The Deep State Tax System

The city of Veritas shimmered under a perpetual haze of striving and aspiration. Gleaming towers pierced the sky, symbols of progress and the promise that hard work, grit, and unwavering dedication would unfailingly lead to financial independence. Daria Prudence, a junior tax analyst at the Department of Fiscal Oversight, believed in Veritas with unwavering faith. She saw her role not just as numbers, but as a cog in the engine of national prosperity, ensuring everyone paid their fair share to keep the dream alive.

Her parents, factory workers who had scrimped and saved their entire lives, were living proof of the Veritas ideal. They might not be wealthy, but they owned their modest home, their retirement fund was growing, and they had sent Daria to university. They embodied the quiet dignity of the working class, their faces etched with the honest fatigue of a life well-lived and justly rewarded. "Keep your head down, Daria," her father would always say, "work hard, and the system will work for you."

And for the vast majority, the system did seem to work. Public service announcements constantly celebrated the "Upstarts" – the self-made entrepreneurs, the innovators, the titans of industry who had risen from humble beginnings to command empires. Figures like Tristan Thomas, CEO of OmegaCorp, whose rags-to-riches story was taught in schools, served as the ultimate proof that Veritas was a true meritocracy.

Daria’s own ambition was fueled by these narratives. She meticulously studied the labyrinthine tax code, dreaming of the day she could afford a small apartment with a view of the spires, a testament to her own upward journey.

Her first assignment, a deep dive into the nation’s “Prosperity Index” – a newly lauded government initiative designed to track and encourage upward mobility – seemed like a perfect start. The index presented a glowing picture: a steady, albeit slow, ascension for many families, punctuated by the dazzling leaps of the celebrated Upstarts. Yet, as Daria delved past the polished executive summaries and into the raw data, a subtle discord began to hum beneath the surface.

It started with small businesses. Daria noticed a peculiar pattern: many small, promising enterprises would thrive for a few years, reach a certain revenue threshold, and then... stall. Their growth charts would flatline, or even dip. A deep analysis of their financial records showed a sudden spike in "compliance fees," "environmental sustainability levies," or complex, newly introduced "sector-specific wealth redistribution tariffs." These weren’t crippling individually, but collectively, they acted like a financial sandbag, always added just as a business gained significant momentum. It forced them to either remain perpetually small or, more often, to sell out to larger, established corporations at a price far below their true potential. And a quick cross-reference revealed that these acquiring corporations almost invariably traced back to a handful of well-known, foundational Veritas families.

Daria initially dismissed it as unfortunate timing, perhaps a necessary side effect of a robust economy. But the pattern was too consistent.

Then came the second anomaly, hitting closer to home. Her parents, after decades of diligent saving, had finally accumulated enough for a substantial down payment on a slightly larger house in a more stable neighbourhood. They had dreamt of a small garden, a quiet street away from the factory’s drone. But just as they prepared to make an offer, a cascade of new expenses erupted: an unexpected "urban revitalisation tax," a steep increase in property transfer fees, and new zoning regulations that effectively devalued their current home while inflating the target one. Their carefully calculated savings, once sufficient, now fell agonizingly short. Inflation, a silent, insidious beast, had gnawed away at their purchasing power, rendering their disciplined saving almost futile against the rising tide of carefully calibrated economic pressures.

"It just seems like we're always running to stand still," her mother sighed, poring over the revised figures. "Every time we get close, something new comes along."

Daria experienced a cold dread. She had seen this narrative in hundreds of financial reports, but never applied to her own family. Was it simply bad luck, or was there something else at play?

Her unease intensified when she began to scrutinize the heralded "Upstarts." Tristan Thomas, for instance. His official biography spoke of a solitary struggle, a brilliant inventor toiling in obscurity. Yet, a deeper dive into historical corporate registries revealed a meticulously erased, brief stint at a government-backed incubator, followed by an "anonymous angel investment" from a holding company Daria now knew was subtly linked to the powerful Veritas Council – the shadowy cabal of old money and corporate magnates who seemed to subtly influence every major policy decision. Thomas hadn't been given a handout, not overtly. He'd been given a carefully orchestrated series of "fortuitous opportunities" designed to ensure his specific success, not just any success. He was not a testament to the system's fairness, but a carefully selected prop, a living, breathing testament to its ultimate control.

Disturbed, Daria sought out Professor Alfred Claire, a retired economic historian from her university, known for his eccentric theories about "generational economic stratification." Alfred lived in a cluttered apartment overflowing with dusty tomes and printouts, a self-proclaimed "archivist of inconvenient truths."

"Ah, the Veritas Dream," Alfred rasped, his eyes twinkling behind thick spectacles when Daria hesitantly shared her observations. "A beautiful lie, isn't it?"

He gestured to a wall covered in a sprawling, hand-drawn chart – a tangled "Web of Influence," he called it. Lines connected old family names, corporate entities, political appointments, and obscure financial legislation. It looked like a madman's delusion, but Daria's nascent data was already confirming its terrifying accuracy.

"It's not a conspiracy in the dramatic sense," Alfred explained, tracing a line from a powerful family to a specific tax committee. "More of an evolved, self-sustaining ecosystem. The goal is simple: consolidate power and wealth across generations for a select few, while maintaining the illusion of upward mobility for the masses."

Alfred then laid bare the intricate design of the tax system:

The Wage Drain: "Your parents, Daria, are taxed at a punitive rate on their earned income. Every dollar they make through honest labor is chipped away, making it incredibly hard to save, to invest, to truly get ahead. Meanwhile, the Council's wealth, largely held in capital assets, trusts, and investments, faces far lower rates, riddled with exemptions and loopholes accessible only to the truly rich."

The Growth Ceiling: "Those small businesses you observed? The system is designed not to crush them outright, but to bleed them dry once they reach a certain size. New regulations, specific tax burdens that 'coincidentally' hit their profit margin, forcing them to either stagnate or sell. Who buys them? The corporations owned by the Council families, expanding their empires silently."

The Intergenerational Trap: "Inheritance taxes, a noble concept on paper, are brutal for the middle class. Your parents' modest home, if passed on, would incur significant levies, perhaps forcing its sale. But the mega-rich? They use complex generational trusts, offshore accounts, and carefully structured 'foundations' that are essentially tax-exempt forever. Their wealth merely fluidly transfers across generations, never truly taxed, never truly diminishing."

The Inflationary Churn: "And the quiet killer: inflation. It constantly devalues hard-earned savings. Your parents saved for decades, yet the goalpost keeps moving further away. It keeps people on the treadmill, working just to maintain their current standard of living, never gaining enough momentum to escape the cycle."

Daria felt the pieces click into place with terrifying precision. The Prosperity Index wasn't tracking genuine mobility; it was a sophisticated smokescreen, its carefully selected "Upstarts" serving as beacons of false hope, diverting attention from the systemic suppression of the many.

Armed with Alfred's insights and her own access, Daria began to cross-reference data points, pulling up historical legislative records, corporate filings, and the internal memos of the Department of Fiscal Oversight. The correlations were not just chilling; they were undeniable. Specific policy proposals, disguised as "economic stimulus" or "regulatory reform," consistently benefited the Council families while subtly disadvantaging the working and middle classes.

The climax arrived with the announcement of the "Inheritance & Legacy Protections Act," framed as a simplification of estate law, aimed at reducing bureaucratic burdens. Daria, however, recognized it instantly. It was the final nail. It would strip away one of the few remaining, albeit difficult, avenues for middle-class families to transfer modest wealth – perhaps a small business, a family home – while simultaneously cementing the iron-clad, perfectly legal, and virtually untaxed generational trusts of the ultra-rich.

She confronted her superior, Ms. Sabeen, a seemingly benevolent but rigidly pragmatic woman. "Ms. Sabeen," Daria began, heart pounding, "the Inheritance Act… it's not what it seems. My analysis shows it will exacerbate economic stratification, not simplify it."

Ms. Sabeen listened, her face impassive. "Daria," she said, her voice soft but firm, "the department's role is to implement policy, not to question its underlying philosophy. These decisions are made at a level far beyond our pay grade. Some things are simply… the way they are." Her gaze held a quiet warning, a chilling understanding that Daria was treading on dangerous ground.

Daria knew she couldn't stay silent. She worked late into the night, compiling an irrefutable report: meticulously sourced data, graphs, historical precedents, and the direct links between tax legislation, wealth stagnation, the carefully selected "Upstarts," and the Council. She anonymized it as best she could and, through Alfred's old activist contacts, attempted to leak it to a network of independent journalists.

The leak was intercepted within hours. Daria's system access was revoked. Her work terminal displayed a polite but firm notice of "administrative leave pending internal review." A sealed envelope arrived at her apartment, containing a single sheet of paper: her employment contract with a clause highlighted – "Unauthorized disclosure of proprietary information carries severe penalties." No threats, no accusations, just a silent, powerful hand reminding her of the rules.

That evening, Tristan Thomas was on every news channel, giving an impassioned speech about the "spirit of Veritas" and the "unwavering opportunity" presented by the new Inheritance & Legacy Protections Act. He spoke of resilience, of hard work, of the boundless potential in Veritas. Daria watched him, not with anger, but with a profound, aching sadness. He was not a villain, perhaps, but a carefully sculpted illusion, a living testament to a lie even he probably believed.

Daria’s career in Veritas was over. Her parents, hearing vague whispers of her "trouble at work," were distraught, urging her to apologize, to conform. The independent journalists, after a brief flurry of interest, dismissed the leaked material as "unsubstantiated conspiracy theories" – a consensus seemingly forming overnight across major news outlets. The Inheritance & Legacy Protections Act passed with overwhelming public support, lauded as a triumph of common sense.

Daria moved out of her small apartment, unable to afford it without her income. She spent weeks in a daze, the weight of the truth almost unbearable. She had seen behind the curtain, and the wizard was not a single, malevolent figure, but an intricate, self-perpetuating system, too vast and too deeply entrenched to be fought with a single report.

But the knowledge, once gained, could not be unlearned. Daria had lost her illusions, but she had gained clarity. The system could not be overthrown from the outside, nor could it be exposed by a single whistle-blower. Its strength lay in its subtlety, its capacity to appear fair, and its ability to highlight the few as proof for the many.

She found a new path. With Alfred's quiet encouragement, she started a small, independent financial consulting firm, operating out of a shared co-working space. She didn't seek to dismantle the system; she sought to navigate it. She taught working and middle-class families how to identify the subtle pitfalls, how to structure their modest savings to minimize inflationary erosion, how to interpret the fine print of tax changes, how to leverage the tiny, obscure loopholes the powerful allowed to exist. She focused on incremental gains, on small acts of financial empowerment in a rigged game.

She was not a revolutionary. She was a guide, helping people find the cracks, avoid the deepest traps, and perhaps, just perhaps, build a slightly more secure future for themselves and their children. The "Upstarts" still shone brightly on the screens, the illusion holding for the vast majority, reinforcing the belief that diligence was the sole determinant of destiny. Daria knew better. She understood that true freedom was not just about accumulating wealth, but about understanding the forces designed to control it, and then, quietly, patiently, working within those constraints to reclaim a small measure of autonomy.

The cycle continued, but now, Daria Prudence was an informed participant, not a pawn. And in the quiet victories of her clients, in the modest homes secured, the small legacies preserved, she found a different kind of truth. A truth that, perhaps, one day, might sow the seeds of a different kind of Veritas.