stuart."

"You can't spend what you don't have. Then you'll soon be broke."

Mr. Donovan looked at him sternly and laughed.

"How do you know I'll go bankrupt?"

"The balance sheets, boss, the balance sheets!"

"Ah! That's what it's all about. Don't worry about it. I hired him to balance the books. I'll take care of the money."

Stuart realized that something hidden was escaping him. How could he give Mr. Donovan's business any semblance of neatness? But he didn't want to ask on the eve of such an important celebration. He wondered if he knew his client. He felt those last words as coming from a master.

"Sir, Donovan, sorry for the inconvenience."

"I appreciate your concern, Stuart. But there are matters I can't involve you in for your good. Do you understand? "

He found the tone intimidating. The accountant kept his composure, and with a curt nod of his head said goodbye without another word. Mr. Donovan boarded the large, shiny limousine to leave the newly acquired offices with the resale of an apartment complex foreclosed during the banking crisis. The seller, a thriving mixed-capital investment fund.

Stuart parked his vehicle two stalls away from where the limousine had been moments before. He walked down the street, absorbed, searching for the meaning of the question: “Do you understand? He looked up at the empty buildings, expropriated from people like him, with the only difference that they did not work for the masters indicated. At the end of the street, a makeshift shelter, where entire families, had fallen into sudden ruin, were still smiling. For Stuart, the numbers in the books came alive in the faces of the crowded women and children as they received food and clothing from good people. Even toys to celebrate amid adversity, the hope of a better future, and in that sense, they were still grateful.

He glanced at his watch as he noticed that the photovoltaic streetlights were turning on. A cold, dew-infused breeze hit him, making him turn to the sky; the flash of lightning illuminated the street. Stuart felt himself being focused by it and covered his face. Amidst the mighty delayed roar, he thought he heard: “Do you understand? The raindrops were like tears as he unwittingly tasted their salty tang. He thought of the fragility of the circumstances and his reputation. To the powerful, he was well regarded, and to the powerless, he was just another of those to blame for their plight.

The phone rang and soaking wet, he walked determinedly to the shelter. When he saw the message from Mr. Donovan he laughed like crazy as he read: you're fired. What a way to break my mirror! He thought as a little boy grabbed his hand to return an unexpected smile.