The Bug pulled the conference room shades low.

He'd reserved the room specially for this. He set out plastic forks and paper plates and small blue balloon cocktail napkins, and he positioned the place-settings directly across from the hi-res 21" monitor.

Allison came in, bubbly and excited. "This is just so cool! Oooh -- color!" she said. "I'm like, going blind watching in black and white!"

The Bug said nothing. Silence was his ally, his power, his secret. As Allison sat down, her chair slid toward him. Her arm was almost touching his. He glanced over to see if she was aware of this, but saw instead that her eyes were already riveted on the monitor, which faded in the music of today's episode of "As Passion Swells."

The soap opera began. A handsome, dark-haired, musclebound man named Arnold slid out from under a car chassis, to greet a gorgeous overdressed Daisy-Mae-like woman named Rhonda, whose Jag was being fixed.

"Hi," she said. "How's it coming?"

"Hi," said Arnold, holding a ratchet and wiping the sweat from chest. "Real good. Come on over in the shade and I'll fill you in."

"Oooooh," said Allison.

The conference room speaker phone rang. And rang. "Can you get that?" she asked, intent on the TV, forgetting that The Bug was her superior.

The Bug picked up.

"Hello? Mr. Deatherage? Mrs. Petruno. I have one more question, and then I think I'm ready to make a move."

The Bug thought for a millisecond of mayhem. Of committing acts of unspeakable violence against this anonymous middle-aged woman who lived somewhere in the Bronx, and who had made it her life's mission to torment him, to harass him, to prevent him from attaining Love. Then he remembered that he, in fact, had cold-called her.

"Yes ma'am," he replied cheerfully.

"I don't understand why companies show fixed assets at cost less accumulated depreciation. If I were doing a balance sheet for myself, I'd show my assets at their market prices to see what I'm worth."

God, he thought, this woman is irritating. He wasn't at all interested in those assets. He was interested in Allison, and other assets. Still, he replied. He told the truth. He said:

1) Companies do not sell fixed assets in the ordinary course of business.

2) The value of an asset to a company could be quite different from its current market price.

3) Market prices of assets change frequently, and keeping up with them would be costly.

4) All of the above.

The Answer is 4) All of the Above.

A person doing her own balance sheet is probably concerned with liquidity, so market prices make sense. But a company uses fixed assets: it does not expect to sell them until they wear out. The value of an asset to a particular company is often well above what that asset is worth to someone else. An oil refinery in the middle of a desert is valuable only to the company that has the right to pump out the oil. A machine used to make highly specialized parts for a single company's product has no value to anyone else.

Answer 3 is correct because accountants are always concerned about the costs and benefits of gathering, recording, and reporting information. What possible value could a shareholder find in knowing the market prices of assets that the company will never sell on the market? The principal concern of the investor is how well the company is using those assets.

"Just a minute. There's someone at the door," said Mrs. Petruno.

Charles held on to the receiver. Allison was slowly, agonizingly beautifully, placing a risotto-laden plastic fork onto her tongue. Charles permitted himself a stare of fully three seconds, then concentrated on the screen.

In the coolness of the garage, by the red toolchest and the oily rags, Arnold and Rhonda were overcome with passion, and were clenched together in a steamy embrace. Damn decorum. Damn convention. Damn the torpedoes.

The Bug hung up the phone and moved toward Allison.

Monday:
Passion In the Brokerage -- Episode 6
Danger

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