"Director, he was just joking…"
George's heart skipped a beat.
"No, I wasn't!"
Little Sheldon was unusually honest.
"Shut up!"
George finally lost his patience and shouted.
"Yes, sir."
Sheldon, a bit afraid of his father's anger, pursed his lips in silent grievance.
"He was just joking. He's only a child," George added quickly, trying to smooth things over.
"Let me sort this out," the bald director said expressionlessly, looking at the father and son. "You sent your tax returns. We calculated them and sent you a notice of additional tax owed: four dollars."
"Four dollars and twenty-two cents!"
Sheldon's perfectionism flared up, and he corrected precisely.
"Yes. $4.22," the director confirmed.
"And then, instead of sending a check as instructed, you called us questioning our calculations."
Sheldon glanced at his father, then muttered silently to himself: "You're wrong. I'm never wrong."
"Then you came for an audit. We complimented your tax knowledge, let you leave, and you even invited us to audit you again next year, hoping to beat us a second time," the director continued. Finally, a faint smile appeared. "I like smart kids. I have one myself."
"Exactly. Director, you must understand how hard it is to raise such a child," George blurted out, eyes reddening. He thought of all the trouble Sheldon's past antics might have caused the IRS, and all the years of raising a unique child.
"Outsiders have no idea how hard it is to be the father of such a child. We didn't mean to create such a scene. When we received the IRS notice, I immediately wrote the check. I never expected Sheldon to secretly call you while pretending to have sent it. Please, Director, consider him a special child and don't hold it against him."
"I understand, I understand," the director nodded. "A child that smart will have his own opinions. My child is the same—always teaching me how to do things from a very young age."
"Exactly!" George exhaled in relief. "So, can we continue the additional payment as needed and forget the rest?"
"No."
The bald director shook his head. "Things must follow procedure. If you made a mistake, pay the tax. If you're right, don't pay extra. That's the rule."
"Yes. That's right," Sheldon nodded in agreement.
"Shut up!!!"
George could no longer contain himself and yelled at his oblivious son.
"Waaahhh!"
Little Sheldon, never having seen his father so angry, was terrified. Eleven years old, he couldn't help but cry.
"Calm down," the bald director waved, trying to soothe. "Anger solves nothing. Ordinary kids might respond to it, but a genius like him must be persuaded by truth. I've brought in a consultant to help audit your taxes."
He looked at the crying boy and asked, "Are you sure you're not wrong at all?"
"I… I can't be wrong," Sheldon sniffled, but his honesty and confidence remained.
"Good," the director smiled. "Let the truth speak. Let math speak. As they say, numbers never lie."
"Shall we come back tomorrow?" George hesitated, looking at his sobbing son. "Reauditing will take time, and I can't calm him. Better take him home to his mom."
"No need," the director shook his head. "For a true genius, this audit is over in a flash."
He pointed to the restroom: "Little genius, the bathroom is over there."
"Go ahead."
George sighed, watching his teary son. Sheldon trudged to the restroom, and George chuckled awkwardly at the director: "Thank you, sir."
"Once the phone rings, we'll go out and let them reconcile the accounts," the director said, smiling.
"Is that really okay?"
George hesitated, unsure.
"No matter the result," the director said,"You know…"
George had no idea what he should know, but nodded anyway, pretending understanding: "Okay."
When Sheldon finished washing up, the director's phone rang.
"All set. Time to reconcile," the director said, giving George a look and leaving the room.
"Sheldon, reconcile with the consultant properly!" George instructed before following him out.
Sheldon, slightly confused but compelled by his perfectionism, immediately picked up the ringing phone.
Outside the office:
"We'll discuss outside," the director told George, smiling. "Don't worry. He knows the restroom now. Whatever happens—emergency or tears—he can handle it himself."
George stared, dumbfounded.
"Trust me," the director explained. "This will be a profound lesson. He'll learn that intelligence alone is not enough. There is always someone smarter in the world."
"Is the consultant smart enough?" George asked, still wary despite the director's kindness. Sheldon was already in Princeton-level physics at age eleven.
"He's the smartest person I've seen," the director said, then smirked: "Whether it succeeds, we'll see the answer soon, won't we?"
George looked through the glass window and saw his son again, panicked and rushing into the restroom, echoing his previous bladder mishap.
"Looks like we don't need to walk outside. Let's go in," the director said, opening the door.
George followed and heard the cries inside—louder and more heart-wrenching than before.
He had never seen Sheldon so upset.
"All right, no need to send a results report," the director picked up his phone. "Take some time to visit home. Your mom and sister miss you."