Scrooge sat in his office, warmed by the glow of the flat-screen TV in the corner. On it was a chryon screaming, “Breaking news: Massive Tax Package passes both House and Senate, signed into law.” Scrooged grinned. It would be a very merry Christmas after all. He recognized the young man with the gavel. A few years ago, he had entered Scrooge’s office asking for a donation. Scrooge had initially tried to shoo him away, thinking he was one of those do-gooder charity people. But the young man had hit Scrooge with a different pitch. He was running for Congress and would go to Washington to fight the deficit — with Scrooge’s help. Scrooge, being the businessman he was, immediately wrote a huge check for the young man’s superPAC. It was the best investment Scrooge had ever made.
Scrooge picked up his tablet and read The Wall Street Journal. Sure, the deficit would soar under this plan, but he’d benefit nicely — and that was all that mattered. His corporation, Scrooge and Marley, Inc. would have a lighter tax burden and he’d personally get a nice chunk of change to slip into his pocket. It was his money after all. He’d have to give that nice young man another donation.
“Crachit, put some more coal on the fire!”
Bob Crachit was Scrooge’s assistant, or a FTE (full-time equivalent).
“Yes sir, Mr. Scrooge. I see you’re supporting the coal industry whole heartedly today!”
Scrooge dreaded what was about to happen next. Whenever Crachit sucked up to Scrooge, he wanted something.
“Um, Mr. Scrooge, um, tomorrow’s Christmas. May I have the day off?”
“Oh go home and rob me blind for a day,” Scrooge grumbled. But he was actually in a pretty good mood. He had just gotten a huge Christmas present from Washington. Crachit left his office and another man entered.
“Merry Christmas Uncle!” Scrooge cringed at the sound of the voice. It was his annoying Millennial nephew. “I just wanted to come by and wish you well and invite you to dinner.”
Scrooge knew better. Thanks to a reduction in the inheritance tax, his nephew stood to make a fortune as soon as he bit the dust. He was just there to suck up. “No,” Scrooge growled. “Go eat your Ramen by yourself.”
That night, Scrooge limped back to his gated community. As he prepared to punch in the access code, the keypad turned into his old partner Jacob Marley’s face. It couldn’t be. Marley had died of a heart attack in 2008 as the markets crashed. Scrooge shook his head quickly, entered his mansion, poured himself a drink and sat down.
Clang, clang, clang! He heard chains dragging down the hallway. “Maria, is that you?” Scrooge called out for his housekeeper — but it was just him in the house.
“Scrroooooooge.” Jacob Marley’s ghost hovered in front of Scrooge. “My business was mankind,” Marley moaned. Oh Lord, don’t tell me Marley had become a whiny liberal, Scrooge thought. Marley continued, “You will be visited by three ghosts.”
Scrooge said, “No, I won’t. Ghosts are fake news and you are fake news. I just had the best day of my life and you aren’t going to screw it up.” Scrooge knew it was his drink talking to him but just in case, he continued the conversation. “And don’t come in here preaching personal responsibility. I’m successful. You’re dead.”
Marley shook his head. “You hard-headed old fool, Scrooge. It’s Christmas.”
Scrooge thought of all the money he had made today and said, “Humbug.”
Marley pulled out his iPhone 1 and made a quick call. The Ghost of Christmas Future floated into the room. Scrooge felt a chill and he was suddenly swept out of his chair and into a graveyard.
There was Crachit burying his sickly son Tiny Tim. The CHIP program (which provided Tiny Tim’s insurance) hadn’t been reauthorized in time and he had passed away. Then the spirit showed Scrooge another gravestone. Scrooge used the light on his smartphone to illuminate the name. “EBENEZER SCROOGE.” Scrooge looked at the dates and immediately woke up. He knew what he had to do.
The day after Christmas, Scrooge waited for Bob Crachit to arrive. “Bob, you’ve been an loyal employee, but I’ve outsourced your job. I’m giving you one-week severance for every year you’ve worked here. Gather your things and be gone.”
Scrooge watched Crachit walk out of the office stunned. It was just business afterall.
Marley was sitting over the corner shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you?”
Scrooge just smiled and said, “Jacob, this isn’t a weepy Christmas movie. It’s reality. And if I’m going to croak, I’m going out on top. Now go haunt someone else. I’m busy making Christmas great again.”