"But I do."
"Do you realize what this means? Brandon was the last taxpayer. We've been forced to operate an entire bureau just to process his forms. It's the only department operating in the red. He's the only person not employed by the government, the only one still operating a private business!"
Evans found himself clenching the puppet tightly in his fist. "We will break him. I know we will. Next year it will take him 365 days to compute his tax. I promise."
"Next year," the President said firmly, "Brandon will get a short form. One that he can complete in ten minutes. Do you understand, Evans?"
Evans' forehead creased. "I'm afraid—"
The President looked back at his reflection on the glass. "We don't want to make the boss angry now, do we Evans?"
"The boss, Sir?"
"Brandon, of course," the President smiled. "After all, the government works for the taxpayers, Evans—and Brandon is the last taxpayer. He's our boss, son. The only boss we have left."
"Mr. President. If I might—"
The President returned his gaze to Evans. "I think we've forgotten something over these past years, Evans. Something very important."