#Workforce Planning System

[darreny384]

Workforce Planning Software

Bullseye Engagement’s Workforce Planning Software is a powerful, cloud-based solution designed to help organizations strategically align their talent with business objectives. In today’s fast-paced, data-driven world, simply tracking headcount isn’t enough—companies need actionable insights to anticipate future workforce needs, close skill gaps, and make smarter HR decisions. Bullseye’s software empowers HR leaders to forecast staffing requirements, model “what-if” scenarios, and identify talent risks before they impact operations. With intuitive dashboards, real-time analytics, and integration with performance and succession planning tools, the platform provides a holistic view of your workforce. It enables seamless collaboration between HR and business leaders to ensure that talent strategies are aligned with long-term goals. From workforce forecasting and skill gap analysis to succession planning and talent optimization, Bullseye Engagement’s Workforce Planning Software transforms reactive planning into a proactive, strategic function. Whether you're preparing for growth, restructuring, or digital transformation, Bullseye gives you the clarity and control needed to build a future-ready workforce. For more info visit us https://www.bullseyeengagement.com/workforce-planning-software.asp 

[robertanthony34]

How To Use Workforce Optimization Software To Build Resilient And Future-Ready Teams

In a rapidly evolving business landscape, the success of any organization depends heavily on the resilience and adaptability of its workforce. Companies are no longer just seeking efficiency—they’re striving to future-proof their teams. That’s where Workforce Optimization Software comes into play.

At Bullseye Engagement, we understand that building a high-performing, future-ready team requires more than just good hiring. It involves data-driven strategies, smart tools, and a continuous focus on improvement. Our advanced Workforce Optimization Software empowers organizations to proactively manage talent, increase agility, and ensure sustainable growth.

In this blog, we’ll dive deep into how your company can leverage workforce optimization solutions to create resilient, future-focused teams ready to meet tomorrow’s challenges.

What Is Workforce Optimization Software?

Workforce Optimization Software is a comprehensive suite of tools designed to maximize employee performance, streamline operations, and align workforce planning with business goals. It typically includes features such as:

Performance management

Scheduling and time tracking

Learning and development

Employee engagement analytics

Resource forecasting and planning

Bullseye Engagement’s solution stands out by integrating all of these capabilities into one intuitive platform—enabling companies to build not just better teams, but stronger futures.

Why Resilience Matters in the Modern Workforce

Workplace resilience refers to a team’s ability to recover from setbacks, adapt to change, and continue to perform under pressure. Resilient teams are not only more productive—they’re also more innovative and collaborative. In a post-pandemic world where remote work, market volatility, and evolving technologies are the new norm, resilience has become non-negotiable.

Future-ready organizations know that investing in technology to support this resilience is key. Workforce Optimization Software is the bridge between traditional workforce management and forward-thinking human capital strategy.

Key Ways Workforce Optimization Software Builds Resilient, Future-Ready Teams

1. Enhancing Visibility Into Workforce Data

With Bullseye Engagement’s Workforce Optimization Software, HR leaders and managers gain a centralized dashboard that provides real-time visibility into workforce performance, capacity, and engagement.

This allows decision-makers to spot trends, identify skill gaps, and take corrective actions before small issues turn into major setbacks. When teams are informed, they’re empowered—and that’s a core pillar of resilience.

2. Streamlining Performance Management

Resilient teams thrive on clarity. That means clear goals, consistent feedback, and well-defined expectations.

Our software streamlines the performance management process with goal-setting tools, progress tracking, 360-degree feedback, and automated review cycles. It enables employees to stay aligned with business objectives while receiving actionable input to grow.

A transparent performance process not only builds trust but ensures everyone remains focused and accountable—even in uncertain times.

3. Fostering Continuous Learning and Upskilling

The future belongs to agile learners. One of the most effective ways to future-proof your workforce is to create a culture of continuous development.

Bullseye Engagement’s platform includes robust learning and development modules that allow companies to deliver personalized training paths, track course completion, and monitor skill progression.

This empowers employees to stay competitive in their roles while preparing for internal advancement opportunities—turning today’s workers into tomorrow’s leaders.

4. Improving Collaboration and Communication

Disjointed communication can quickly derail a team, especially during high-stress or fast-changing situations.

Our Workforce Optimization Software includes tools for peer recognition, team communication, and goal collaboration, ensuring that teams remain connected and engaged—whether working on-site or remotely.

This builds a sense of unity and purpose, strengthening the social fabric of your workforce and enhancing its ability to bounce back from challenges.

5. Supporting Data-Driven Decision-Making

Making workforce decisions based on intuition alone is no longer enough. Today’s HR and operations leaders need data to support workforce planning, training investments, and headcount allocation.

With Bullseye Engagement, you get predictive analytics and powerful reporting features that turn data into strategy. These insights allow you to identify top performers, evaluate team dynamics, and anticipate workforce needs—before they arise.

When your decisions are backed by data, your organization becomes more agile, prepared, and proactive.

How to Implement Workforce Optimization Software Effectively

Adopting Workforce Optimization Software isn’t just about technology—it’s about transformation. Here’s how to make the most of your investment:

1. Define Clear Objectives

Before implementing the software, identify what you hope to achieve. Are you aiming to reduce turnover, improve productivity, or close skill gaps? Set measurable goals to track success.

2. Get Leadership Buy-In

A successful rollout starts at the top. Make sure leaders understand the benefits and are prepared to champion the platform’s use across departments.

3. Train Your Teams

Equip your HR, management, and employees with the knowledge they need to use the platform effectively. Bullseye Engagement offers onboarding support and continuous training to ensure adoption.

4. Monitor and Optimize

Once implemented, monitor platform usage and results. Use built-in analytics to see what’s working and what’s not, then continuously refine your approach.

Future-Proofing with Bullseye Engagement

At Bullseye Engagement, we believe that your people are your greatest asset. Our Workforce Optimization Software is designed to help organizations not only manage their teams but unlock their full potential.

Whether you're navigating remote work, preparing for expansion, or simply striving to build a better company culture, our platform gives you the tools to do so with confidence.

Final Thoughts

Building a resilient, future-ready team doesn’t happen by chance—it takes deliberate effort, the right strategies, and powerful tools. Workforce Optimization Software is more than just a management tool; it’s a foundation for long-term growth and adaptability.

With Bullseye Engagement, you gain more than software—you gain a strategic partner committed to helping you transform your workforce into a dynamic, empowered, and forward-thinking team.

The future of work is here. Is your team ready?

For more info Contact us : (888) 515-0099 or Email : besales@bullseyetdp.com

[tsic-tata]

Productivity Services Consulting | Tata Steel Industrial Consulting

Boost your operational efficiency with Tata Steel Industrial Consulting's Productivity Services. Our expert consulting solutions focus on process optimization, waste reduction, and performance enhancement to drive productivity and profitability. Transform your operations for sustainable success today.

[rhsofttech2023]

A Guide to SAP HCM Online Training in India

[sreehari28]

In today's fast-paced business environment, the selection of the right workplace software can significantly impact an organization's productivity, efficiency, and overall success. "Planning for Success | Choosing the Right Workplace Software" is a comprehensive guide that highlights the critical importance of thoughtful planning and careful consideration when it comes to adopting new software solutions for the workplace. The guide begins by emphasizing the significance of aligning the software selection process with the organization's specific needs and objectives. It stresses the importance of involving key stakeholders from various departments, including IT, HR, finance, and operations, to ensure that all perspectives are considered and potential challenges are addressed. The planning phase involves a thorough assessment of the existing software infrastructure, identifying gaps, and determining the specific features and functionalities required to bridge those gaps effectively. It also examines the scalability of the chosen software to ensure that it can accommodate future growth and changing business requirements. The guide delves into the various types of workplace software available, such as project management tools, collaboration platforms, customer relationship management (CRM) systems, and communication applications. It provides valuable insights into the specific use cases and advantages of each type, empowering decision-makers to make informed choices based on their unique organizational needs. Furthermore, "Planning for Success | Choosing the Right Workplace Software" emphasizes the importance of considering factors beyond just features and costs. It explores the significance of compatibility with existing systems, user-friendliness, security features, and the availability of customer support and training resources. Another essential aspect covered in the guide is the need for trial periods and pilot tests before committing to full-scale implementation. This allows organizations to get hands-on experience with the software, evaluate its performance, and identify any potential roadblocks or challenges that may arise during the adoption process. Throughout the guide, real-world case studies and success stories are provided to illustrate the positive impact of thorough planning in the software selection process. Additionally, it highlights common pitfalls and mistakes to avoid, ensuring that decision-makers are well-prepared to make informed choices that align with their organization's long-term goals. In conclusion, "Planning for Success | Choosing the Right Workplace Software" serves as an invaluable resource for businesses and professionals seeking to optimize their operations through the adoption of suitable workplace software. By emphasizing the significance of meticulous planning and considering a range of factors, this guide equips readers with the knowledge and confidence to make informed decisions that pave the way for a successful and transformative software implementation.

[halfmoonaria]

her words, not mine

pairing: top!tara carpenter & sub!female reader

summary: you and tara kept things simple, no complications—until she made one.

warnings: smut (18+) fingering (r receiving), secret relationship, office sex.

author’s note: i haven’t proofread this one so..

Tara liked control.

She always had. Even as a child, she found comfort in order. It wasn't just about neatness or routine—it was about knowing.

Knowing that things were in their right place, that nothing unexpected would throw her off balance. Her toys had to be arranged a certain way. If someone moved them, she'd notice instantly. Her bookshelves had gone through endless reorganizations—not because she couldn't decide on a system, but because she needed to find the best one.

Genre made sense, but what if she wanted all her favorite books together? What if she needed to sort them by spine height so they looked even? What if, what if, what if?

She liked puzzles. Not because she enjoyed the picture at the end, but because she liked solving something that had a clear answer. She liked math for the same reason. Two plus two would always be four, no matter what. There was no uncertainty. No surprises. Just rules that made sense, that she could rely on.

She learned early that people weren't like that.

At school, group projects were a nightmare. The moment the teacher assigned one, Tara's jaw would clench, already anticipating the frustration. No one ever did what they were supposed to. No one ever cared as much as she did. So she took over. Not because she wanted to, but because if she didn't, things would fall apart.

People didn't appreciate that.

They called her bossy. Controlling. Too serious.

But what was wrong with wanting things done right? What was wrong with making sure things were finished on time instead of hoping someone else would magically pull through at the last second?

She stopped caring what people thought of her.

By the time she was a teenager, she had already accepted that if she wanted something done properly, she had to do it herself. And that suited her just fine. She didn't need anyone else. She had her plans, and she followed through on them, no matter what.

Tara never half-assed anything. If she committed to something, she owned it.

It was how she got through college at the top of her class. While other students partied, Tara studied. While others procrastinated, she finished assignments weeks in advance. Not because she was a genius, but because she refused to let herself fail. She didn't do 'good enough.' She did more.

And when it came time to enter the workforce, she carried that same mindset with her.

The first job she landed was nothing special. Just a stepping stone. She knew that the moment she walked in. But while others treated it like just another paycheck, Tara treated it like an opportunity. She learned fast, adapted even faster. She memorized company policies inside and out. She figured out what made people listen, what made them respect her.

She wasn't the boss. Not yet. But she knew she would be.

So she worked. And worked.

Late nights, early mornings, weekends sacrificed in the name of something bigger. It wasn't enough to be good at her job—she had to be the best. She studied the people above her, watched how they operated, learned from their mistakes. She climbed the ladder so quickly it made people's heads spin.

By the time she got to the top, no one could say she didn't deserve it.

Now, she was the one in charge. The one who gave orders instead of taking them.

Her office ran exactly the way she wanted it to—strict, efficient, with no room for distractions.

Or at least, that's how it was supposed to be.

But then there was you.

Tara didn't notice you at first. Not in the way she would later. You were just another name on a new hire list, another employee she expected to follow orders and do their job. You weren't the first person to work under her, and you wouldn't be the last.

But you were different.

She saw it almost immediately. While others hesitated around her, unsure whether to tiptoe or challenge her authority, you never wavered. You didn't shrink under her sharp tone or the weight of her expectations. You never sighed when she gave you extra work, never rolled your eyes when you thought she wasn't looking.

The others tried to hide their exasperation, their thinly veiled frustration whenever she demanded precision. It was in the subtle way they hesitated before saying yes, ma'am, in the tight-lipped expressions they wore when she sent them back to redo a report that wasn't up to her standards. They obeyed, but with reluctance. Even the best among them still carried that underlying sense of just let it go, it's not that serious.

But not you.

You followed every instruction to the letter, not just meeting her standards but exceeding them. If she asked for paperwork, it was on her desk before she even had to remind you. If she wanted reports sorted in a specific way, you did it without question. Not once did she have to send something back because it wasn't done right.

You did everything her way. Everything she wanted.

And you never complained.

At first, she told herself that was all it was—just appreciation for competence. Respect for someone who took their job as seriously as she did. But then she started to watch you.

She noticed things she had no business noticing.

The way your fingers tapped lightly against your desk when you were deep in concentration. The way you chewed on the end of your pen absentmindedly during meetings. The way you bit your lip when you read over a document, eyes narrowing just slightly as if you were committing every word to memory.

It was ridiculous. Inappropriate. Unprofessional.

And yet, sometimes—only sometimes—she would catch herself looking lower.

It wasn't intentional. At least, that's what she told herself. But her gaze would flicker downward, lingering for a second too long. It didn't matter that you never dressed revealingly. You could be wearing the most modest blouse imaginable, and still, her eyes would betray her. The way the fabric hugged you just enough, the way it shifted when you moved—it was infuriating how easily her mind wandered.

She scolded herself for it. She was better than this. Smarter than this.

You worked for her.

And yet, no matter how many times she told herself it was nothing, that it didn't mean anything, the thought was always there. Looking isn't doing anything wrong. Thinking isn't acting.

As long as she never did anything about it, there wasn't a problem.

Right?

...Right?

Tara told herself it would pass.

That it was just a phase—an overactive mind, too many late nights, nothing more.

But the longer it went on, the worse it got.

Because you made it hard.

She had control over everything. Everything. Her schedule. Her business. The way people spoke to her, the way they listened when she gave orders. Control was what she did. It was what she was.

And yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't control this.

Couldn't control the way her eyes lingered on you when you weren't looking. The way she caught herself anticipating your presence, your voice, the way you carried yourself so effortlessly through the office. Couldn't control the way her mind drifted at night, replaying insignificant moments as if they meant something.

But you—you were controlled.

You followed the rules. You knew how to navigate her world, how to move within the strict lines she had drawn. You did everything right. Everything she wanted.

And it infuriated her.

Because no matter how much power she held over you in that office—no matter how much control she had over everything else—she couldn't control what you were doing to her.

She tried to push it down. Buried it beneath long hours and stricter expectations, forced herself to focus on anything but the way her breath caught when you got too close.

It didn't work.

Because eventually, there was that night.

It was late. The office was empty, save for the low hum of the air conditioning and the faint glow of computer screens still in sleep mode. She hadn't planned to stay so late, but neither had you.

And she hadn't planned on letting her control slip.

But it did.

And once it happened the first time—once that line was crossed—there was no going back.

The headache had settled in hours ago, a dull ache at the base of Tara's skull that no amount of pinching at the bridge of her nose had managed to fix. The office had been silent by then—just the faint buzz of a light she had kept meaning to replace, the occasional creak of the building settling.

She should have gone home.

But the end of the day had always felt like a void, like the moment she stepped outside, she would have nothing but time—time to think, time to dwell, time to let her mind wander places it shouldn’t.

So she had stayed.

A few reports had still needed reviewing, a contract had been waiting for her signature—excuses, really, but enough to justify the extra hours. She had skimmed through the papers in front of her, rubbing at her forehead as she had tried to focus.

Then, a soft knock against the doorframe.

Tara had looked up sharply, her thoughts scattering like glass.

And there you had been.

You had smiled, the same polite, professional smile she had seen a hundred times before. The kind of smile you had always given her when you had stepped into her office with a file in hand or a question on your lips.

But that night, it had felt different.

Or maybe that had just been her.

Because it had been after hours. Because she had been tired. Because her body had been tense and restless in ways she hadn't been proud of, and now you had been standing there, looking at her like you always did, and for the first time, she had felt like she couldn't look away.

"Ms. Carpenter..." Your voice had been soft in the quiet space, hesitant but not nervous.

You had shifted slightly, holding up a folder with one hand. "I was finishing up the reports from the vendors, but there were a few inconsistencies in the invoices. I thought you might want to go over them before I send them back."

Tara had swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

Of course. Work. That had been why you had still been there. Why you had approached her. Why you had spoken her name so softly it had sent a shiver down her spine.

She had nodded, forcing herself to look at the folder instead of at you. "Right. Leave them on my desk."

But you hadn't moved right away.

And Tara had realized, in that small pause, that this had been the moment where it all had started to go wrong.

You had nodded at her words and stepped forward, placing the folder neatly onto her desk before turning to leave.

And Tara had watched you go.

It had been instinct, at first. A passing glance that had lasted a second too long.

The way you had walked—unhurried, confident but not cocky. The way your skirt had hugged your hips just enough to make her grip tighten around her pen. She had never let herself stare before, but she had been exhausted, her thoughts already slipping past her usual restraint, and for a brief, fleeting moment, she had let herself want.

Just as quickly, she had forced herself to look away.

Of course she hadn't said anything. Of course she had stayed silent, eyes snapping back to the papers in front of her, pen dragging across the page as if that could erase the fact that, for one split second, she had almost wished you had stayed.

But the knowledge that you were still somewhere in the building—that it was just the two of you, alone in the dimly lit office—was enough to make her pulse thrum a little too fast.

She had tried to push it down. To ignore the sudden heat simmering beneath her skin, the restless energy that made it impossible to focus on the words she was supposed to be reading.

But her hands had felt unsteady.

Her grip on the pen had been too tight, her skin too warm, her breathing a little too uneven. She had even flexed her fingers, pressing her palms flat against the desk as if she could ground herself, but nothing had helped.

And it had been infuriating.

Because this wasn't what control felt like.

Control was certainty. Control was discipline. Control was her thing.

This? This had been something else entirely.

Tara had exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down her face before glancing at the clock. It was late. Too late.

She had decided then—before her thoughts could spiral any further—that it was best to go home. If she was feeling this off, this hot and restless, she was probably coming down with something. Maybe a fever. That would explain everything.

With that excuse firmly in place, she had snapped her laptop shut and started gathering the scattered papers on her desk.

And that had been the exact moment you had walked in again.

She had frozen, just for a split second, fingers still curled around a loose stack of documents, before forcing herself to relax.

The same soft smile. The same perfectly put-together demeanor. A thinner folder in your hands.

"Ma'am," you had said, voice smooth, effortless, sending something sharp and electric straight through her spine.

She had swallowed, gripping the papers a little tighter.

You had stepped closer, holding out the folder. "I finalized the edits on the quarterly report, but I wanted to double-check if you wanted me to send it to the board as is, or if you'd prefer another review first."

Tara had barely heard a word you had said.

She had tried to listen—to focus—but she had still been picking up the last of her things, still forcing herself to act normal, and that had already taken every ounce of willpower she had left.

You had glanced at her desk then, at the way she had been straightening up. Something in your expression had shifted, a flicker of hesitation before you had spoken again.

"Did you want me to close up?"

Your voice had been softer that time, more casual.

And it had been a simple question. A normal one. But for some reason, the sound of it had made something deep in Tara's stomach tighten painfully.

She had nodded, too quickly. "Yeah, that would be great."

Her voice had been neutral. Measured. Like she had barely been paying attention.

But she had been paying attention.

Too much.

Because she had still been pretending to organize the papers in front of her, still trying to do something so she wouldn't have to think about the fact that her whole body had felt wound too tight.

And then you had said it again.

"Yes, ma'am."

And that had been the last drop.

Tara had never let herself indulge. Never let herself do more than look—and even that had been rare, controlled, brief.

But suddenly, none of that had felt like enough.

Suddenly, control hadn't mattered at all.

Tara hadn't planned it.

She hadn't thought about it—not really, not in a way that acknowledged what she was actually doing.

She had just moved.

One second, she had been standing there, still gripping the edges of her desk like it could somehow ground her, still trying to will away the heat in her chest, the tightness in her stomach. And then, suddenly, her hands had been on you, her lips pressing hard against yours.

It hadn't been careful. It hadn't been slow or thoughtful or rational—it had been instant. A desperate attempt to make it all stop.

Because if she kissed you, maybe the thoughts would go away.

If she kissed you, maybe the tightness in her chest would finally ease, maybe the heat in her stomach would stop twisting itself into unbearable knots, maybe she could get her control back.

And for one agonizing second, as she had felt your breath hitch against her lips, she had been terrified that she had ruined everything.

That you would push her away. That you would look at her like she had crossed a line. That you would pull back, storm out, and cost her everything—her reputation, her position, everything she had worked for.

But then you had leaned in.

Not quickly, not in a way that screamed urgency or recklessness.

You had just looked at her—wide-eyed, surprised, the soft glow of the office lights making your lips look even more kissable than they already were.

And then you had kissed her back.

Tara had barely registered the sound of a sharp inhale, barely processed the way her pulse had thundered so hard it almost hurt, because suddenly, her back was hitting the desk, and her legs were wrapping around your waist like she needed you closer.

She had needed you closer.

Everything had been fast—desperate.

The sound of her desk chair scraping back, the crash of a stapler and loose papers hitting the floor as she grabbed at you, pulled at you, let herself want.

She had never been this desperate before.

But she had clung to you like she needed you to breathe, grinding up against your hips with reckless urgency, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, lips parting against yours as her fingers tangled in your hair.

She had felt electric.

Like her whole body was on fire, like every part of her was wired too tight, coiled up with months of restraint she hadn't even realized she had been holding.

And then your hands had slid down.

Slow. Intentional.

You had pushed up her skirt, fingers grazing along the inside of her thigh.

Tara had gasped—actually gasped—her nails digging into your shoulders, her body arching up into your touch, her mind blanking completely when your fingers pressed against her.

She had never let go like this before.

But with you, she hadn't wanted to hold back.

She remembered everything.

Every sound. Every touch. Every second she had let go.

She remembered the way her legs had trembled when your fingers pushed inside her, how she had gripped at your shoulders, nails digging in like she needed something to anchor herself, to keep herself from completely falling apart.

She remembered how wet she had been, how embarrassing it should have been, how it only made you move faster, made your touch rougher, made her hips chase the pressure.

She remembered the way she had moaned—loud, desperate, shameless. How she hadn't even thought about keeping it down, about the fact that anyone could have still been in the building, about anything except the way your fingers curled just right inside her.

She remembered your mouth.

How it had found the skin of her neck, her jaw, the shell of her ear. How you had sucked at her pulse, kissed down her throat, whispered things against her skin that made her throb.

She remembered the burn of her desk against her back, the way her blouse had ridden up as she squirmed against the wood, the way her thighs had ached from being spread so wide around your hips.

She remembered how her own voice had sounded—breathless, high-pitched, needy.

She had never sounded like that before.

She had never let herself sound like that before.

But she had wanted it. She had needed it.

And when she came—legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry, forehead pressing into your shoulder—she had realized something that terrified her.

For the first time in her life, she had lost control.

And it had felt so fucking good.

After, there had been silence.

No awkwardness, no words, no need to fill the space with anything but the sound of hurried breaths and rustling clothes. Tara had smoothed down her skirt, fixed the buttons on her blouse with slightly unsteady hands, and watched as you did the same. Neither of you spoke about what had just happened.

And maybe that was for the best.

When you left the office, you didn't look at her any differently. You didn't linger in the doorway, didn't hesitate, didn't ask what it meant. You just said Goodnight, Ms. Carpenter—like you always did—and walked away.

Tara didn't say anything back. She had just sat there, perched on the edge of her desk, feeling HOT all over, feeling something that wasn't quite regret but wasn't satisfaction either.

That night, she couldn't sleep.

She had tried. She had needed to, but every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the way your lips had parted against hers, the way your body had pressed against her own, the way you had taken without hesitation, without letting her control a single moment of it.

And that was what stuck with her the most.

She had never let that happen before. She had never let anyone else dictate HER. Not at work, not in life, and definitely not in bed.

But she had.

And the worst part—the best part—was that she had liked it.

She wanted it again. She knew that much.

But if it happened again, it had to be her way. Her rules. Her control.

Because this wasn't who she was. She wasn't reckless, she wasn't impulsive, and she wasn't someone who let her own employee bend her over a desk without thinking.

If she was going to do this again, it would be different. It had to be.

And it happened again.

It shouldn't have. Tara had told herself that. She had laid in bed the night after that first time, forcing herself to believe it had been a mistake—one she wouldn't repeat, one she couldn’t repeat.

But then, not even a full day later, she had found herself alone with you again. And just like before, she hadn't thought. She hadn't stopped herself.

It kept happening after that.

At first, there had still been some semblance of restraint. A tension she tried to hold onto, an unspoken boundary she convinced herself still existed. But then it became a routine.

She didn't call you into her office for work anymore.

There were no excuses, no flimsy justifications—just a glance, just a moment, just a shift in the air between you that made it clear what you were both there for.

It happened almost every day.

And if a day was missed? It was made up for the next.

Tara hadn't expected it to get that far. She had thought maybe it would be like some passing phase, some moment of insanity that would fade with time.

But it hadn't.

And what made it worse—what made it better—was that it didn't just happen after hours anymore.

It happened during the day. During work.

Behind a locked office door, when the sun was still high and the sounds of the office still filled the space beyond the walls, you would take everything she gave you. Let her be the one in charge. Let her have the control.

And maybe that was why she let herself keep going. Because even though this was the one thing she shouldn’t be doing, at least in this, she still had control.

Most of the time.

Because there were still moments—rare ones, fleeting ones—where you took it back. Where you reminded her of that first time, of what it had felt like to be completely at someone else's mercy. And when that happened, she told herself she hated it.

But that was a lie.

It always started the same way.

A glance. A shift in the air. A moment where the tension between you sharpened, like a wire pulled too tight, waiting to snap. And then it did.

Tara would push you up against the door, lips crashing into yours before the lock had even clicked into place. She was always desperate in those first moments, always acting like she had spent the entire day trying not to think about this—about you.

Her hands would be on you immediately, slipping under your blazer, shoving it from your shoulders. Your blouse was next. She had learned how to work the buttons quickly, how to get you bare in seconds. She never wasted time.

Her mouth would trail down your neck, your collarbone, as she backed you toward the desk. She had done it enough times to know the perfect angle to sit you on the edge, to stand between your legs, to push your skirt up just enough to let her fingers tease along the inside of your thigh.

She liked teasing at first, watching you shift against the desk, watching your body react before she even really touched you. But she never made you wait long.

Because she couldn't.

Because the second she slipped her fingers inside, she always realized just how wet you already were. For her. From nothing but the anticipation. And that drove her insane.

Tara knew exactly what you liked by now. She knew the pace, the rhythm, the angle that made your body tighten, that made your fingers grip the edge of the desk like you'd fall apart otherwise. She knew when to slow down, when to speed up, when to press her thumb against your clit just right. She knew how to get you to say her name exactly the way she liked it.

But it was never enough.

Not for her.

Because by the time she felt you clenching around her fingers, by the time she felt you coming undone, her own body was aching for more.

And you always gave it to her.

She barely had time to catch her breath before you were tugging her blazer off, pulling at the buttons of her blouse, pushing it off her shoulders. Your hands always moved differently than hers—slower, more deliberate, making her feel seen in a way that made her shiver.

When you pushed her onto the desk, when you kissed your way down her stomach, she never stopped you.

She couldn't.

Because by then, she was gone. The moment your mouth was on her, the second she felt your tongue against her, she lost everything else—her control, her thoughts, her pride.

All that was left was this.

Your mouth, your tongue, your fingers pressing into her hips, holding her there as she gasped and writhed and tried so fucking hard to keep quiet even though she never fully could.

And it was in those moments—when you were on your knees between her legs, when she was unraveling, moaning, shuddering—that she knew the truth.

She could tell herself whatever she wanted. That she had the control. That this was just another thing she handled the way she handled everything else.

But it was a lie.

Because the truth was, when you had her like this—when you had her completely—you could do whatever you wanted to her.

And she'd let you.

Only until she decided she was done letting.

Because no matter how good it felt to give in to you, to let herself forget, to let herself be taken—Tara never forgot for too long who was really in charge.

Like now when she had you right where she wanted you.

You were on her desk, legs spread around her hips, your back arched slightly from the cool surface beneath you. The usual casualties of your encounters—a few scattered papers, a pen rolling off the edge, the ever-present risk of knocking over her coffee—were long forgotten. The only thing that mattered was the way Tara was inside you, her fingers buried deep, her palm pressing against your clit with every slow, deliberate thrust.

She watched you, dark eyes fixed on the way your body moved against her hand, on the way you clenched around her fingers with every roll of your hips. It wasn't enough for her to just have you like this. She needed to see what she was doing to you. To feel it in the way your breath hitched, in the way your fingers dug into the edge of the desk like you needed something—anything—to hold onto.

You were grinding down against her hand, chasing the friction she was only half-giving you, and that alone made her smirk. It was always like this. Always you getting so desperate for more, even when she was the one giving it to you.

Her free hand skimmed up your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh before sliding higher. She tugged at your blouse, pushing it further up your stomach, exposing more of you to her. Not that she needed to—she had already seen you like this more times than she could count—but she liked it. Liked having you spread out for her, flushed and desperate and completely at her mercy.

Her pace didn't change, even though she knew you wanted her to move faster, to push you over the edge. But that wasn't how this worked.

Not with her.

It had started the way it always did. With Tara deciding she wanted you and making sure she got you.

She had been restless the night before, shifting beneath her sheets, unable to sleep because every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was you. The way you looked when you dropped to your knees for her. The way your lips parted when she pushed her fingers deep inside you. The way you whimpered her name when you were close—breathless, desperate, completely hers.

By the time morning came, she knew she wouldn't be able to make it through the day without doing something about it.

So she did.

She had barely been in the office an hour before she made sure you'd end up exactly where she wanted you. She didn't call you herself—she never did. That would've been too obvious. Instead, she had one of her employees, someone whose name she barely remembered, find you and let you know that she needed to see you in her office.

It was routine. Expected. If Tara Carpenter called someone to her office, it was for a reason, and when she was finished, they'd leave.

No one ever suspected that when you went in, you didn't come back out right away.

That by the time you did, your blouse was just a little more wrinkled, your legs just a little shakier, your lipstick just a little smudged.

Now, Tara had you exactly where she wanted you.

You were gasping beneath her, moaning into her mouth, your forehead pressed to hers as her fingers fucked you, deep and slow, the way she knew drove you crazy. Your breaths mingled—hot, shaky, desperate. She could feel the tension in your body, the way your thighs clenched around her, the way you needed her to move faster, to give you more.

And fuck, she loved this.

Loved the way you looked right now—eyes hazy, lips parted, skin flushed. Loved the way you sounded—soft moans mixing with shaky breaths, filling the space between you.

Loved knowing she had done this to you. That she could have you like this whenever she wanted.

Your hand fumbled for her tie, fingers curling around the silky fabric she had chosen that morning—the one she only wore on certain days, for reasons only she knew.

It was loose around her neck, slightly loosened from the heat between you, but not enough to ruin the sharp, put-together look that drove you crazy. You wrapped the material around your fingers and tugged, not hard enough to choke her, just enough to make her feel it—to pull her closer, to make her fingers push deeper inside you, dragging a desperate whimper from your lips.

Tara exhaled through her nose, slow and heavy, her lips parting just slightly as your mouths hovered against each other. Your breath tangled together, hot and uneven, your gasps mixing in the small space between you.

You felt burning—all over, inside and out. Every brush of her fingers, every shift of her wrist, every slow, torturous drag of her touch sent another wave of pleasure coursing through you, tightening in your stomach, making your thighs tremble around her hips.

Your lips barely moved against hers when you whispered, "I love when you wear a tie."

Tara let out a slow, shuddering breath, like she was feeling your words as much as she was hearing them.

And fuck, she was.

Because the second you said it, she felt it—low in her stomach, pulsing between her legs, sinking into her chest like an intoxicating warmth that she never quite knew how to handle. Your voice, the way you said it, the way you looked at her as you did—it sent a fresh spark of heat through her veins, made her fingers curl inside you on instinct.

You gasped at the sensation, a choked sound escaping your lips as your thighs tensed around her waist.

Tara smirked, just a little, her confidence spiking at the reaction she pulled from you. "Oh yeah?"

Her voice was lower now, thick with satisfaction, teasing but dark—like she already knew the answer. Like she just wanted to hear you say it, wanted to watch the way your face twisted with pleasure when you admitted it.

Your stomach tightened, and you pressed down against her hand, chasing the pressure, the friction, the pleasure.

Her fingers curled deeper.

Your breath caught.

"Yes, ma'am."

Tara sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, her entire body reacting.

Her fingers stilled inside you for half a second, but only because she felt it—really felt it. Like the words sent a jolt of electricity through her veins, like they cracked something open inside her.

Her stomach clenched. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily. A deep, primal kind of satisfaction settled low in her gut, making her pulse throb in the worst, most intoxicating way.

You saw it happen. You felt it happen. The way her muscles tensed, the way her throat bobbed with a quiet swallow, the way her eyes darkened—heat flickering in them like a barely restrained fire.

And then she exhaled, slow and heavy, before letting out a quiet, dangerous laugh.

Her smirk returned—wider, more dangerous, dripping with the kind of power she knew she had over you.

Her fingers moved again.

And this time, she was ruthless.

Tara's eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail—every messy, undone, wrecked part of you.

Your hair, which had started the day in a neat ponytail, was loose and disheveled now, strands falling around your face and sticking slightly to your skin from the heat between you. It framed your features perfectly, making you look even more ruined, even more gone under her touch.

Your shirt—crisp and professional when you arrived—was a mess. The top buttons had been carelessly undone, either by you in desperation or by her when she pulled at the fabric to get her mouth on your neck earlier. The soft lace of your bra peeked through the open collar, teasing her, taunting her. And fuck, if she wasn't already losing her mind, that definitely would have done it.

She dragged her eyes back up to your face, breathing heavily, watching the way your lips parted, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your forehead pressed against hers like you needed the contact to stay grounded.

And fuck, she wanted to ruin you even more.

Her fingers moved again, curling deeper, pressing harder—just to see the way your body jerked in response, just to hear the way your breath hitched in your throat.

But then—

A sharp knock at the door.

The handle rattled.

You both froze.

A voice—muffled through the wood but clear enough to snap you both back to reality.

"Ms. Carpenter?"

Your stomach dropped.

Tara's body tensed between your legs, her fingers still buried deep inside you. Your breath hitched in your throat, your entire body humming with the worst kind of anticipation—stuck somewhere between panic and overwhelming need.

Tara didn't move. Didn't pull away. Didn't stop.

She turned her head slightly toward the door, her expression unreadable, her breathing slow and controlled. And then—very deliberately—her fingers curled again.

You gasped.

Tara smirked, her fingers still moving inside you, slow but deliberate, as she turned her head slightly toward the door. Of course she knew who it was. She always knew.

"Yes, Derek?" she called, her voice perfectly even, professional—like she wasn't currently fucking you on her desk.

And then—

She pressed deeper, her fingers curling inside you, her palm pressing firmly against you as she quickened her pace. The sharp, overwhelming pleasure sent a jolt through your body, making your legs tighten around her waist, your breath stuttering.

The moan slipped out before you could stop it—loud, desperate.

Tara reacted instantly.

Her hand clamped over your mouth, the warmth of her palm pressing firmly against your lips, muffling the sound. Her grip was just tight enough to be controlling, just enough to make it clear—you had to stay quiet. Her dark eyes locked onto yours, a silent command flashing in them. Behave.

On the other side of the door, Derek kept talking, oblivious.

"I just sent over the reports you requested, Ms. Carpenter. I wanted to go over the projections for next quarter—"

Tara's fingers dragged inside you, slow and deep, pressing against the spot that made you tremble. Your whole body clenched around her, your hands gripping at her arms, nails digging into the fabric of her blazer. Your muffled whimper barely escaped against her hand.

She leaned in, her breath hot against your ear. Her voice was impossibly soft, teasing.

"Be quiet."

Your thighs twitched against her hips, your entire body working against you, betraying how desperate you were for more.

Derek continued, still unaware. "There were a few discrepancies I thought you should look at before we move forward with—"

Tara's fingers curled, pressing deeper, her wrist flexing as she fucked into you with slow, devastating precision.

Your entire body shook. Your head tipped back slightly, your lashes fluttering, your breath coming out in sharp, stifled gasps against her palm.

Tara's smirk deepened, her lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. She felt every little movement, every twitch, every uncontrollable reaction you had to her.

"And?" she prompted smoothly, as if she weren't currently ruining you.

Derek hesitated on the other side of the door, then cleared his throat. "Uh—actually, may I come in and show you?"

Tara exhaled a soft, knowing laugh, like she found the idea ridiculous. Because it was.

She didn't stop. She didn't slow down. If anything, she only pushed harder, deeper—testing you, taunting you.

"I'm currently speaking with Ms. L/N," she said, her voice steady, unshaken, the perfect contrast to how wrecked you were against her.

She knew what she was doing to you. She knew how close you were. And she knew you couldn't do a thing about it.

Her fingers curled again, sharper this time, hitting just right, and your entire body shuddered. Your nails dug into her arms, your hips jerking forward, desperate for more.

Tara pressed her forehead to yours, her eyes locked on yours, watching you come undone in her hands.

Her smirk widened.

"I'll be ready in just a second."

Her voice was steady—controlled, composed—but you could feel the way her breath hitched against your lips, the way her fingers pushed just a little deeper, chasing something she wasn't even sure of.

And then, just as you hit that peak, just as your body clenched around her fingers, she pulled them out.

Not slow. Not gentle. A calculated retreat, leaving you trembling, gasping, still teetering on the edge.

She brought her fingers to her lips, holding your gaze as she sucked them clean, and something about the way she did it—just a little slower than usual, just a little less smug—made your stomach twist.

Then it was gone.

She smirked as she straightened your skirt, smoothing it down over your thighs like she hadn't just had her fingers buried inside you. Like you weren't still sitting there, trying to catch your breath.

"Fix your shirt," she murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

It was normal. The same teasing aftercare she always gave.

And yet.

There was something in the way she stepped back too quickly. The way she turned away before you could see her face. The way she ran a hand through her hair like she was trying to shake something off.

It wasn't obvious.

But it was enough.

And later, when everything changed, you'd realize that maybe it had started here.

___

Tara had been acting weird.

At first, it wasn't anything obvious. Nothing anyone else would notice. But you did.

Because she hadn't called you into her office.

Not once.

Days passed. The longest you'd ever gone without her pulling you aside, without the press of her lips against your skin, without her hands gripping your waist, pulling you close, taking what she wanted. The silence stretched between you, thick and unspoken, but you felt it every time you glanced toward her office door and saw it closed. Locked away. Off-limits.

Still, everything else seemed normal. Or at least, it should have.

Tara walked the halls like she always did, head held high, voice sharp and sure when she spoke. In meetings, she still nodded at your input, still approved your reports with the same efficient flick of her pen. But the moments in between—where her gaze should have lingered, where her fingers should have trailed along your wrist as she passed by—were gone.

It didn't make sense.

You saw her in the break room, standing by the coffee machine like usual, but she didn't acknowledge you beyond a brief glance. Not a smirk. Not a word.

In the hall, you brushed past her, felt the heat of her presence right there, but she didn't stop you. Didn't pull you aside. Didn't so much as glance over her shoulder.

And yet, sometimes, when she thought you weren't looking—you swore she was watching.

But it wasn't the same.

Because before, when her gaze had lingered, it was heavy with intent. With want. Now, when your eyes met, something unreadable flickered across her face before she quickly looked away.

Something wasn't right.

Something had changed.

And it wasn't like you could just ask her.

That wasn't how it worked.

You didn't get to knock on her office door and ask if you could come in. Didn't get to slip her a note or send an email saying, Why don't you fuck me on your desk anymore?

That wasn't your place.

That wasn't the deal.

Tara called the shots—literally. She decided when, where, if. And for weeks, that had been fine. More than fine. She wanted, she took, and you let her, because it worked. Because she always wanted. Because there was never a reason to question it.

Until now.

Now, the days dragged on in silence, and you didn't understand.

How do you go from every day—every single day—to nothing?

At first, you told yourself she was busy. Of course she was. She was the boss. She had a company to run, responsibilities, meetings, deadlines. She couldn't always make time for you. That was reasonable. That made sense.

But then—shouldn't she have at least acknowledged it?

Even if she couldn't pull you into her office, couldn't press you against the door, couldn't have you falling apart beneath her hands—shouldn't there have been something? A glance, a smirk, a comment under her breath when no one else was around?

Anything?

But there was nothing.

Just silence.

And it didn't make sense.

Tara had stopped calling you in.

That much had been obvious from the start.

That was the first thing you noticed—the first thing that made no sense.

It happened so suddenly that, at first, you didn't even realize it. Maybe it was because you were busy with your own work, caught up in the never-ending tasks that came with the job. Or maybe, deep down, you just hadn't wanted to notice.

But the absence of it became impossible to ignore.

Days passed. Then a full week. Then another.

And still, nothing.

No glance in your direction when you walked by her office. No subtle nod, no small, barely-there smirk that told you to close the door behind you. No teasing remarks under her breath as you followed her inside. No whispered orders. No lingering looks.

You had told yourself it was fine.

Tara was the boss. She had responsibilities. She wasn't exactly available every second of the day, and it wasn't like the two of you had some set schedule—this was never something you had planned in advance. It had always been unpredictable, sporadic. Sometimes you'd see her multiple times in a week. Sometimes you'd go days without so much as a touch.

That was normal.

That was how it worked.

But this...this was different.

Because it wasn't just that she didn't have the time.

It was like she had chosen not to.

And then, there were the other things.

The moments that should have been insignificant, the ones you would have ignored completely if they hadn't felt so off.

Like the way she suddenly couldn't look at you.

You noticed it one afternoon, passing by her office at the exact time she would normally call you in. It was almost muscle memory at this point—the way your body tensed slightly, the way your pace slowed just enough to see if she would give you a look, if she would signal for you to step inside.

But she didn't.

Instead, she kept her eyes locked onto her computer screen, her fingers tapping against the desk in an anxious rhythm.

And it wasn't just that she didn't see you.

It was that she wouldn’t.

She had seen you from the corner of her eye—there was no way she hadn't. But instead of even acknowledging you, her shoulders went stiff, her expression blank, like she was forcing herself to focus on anything else.

You almost stopped walking.

Almost said something.

But what the fuck were you supposed to say?

And then, a few days later, you tested it.

You had found a reason—something small, something professional, something completely work-related. It wasn't an excuse, not really. You had needed the information. She had to answer.

So, you had gone up to her desk, waited for her to glance up at you, and asked.

And she had answered.

But only in the shortest way possible, her voice clipped, her tone completely detached, like she had no interest in having the conversation at all. She gave you just enough to satisfy your question, nothing more, then immediately turned back to her computer as if you weren't even there.

There was nothing playful in it. No teasing, no lingering glances, no flicker of amusement in her eyes. Just a sharp, calculated disinterest.

And then there was the break room.

Late at night. The office almost empty.

You had been standing by the coffee machine, half-expecting—no, half-hoping—for her to say something when she walked in.

A tease. A smirk.

Something.

But she didn't.

She didn't even acknowledge you.

She walked past you like you weren't even there, went straight for the cabinet, grabbed a mug, poured herself coffee, and left.

No glance in your direction. No hesitation. No reaction.

And you had just stood there, fingers wrapped too tightly around your cup, heart pounding in a way you didn't understand.

You had thought, for a while, that the worst part was the silence. How quickly she had slipped out of your reach—like all those nights, all those moments, had meant nothing at all. Like she had just...moved on, and you were the only one still stuck in place.

At first, you had tried to reason with it. Maybe this was just how things were now. Maybe it had always been inevitable. You weren't entitled to her attention, after all. You weren't owed anything.

But knowing that didn't make it any easier.

And lately, it had started to feel heavier—the quiet, the distance. Like you were walking on a fault line, waiting for it to crack beneath your feet.

But it never did.

Not yesterday. Not today.

Today had passed like all the others. You had come in, sat at your desk, gone through emails and reports, answered questions, filled out forms—played your part, just like always. But it wasn't just another day, not to you. It had been a week now. A full week of nothing.

No call into her office. No lingering glances. No accidental touches.

You had still looked for it, though. Every time you heard footsteps, every time your phone buzzed, every time you passed by her door, you felt that flicker of something—hope, desperation, whatever it was—only for it to be ripped away just as fast.

And it wasn't just about the sex. It wasn't about the heat of her hands or the way she used to look at you like she needed you. It was the absence of it all. The absence of her.

The office had started to empty now, the low murmur of voices fading as people packed their things and headed home. Someone laughed a few desks over, lighthearted, easy. The scent of coffee had gone stale in the air. Phones still rang in the background, but fewer now. The usual hum of the place—the life of it—was winding down.

But you were still here. Still waiting.

And she still hadn't called for you.

Until she did.

It was just as you were reaching for your phone, pretending to check something that didn't matter, that you heard the soft click of a door closing down the hall. You barely had time to register it before footsteps approached—heels tapping against the tile with a steady, unhurried rhythm.

You glanced up just as the sound reached your desk, and there she was—Sophie, from marketing.

She was around your age, maybe a little older, with sharp, dark eyes and a practiced kind of friendliness that never felt too forced. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, her makeup was still intact despite the long day, and she carried herself with the kind of effortless confidence that made her good at her job.

She had just come from her office.

You knew it before she even said anything—before she stopped beside your desk, before she tucked her phone into the pocket of her blazer, before she shot you a look that was neither warm nor cold, just neutral. Indifferent.

Then, with no warning, no weight behind it, she said, "Ms. Carpenter wants to see you."

No glance in your direction. No hesitation. No reaction.

Your grip tightened around your pen.

For a second—just a second—it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

Your heartbeat, slow and dull all day, suddenly jumped in your chest, rattling against your ribs like it had been waiting for something. Waiting for this.

It was automatic, the way you straightened up. The way your breath caught. The way you felt yourself reacting before you could stop it.

Because finally.

Finally.

She wanted you.

It should have been obvious what this was. It should have been clear that this wasn't an invitation, that it wasn't some whispered promise of relief. But you had gone days without hearing her say your name, without feeling the weight of her attention, without even knowing where you stood.

And now, she was calling you in.

You weren't expecting an apology. You shouldn't have expected it to begin with.

But this—this was something.

You swallowed hard, nodding stiffly as you grabbed your notebook—an instinct, an excuse, something to hold—and stood. Sophie was already gone, her heels clicking away, already moving on with her day.

But you were stuck there for a moment, standing beside your desk, fingers pressing into the cover of your notebook, heart pounding so hard it almost made you dizzy.

This was it.

You had been waiting.

And now, she wanted you again.

You moved without thinking.

The path was familiar—down the hall, past the break room, past the framed awards and corporate slogans lining the walls. It was the same walk you had made so many times before, the same quiet stretch of polished floors and low conversation, the same flicker of overhead lights casting everything in that soft, sterile glow.

It felt like routine. Like muscle memory. Like something ingrained in you, something you had done over and over until it no longer required thought.

But today—today, something about it felt different.

Maybe it was the way your pulse hadn't settled, the way each step felt just a little too careful, like you were trying not to let yourself get ahead of anything. Or maybe it was the fact that, for once, you had no real idea what was waiting for you when you got there.

Not that it stopped you.

You reached the door too quickly, or maybe not quickly enough.

It was closed.

Of course, it was.

You hesitated only for a second—just long enough to take a slow breath, to steady the way your fingers twitched at your side—before lifting your hand and knocking, light but deliberate.

The response came almost immediately.

"Come in."

Her voice.

It sent something through you, something automatic and unshakable, something that made your stomach tighten in a way you shouldn’t have let it.

You exhaled, turned the handle, and stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the first thing you noticed was that she wasn't standing.

She wasn't waiting for you. She wasn't already crossing the room, wasn't reaching for you, wasn't closing the space between you before you could even get your bearings.

She was sitting.

She was perched at her desk, one leg crossed over the other, pen in hand as she finished writing something in the notebook before her. There was a chair in front of her desk, positioned deliberately—waiting for you.

That was new.

Your gaze dragged over her, slow, searching—like you were trying to find something familiar, something that would make this feel normal again.

Her blazer was still on, though it looked slightly looser, like she had been tugging at the collar absentmindedly. Her hair was the same, dark and perfect, framing her face in a way that made her unreadable.

And then, finally, she looked up.

Her eyes met yours, and for a second, she just held your gaze, expression unreadable. Then, she offered a polite nod, her voice measured.

"Welcome."

Her tone sent something uneasy down your spine.

You barely had time to process it before she added, smoothly, "Ms. L/N, would you mind closing the door for a second?"

For a moment, you just stood there.

Closing the door wasn't unusual. It was something that had happened plenty of times before.

But not like this.

Not like this, where your fingers curled around the handle, where you turned and pushed it shut yourself. Normally, it wouldn't be you closing it at all. Normally, the weight of it against your back would come from her, from the way she would back you up against it, from the way she would kiss you like she needed to.

This—this didn't feel like that.

Nothing about this felt right.

You turned back to face her, but you could already tell.

There was something in the way she was sitting, something that made your stomach tighten. She wasn't relaxed. She wasn't leaning back in that easy way she sometimes did, wasn't watching you like she already knew what she wanted from you.

Instead, she looked... uneasy.

Her hand twitched slightly before she brought it up to adjust the sleeve of her blazer, fingers brushing over the fabric like the motion would somehow steady her. Her lips pressed together, and then, finally, she lifted a hand—gesturing to the chair in front of her.

"Would you please sit down?"

Polite. Too polite.

The words landed in your stomach like a stone.

You hesitated, but only for a second—then, with a quick nod, you muttered, Yes, ma'am, before lowering yourself onto the chair.

She was watching you.

Or, at least, she had been.

As soon as you met her gaze, she looked away—eyes dropping down to the desk, hands shifting against the surface like she wasn't quite sure what to do with them.

Something about it sent a sharp, uneasy feeling through you.

Tara Carpenter didn't fidget. She didn't look away.

And yet, here she was—sitting in front of you, fingers pressed against her desk, avoiding your eyes like she couldn’t meet them.

Something was wrong.

You sat there, watching her, trying to piece together what this was.

It couldn't be anything serious.

At least, that's what you told yourself.

Maybe it was just a minor issue with some paperwork you had sent in—something from last week, or maybe even three days ago. Maybe there had been an error somewhere, some formatting issue, something that had made its way up to her desk. It wouldn't be the first time. She might just be calling you in to correct it, to give you that sharp little look, to let you know in that dry, amused way of hers that she expected better.

Or maybe—maybe it was about this.

About you. About her.

Maybe she was going to say it had to stop.

Maybe she was going to tell you that she couldn't do this anymore, that she had been thinking about it for a while now and it was too risky, too complicated. Maybe she was going to sit there, all composed and professional, and tell you that this thing—this thing that had felt so effortless, so natural, so right—had to end.

Your throat felt tight.

But even that didn't explain the way she looked.

Tara Carpenter wasn't a nervous person.

You had seen her in meetings, handling high-stakes deals with nothing but a smirk and a raised brow. You had seen her walking the floor, speaking in that firm, confident tone that made people straighten up when she passed.

And beyond that—beyond the person she was in the office, beyond the way she commanded attention in a room—there was you.

You had seen her in ways no one else had.

You had seen her with her head thrown back, her lips parted, her hands fisting, You had seen her hair messy, tangled from fingers pulling through it. You had seen the smooth glide of her bra slipping from her shoulders, the slow reveal of bare skin beneath dim office lights.

You had seen her unravel.

So why, why, was she looking like this?

Like she was trying to hold herself together.

Like she was the vulnerable one.

Tara inhaled sharply.

She started to speak, then stopped—lips pressing together like the words weren't quite right.

Then, after another second, she tried again.

"It has been brought to my attention—"

But she cut herself off, exhaling through her nose, shaking her head slightly.

That wasn't it.

She tried again.

"I wanted to discuss—"

Another pause.

Her fingers tapped against the desk. She let out a short breath, dropped her gaze for a moment, then lifted it again.

You just sat there, waiting.

Feeling the weight of it, the heaviness in your chest growing stronger with every second she spent not saying it.

Tara let out a slow, unsteady breath.

You weren't sure you had ever seen her like this before.

She had always been so sure of herself—whether it was in the office or when she was pressing you against the door, her mouth on yours, her hands sliding beneath your clothes. There was never hesitation, never DOUBT. And yet now, sitting across from you at her desk, she looked...unsteady. Like she was losing her grip on something she had been trying so hard to hold onto.

She tried again.

She parted her lips, inhaled like she was about to speak, but no words came out.

Another pause. Another exhale, shakier this time.

You just sat there, silent, watching her.

Afraid to say anything. Afraid to move.

And then, finally, she spoke.

Her voice was measured, like she was trying too hard to keep it even.

"There have been—" She stopped, her jaw tightening. Then, after a beat, she continued, forcing the words out this time. "There have been concerns regarding—"

Another pause.

Her fingers twitched against the desk.

You could tell she was frustrated—frustrated with herself, frustrated with whatever this was, frustrated with how impossible it was for her to just say it.

And then she did.

Sort of.

She started talking—not stopping herself this time, not cutting herself off—but none of it made sense.

"I have to consider the overall professionalism of this workplace," she said, her hands fidgeting slightly, like she didn't know what to do with them. "And it has come to my attention that... certain dynamics could be viewed as compromising to that environment. As a leader, I have to ensure that all professional relationships remain, well, professional, and given the circumstances, it has been deemed necessary to take appropriate action in order to maintain the integrity of this organization and uphold the standards expected within a corporate setting."

The words kept coming, all strung together, tangled and stiff and unnatural.

Like she had put together a bunch of professional-sounding phrases and hoped they would add up to something real.

But they didn't.

Because none of it explained why she was looking at you like that.

Like she was barely keeping it together.

Like this wasn't just business to her.

But Tara kept going.

She kept talking, even as her voice wavered slightly, even as her fingers twitched against the surface of her desk, even as her eyes darted around the room, landing anywhere but on you.

"I've had to take into account the... potential risks of certain workplace interactions and the possible implications of, um... interpersonal relationships that could—" She cut herself off, her jaw tightening, like she was annoyed with herself. Then, a quick inhale, a forced recalibration, and she tried again. "There are expectations that need to be upheld, and I can't allow—" Another pause. Another shift in posture. "It's important to set clear boundaries in order to ensure that the workplace remains an environment of—"

She was stringing together words that, on their own, might've sounded reasonable.

But put together like this?

Like a desperate attempt to say something that justified this?

It was ridiculous.

Your brow furrowed slightly as you just stared at her, struggling to follow along, struggling to even comprehend what the hell she was getting at.

And she wouldn't look at you.

Her fingers tapped against the desk. Her posture was tense, rigid. Her eyes flicked toward the papers in front of her, then the window, then the floor—anywhere but at you.

And then, finally, she finished it.

Her voice was quiet but firm, like she had to force herself to say it.

"...Which is why I've decided that I'm going to let you go."

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Your brain stalled, like you had misheard her, like maybe she had just said it wrong, like maybe if she tried again it would make sense.

But she didn't.

She just sat there.

And all you could do was stare.

The second the words left her mouth, you saw it happen.

Something in her cracked.

Her expression wavered, that firm, professional look she had been trying so hard to maintain slipping away the moment she heard herself say it out loud. And for a second—just a second—her face was bare. No control, no composure. Just guilt.

It was in the way her fingers twitched against the desk, the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, the way she tried to get that same firm expression back, but it was already too late.

It was already slipping.

And she knew it.

You didn't react right away.

The words hit you like a slow-moving train—impacting in pieces, each one slamming into you harder than the last.

Your breath came out unsteady, like your body didn't quite know what to do with this.

She had just—

No.

She didn't just say that.

She didn’t.

"What?"

The word spat from your mouth before you could stop it, sharp and incredulous, like your body rejected the very sound of it.

Tara flinched just slightly—so slight you might've missed it if you weren't looking so closely. But you were.

And you saw how her eyes immediately dropped to her hands, suddenly fascinated with her own fingers, as if you weren't sitting right in front of her, burning holes into her skull.

She didn't respond.

She didn't say a single word.

Your pulse slammed against your ribs, a roaring sound filling your ears as you sat there, waiting. Waiting for her to say something, anything, to fix whatever the fuck this was supposed to be.

But she didn't.

And the silence only made your anger grow, burning through your veins, pressing hot against your chest.

Your chair scraped back just slightly as you leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

Still nothing.

She wouldn't even look at you.

She just kept staring down at her hands like she wanted to disappear into the desk, like she already regretted everything she had just said, everything she had done.

Your breath came out sharp, clipped. "So that's it?"

No reaction.

Nothing but the sound of the office clock ticking in the distance.

The bitterness came creeping up your throat before you could stop it, before you could even try to swallow it down.

"You called me in here just to sit there and ramble a bunch of shit that doesn't even make fucking sense—"

Your voice faltered, not because you doubted what you were saying, but because you didn’t doubt it.

You had been sitting here for minutes, minutes, trying to decipher whatever the hell she had been saying, and yet, none of it—not a single fucking thing—had led to this.

This wasn't a warning. This wasn't an adjustment.

This was you're fired.

This was get out.

And you didn't even get the decency of a real explanation.

Your voice came back stronger, rougher, laced with disbelief.

"—just to fucking fire me?"

You let the words hang there, hoping—daring—her to look at you again, to at least own what she was doing.

But she didn't.

She just sat there, barely moving, barely breathing, guilt written all over her face.

Her head hung low, her hands stiff on the desk, her shoulders tight with something that almost resembled shame.

She didn't have to look at you to know what she'd see. She heard the anger in your voice, felt it in the way the air shifted between you, thick with disbelief.

And for a second, she looked like she might say something—her lips parted slightly, like she was searching for the words, but then she hesitated.

Her mouth closed.

She figured it wouldn't do any good.

Your voice came next, clipped and sharp. "On what basis?"

Tara flinched at the formality, the sheer professionalism of your tone despite everything.

Unprofessionally enough, she still didn't answer.

She looked up at you briefly, just a fleeting glance—but regretted it immediately when she saw the way you were looking at her.

Like you knew.

Like you weren't fucking stupid.

Your voice cut through the silence.

"I didn't fuck you well enough, is that it?"

Tara's whole body went rigid.

Her breath caught in her throat, fingers twitching slightly against the desk, but she didn't move, didn't react, just sat there, stiff.

"Not hard enough?"

Her eyes flicked to the door as if she were checking—praying—that nobody was standing just outside.

But you weren't done.

"You chose somebody else to do my work instead?"

The meaning was clear.

Your tone was clear.

And Tara panicked.

Not outwardly, not obviously, but you saw the way her lips parted like she wanted to object, to say something, only for nothing to come out.

The way her hands clenched just slightly in her lap.

The way her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, barely, almost shaking her head—but it was so light, so small, it wasn't even convincing.

Then why was it?

Why was she doing this?

Your patience snapped.

"Then what is it, Tara?"

Her name came out like venom, spat from your lips like an insult, like it wasn’t supposed to be spoken by you at all.

And she felt it.

She felt the way it burned coming from you.

She felt the way it stripped away every ounce of authority she had left.

And for the first time since she started this—since she said those words—Tara felt small.

Tara still didn't answer.

Instead, she took a slow breath, trying to steady herself, before straightening her posture like it would somehow make her seem more in control. But the way she held herself was stiff, unnatural—like she had to FORCE herself to sit upright, to look like she was handling this professionally when she so clearly wasn't.

Then, without meeting your eyes, she started shifting through the papers on her desk, her fingers slightly unsteady as they flipped through each one. It was like she was buying herself time, like if she just focused on the paperwork, she could pretend this wasn't happening.

"I understand this might come as a shock," she said finally, her voice careful, like she had to pick each word as she went. "And I know it's short notice. But I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done for this company."

Your stomach twisted.

The way she was talking, like she was trying to soften the blow without actually explaining anything, only made you feel worse.

Tara didn't acknowledge the fact that she was skipping over the real issue. She kept her eyes down, finally finding the paper she had been searching for and sliding it across the desk toward you.

Then, after the briefest hesitation, she reached for a pen and set it carefully on top.

"I just need your signature on this."

Her voice was quiet, hesitant.

It was the first time she had said something direct in the entire conversation, but even then, it wasn't an answer. It wasn't an explanation.

It was just a demand.

It was real.

This was real.

You were being fired.

And she wasn't even going to tell you why.

Your fingers twitched slightly as they rested against your thigh, the weight of the realization crashing over you like a slow, suffocating tide. All you had gotten was a mess of words strung together, words that barely made sense next to each other but had been forced into sentences anyway, as if saying something—even if it was nothing—would make this feel more justified.

You let your gaze drop to the paper in front of you, your eyes skimming over the fine print, the legal jargon meant to make this look official. Termination of employment. Effective immediately. Company policy compliance. You could barely process any of it. The words blurred together, shifting in and out of focus, and you weren't sure if it was because you weren't trying HARD enough to read them or if it was because your eyes were beginning to sting.

Tara was actually doing this.

You were actually losing your job.

A dull, empty ache settled in your chest, something worse than anger. Something heavier. Because now that the initial shock was starting to wear off, now that the confusion and disbelief had settled into something more solid, you felt... sad. Not just because of what was happening but because of who was doing it.

It didn't make sense. It didn't feel real. But it was.

You could feel Tara watching you, her eyes fixed on you like she was waiting for some kind of reaction—maybe bracing herself for it. And when you finally forced yourself to look up, meeting her gaze, you could tell immediately that she felt it.

She looked guilty.

Gut-wrenchingly guilty.

For the first time since this conversation started, she didn't immediately look away. Maybe it was because she saw the water in your eyes. Maybe it was because she realized what she was actually doing. Maybe it was because, deep down, she regretted it.

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak.

Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow.

And you didn't care anymore.

Clearly, she had made up her mind. Begging wasn't going to change anything.

So you clenched your jaw and spat, "Fine."

Tara's face shifted, something flickering behind her eyes—something almost soft, almost surprised. Like she had expected you to fight harder. Like she had wanted you to give her some kind of reason to stop this, to take it back.

But you didn't.

Instead, you reached for the pen, flipping it between your fingers once before pressing it to the paper, signing your name in sharp, deliberate strokes. You didn't bother reading any of it. You didn't care what it said. It didn't matter anymore.

The second you were done, you slid the paper back toward her side of the desk. Tara's eyes never left you, not for a single second, even as she reached for the document. She was gripping it too tightly, her fingers pressing into the paper like she was trying to keep them steady. She looked like she was trying not to cry.

She glanced down at your signature, lips parting like she wanted to say something else—something more. But instead, all she said was, "Thank you for your cooperation."

The words sounded hollow.

Your stomach twisted at how easily she said it.

A humorless laugh slipped past your lips, sharp with sarcasm as you leaned back in your chair, tilting your head slightly. "You're really good at this, huh?" you mused, voice laced with venom. "I'm guessing I'm not the first person to sit in this chair while you use words like compliance and company policy to make it sound like you actually know what you're doing."

Tara's expression faltered.

You could tell she knew you were lying, could tell she knew just as well as you did that she sucked at this.

But she didn't acknowledge it.

She straightened her posture, smoothing her hands over her desk before speaking again, voice carefully composed. "You'll be expected to vacate your position by the end of the day," she said, slipping right back into that stiff professionalism. "You'll have until tomorrow morning to collect any remaining personal belongings from your office space before your company access is revoked."

Her words meant to sound formal, meant to sound like she had control. But the slight shake in her voice, the way she hesitated before certain words, made it painfully obvious that she didn't.

You just stared at her.

And Tara swore she saw your eyes darken.

Then, suddenly, you stood, the legs of your chair scraping loudly against the floor as it nearly tipped over behind you.

Tara flinched slightly at the sudden movement, her fingers curling against her desk.

You met her gaze one last time, your expression unreadable.

And then, with a voice cold as steel, you spat, "Fuck you, Tara."

The words felt heavier than anything else you could have said.

And then you turned and walked out, leaving her sitting there, hands still gripping the desk, face still stuck in that tense, guilty expression—watching you go.

Tara didn't call after you.

She didn't try to stop you.

She just sat there, frozen in place, watching as you disappeared through the doorway like you had never been there to begin with.

The silence in the office was suffocating.

She let out a slow, shaky breath, fingers twitching as she reached for the document you had just signed. Your name stared back at her, bold and unforgiving, ink still fresh against the stark white paper. Her grip tightened around it, knuckles paling, and for a moment, she just stared.

You hadn't even looked at her before walking out. Hadn't hesitated. Hadn't faltered.

It was done.

And yet, as the echo of your footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving her completely, utterly alone—Tara had never felt less in control.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

It's pretty easy to cut $2 trillion from the federal budget, actually

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. THIS IS THE LAST DAY to pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

If Elon Musk wants to cut $2t from the US federal budget, there's a pretty straightforward way to get there – just eliminate all the beltway bandits who overcharge Uncle Sucker for everything from pharmaceuticals to roadworks to (of course) rockets, and then make the rich pay their taxes.

There is a ton of federal bloat, but it's not coming from useless programs or overpaid federal employees. As David Dayen writes in a long, fact-filled feature in The American Prospect, the bloat comes from the private sector's greedy suckling at the government teat:

https://prospect.org/economy/2025-01-27-we-found-the-2-trillion-elon-musk-doge/

The federal workforce used to be huge. In 1960, federal employees were 4.3% of all US workers; today, it's 1.4%. Zeroing out the entire federal payroll would save $271b/year (while beaching the US economy!), a mere 4% of the federal budget.

On the other hand, zeroing out the budget for federal contractors would save over a trillion dollars – the US spends 4 times more on private sector contractors than it does on its own workers, and while some of those contractors are honest folks giving good value for money, the norm is for federal contractors to pick the public's pocket and then use the proceeds to lobby for more fat contracts.

One key job we ask our federal employees to do is root out private sector fraud in federal contracting. We should hire more of these people! Private contractors steal $274b/year from the public purse – nearly enough to pay for all the employees in the federal government:

https://www.gao.gov/assets/gao-23-106285.pdf

Musk doesn't know any of these, and he doesn't care to know. As Dayen writes, he's doing "policy by anecdote." Take Ashley Thomas, the director of climate diversification for the US International Development Finance Corporation. Musk sicced a mob on her, decrying her for doing a "fake job" that was somehow related to "DEI." But Thomas's job isn't employment diversification – it's crop diversification.

If Musk wanted to run DOGE as a force for waste-elimination, he wouldn't be attacking the Corporation for Public Broadcasting and PBS (whose budget accounts for 0.012% of federal spending). He wouldn't be attacking federal fiber subsidies (he's mad that he can't get more subsidies for his dead-end satellite service that caps out at one ten-millionth of the speed of fiber). He wouldn't be attacking high-speed rail (which competes with his Tesla swasticars). He wouldn't be fighting with the SEC (which defends the public from costly stock swindles, which is why they've been investigating Musk for seven years).

He could, instead, go after private sector Medicare waste. 33 million seniors have been suckered into switching from federally provided Medicare to privately provided Medicare Advantage. Overbilling from Medicare Advantage (whose doctors are ordered to "upcode" patients to generate additional bills) costs the public $83b/year:

https://www.medpac.gov/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/Mar24_ExecutiveSummary_MedPAC_Report_To_Congress_SEC.pdf

Medicare Advantage patients are, on average, healthier than Medicare patients (Medicare Advantage giants like Unitedhealtcare cream off the cheapest-to-service patients). Yet, this healthy cohort costs more to treat than their sicker cousins on the public plan – the fraud costs us about 11-14% of the total Medicare bill, and we could save $140b/year by zeroing that out:

https://pnhp.org/system/assets/uploads/2023/09/MAOverpaymentReport_Final.pdf

Zeroing out Medicare Advantage overbilling would pay for "an out-of-pocket spending cap, a public drug benefit, and dental, hearing, and vision benefits" for every Medicare patient with tens of billions to spare.

Of course, as Dayen points out, the guy in charge of Medicare is Dr Oz, who has spent years shilling for Medicare Advantage, while holding massive amounts of stock in Unitedhealthcare, the nation's largest Medicare Advantage provider, and the worst offender for Medicare Advantage overbilling.

Then there's Medicare itself. Rates for Medicare doctor reimbursement are set by committees of specialists, who award themselves sky-high rates while paying rock-bottom wages to the frontline general practitioners who do the heavy lifting. Lowering specialists rates to match the rates paid in Canada and Germany would save the federal government $100b/year:

https://cepr.net/rfk-jr-physicians-pay-schedules-and-the-elites-big-lie/

Then there's Big Pharma. For years, Congress legally forbade Medicare and Medicaid from negotiating drug prices, which is why the US government pays the highest rates in the world for drugs developed in the US, with US federal subsidies. US drug prices are 178% more than other wealthy countries, and many drugs are sold at 20-30x the cost of production:

https://aspe.hhs.gov/reports/comparing-prescription-drugs

A few of these drug prices are going to come down in the coming years, thanks to timid, but long overdue action from the Biden administration. To really tackle a source of government waste, the US government could use its "march in rights" to federalize production of the most expensive drugs:

https://prospect.org/day-one-agenda/force-drug-companies-to-lower-prices/

One possibility floated by economist Dean Baker is for the US government to invest $100b/year in clinical trials, keeping the patents for itself and licensing multiple manufacturers to compete to produce these publicly owned drugs, which would save an estimated $500b/year:

https://cepr.net/financing-drug-development-what-the-pandemic-has-taught-us/

Then there's price-gouging, useless middlemen like Group Purchasing Organizations who soak the public purse for $20b/year – a "moderate" enforcement action could cut that to $10b. Speaking of eliminating middlemen, community health centers are a way cheaper source of care than big hospitals – $2371/year cheaper per patient, per year. By subsidizing these, the US government could save another $20b/year:

https://www.ohiochc.org/news/310956/Landmark-Study-Confirms-Medicaid-Cost-Savings-at-Health-Centers.htm

Next, Dayen moves onto the Pentagon, which pulled in $841b last year but has failed seven consecutive audits:

https://thehill.com/policy/defense/4992913-pentagon-fails-7th-audit-in-a-row-but-says-progress-made/

The DoD firehoses money over private sector contractors, like the $3.6b it hands over to Musk's Spacex every year – a number Musk hopes to grow through Spacex's participation in a new consortium:

https://www.ft.com/content/6cfdfe2b-6872-4963-bde8-dc6c43be5093

Military contractor wastage is the stuff of legend, like the $2t F-35 Joint Strike Fighter, a lemon that has over 800 outstanding defects and was just greenlit for another year's worth of full funding:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2021-07-13/lockheed-f-35-s-tally-of-flaws-tops-800-as-new-issues-surface

This kind of wasteage isn't merely shameful, it's illegal. The Nunn-McCurdy Act requires that these large-scale boondoggles be reviewed with an eye to shutting them down. But when beltway bandits like Northrop Grumman’s produce expensive lemons like Sentinel, the DoD continues to hand public money to them, citing "national security":

https://www.defense.gov/News/Releases/Release/Article/3829985/department-of-defense-announces-results-of-sentinel-nunn-mccurdy-review/

The DoD contracts out so much of its essential functions that it literally doesn't know what it has. It pays contractors and subcontractors to produce parts for its systems, but has no way to know if those parts have actually been produced. Meanwhile, private equity rollups like Transdigm have merged every single-source aerospace supplier and jacked up the price of spare parts for existing military systems, pulling down 4,500%+ markups:

https://theintercept.com/2019/05/28/ro-khanna-transdigm-refund-pentagon/

To estimate the easy military savings – the ones that won't require shutting down jobs programs scattered in every key Congressional district – Dayen takes the CBO's estimate and cuts it in half, to get an annual savings of $150b/year.

Then there's general prodcurement, where the GAO estimates the US loses $150b/year to bid-rigging and another $521b/year to fraud (the USG also spends $70b/year on management consultants who do no discernible useful work). Dayen estimates the annual savings from "stringently enforcing fraud and abuse, insourcing operations, and no longer paying for bad advice" at $150b/year.

Then there's tax cheating. The IRS estimates that it undercollects about $606b/year in taxes. The top 1% account for $163b/year of that (Elon Musk's own effective tax rate is just 3.27% as of the five years preceding 2021, the year for which we have his leaked tax return; he paid no taxes in 2018). Every dollar the IRS spends on auditing brings in $2.17 in tax, and every dollar the IRS spends auditing the wealthy generates $6.29 in tax. A dollar spent auditing the top 10% brings in $10:

https://www.timesfreepress.com/news/2024/dec/01/opinion-the-irs-shows-what-government-efficiency/

Audits are durable sources of tax. People who've been burned by an audit are far more honest in the decade after that audit.

The GOP has zeroed out Biden's IRS increases. The CBO estimates that a fully funded IRS could easily increase the taxes it collected by a net figure of $200b/year.

There's also new sources of tax. Dayen likes Dean Baker's proposal for taxes on stock returns: just add dividends and stock appreciation at the end of the year, then multiply by the tax rate. Baker says this is a loophole-free way to bring the effective corporate tax rate up from 20% to 25%, generating $65b/year:

https://cepr.net/winning-the-tax-game-tax-stock-returns/

This would be especially hard on heavily financialized companies with "impossibly high stock price/earnings ratios" – e.g. Tesla.

Dayen also proposes rejigging the tax rate on retirement and health insurance plans, where nearly all the tax breaks are scooped by the highest earners. The Tax Policy Center has $1.12-$1.38t/year worth of other tax reforms that would shift the tax burden from working people to the idle rich:

https://taxpolicycenter.org/briefing-book/what-are-largest-tax-expenditures

Dayen says, "let's ask for about 20% of that" and ballparks the tax income at $200b/year.

How about subsidy cuts? $10b/year in fossil fuel subsidies. Eliminating the notorious sources of fraud in crop insurance would save $5b/year:

https://www.gao.gov/assets/gao-06-878t.pdf

There's $7b/year in subsidies to the Home Bank Loan system and $5b/year lost to pass-through entity loopholes.

Add it all up and you're saving $1.4215t/year without even breaking a sweat, just by tacking (some of) the country's worst looting and tax evasion. Dayen points out US expenditures will fall even more than this, because it won't be paying as much T-bill interest if it doesn't spend this money. We could also just make the Fed stop using the blunt, expensive tool of interest rate hikes to manage inflation. There's plenty of scenarios where interest payments result in the remaining $580b/year in savings, bringing the total up to $2t.

Now, sucking $2t/year out of the US economy all at once – even $2t in waste and fraud – would not be good for America! That kind of economic shock would bring the US economy to its knees, for years to come. All that money still fuels the demand side of the economy. But a slow rampup, and more public spending on useful programs (say, climate resiliency and retrofitting), would strengthen the economy while still bankrupting the fraud sector.

DOGE is wildly unpopular with the American electorate – even large pluralities of Republicans think its stupid. Campaigning on cutting fraud and profiteering would be a wildly popular way for Democrats to separate themselves from Republicans. Few Democrats are rising to the occasion, though.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/27/beltway-bandits/#henhouse-foxes

Image: Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/jurvetson/52005460639/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[clockwayswrites]

Cozytober Day 3: Hot Chocolate

masterpost

“You just had to make a mess on your way, didn’t you?” Jason asked as he stepped over Danny’s shed clothing.

“Yes,” Danny said, just to be cheeky.

He could be cheeky with Jason. Jason might huff and puff or snark back, but it was always in good fun with each other. Somethings were off limits, but they’d both made a deal to be honest about what those were. So far it had worked out.

Jason sighed. “Leave me to clean up your mess after you, carry you around, make you hot chocolate…”

“Hot chocolate?” Danny asked, sitting up in Jason’s arms. Jason’s hot chocolate was a thing of the divine.

“Mhum,” Jason agreed with a hum as he dropped Danny carefully onto the couch.

Danny let himself lay there like a dead fish as he tried to give Jason his best puppy dog eyes.

“Put those eyes away,” Jason said with a chuckle. He leaned down and pressed a kiss right between Danny’s eyes. “I already said I’d make it. Do you want the works?”

“Yes,” Danny said. He shifted a little on the couch so that he could still watch Jason as he moved over to the kitchen area of the open plan space. “Your day?”

“Oh. It was okay,” Jason said as he gathered what he needed and put a pot on the stove. “I think that we’re finally making some real progress on the plans for the affordable housing. There’s a place in German that does a lot of what we want and need in their prefab walls. Obviously shipping that far would make it cost prohibitive, but they seem interested in maybe setting up a workshop here as long as Gotham helps with the initial costs. It might be a good deal in the end for both them and the city.”

“That’s great!” Danny knew how hard Jason had been working at this project, and how many times there had been insurmountable seeming roadblocks.

“It really is. And a new industry means new jobs. We might be able to tie it in with the workforce alternative we’ve got started with the court system too. I might also be counting my chickens before they hatch but…”

“Hope.”

“Yeah, but hope,” Jason agreed softly.

“Proud of you,” Danny said.

He could see Jason’s ears flush all he way from the couch. Danny tried to tell Jason he was as proud of him as often a he could, both because of the cute response but because Danny didn’t think Jason knew how good he was.

“Nothings don’t yet,” Jason said.

“Proud. Of. You,” Danny said with pointed enunciation.

Jason muttered an adorable grumble as he fussed with breaking up the real chocolate bar that he used in the hot chocolate. Danny closed his eyes and just listened to Jason moving around, out of words the moment. One of the reasons he liked being at Jason’s more than his tiny shoe box was the noise of someone else moving around him.

“Up we go, boo,” Jason urged softly some time later.

Danny cracked a wide yawn and used the moment of swinging his legs off the couch to get himself somewhat sitting up. Jason slotted into place beside Danny and helped prop him up before he tipped back over again. Danny happily burrowed in against Jason’s broad shoulder.

“Eyes open,” Jason said.

Resisting a grumble, Danny opened his eyes and took the large mug in front of his face. He cradled it for a moment, just enjoying the warmth, before he took a long, slow sip. The richness of chocolate and warmth of spice bloomed over his tongue. Danny let out a happy sigh.

“The best.”

Jason chuckled. “You just like me for my hot chocolate.”

“Lies. Also have a very nice co—”

“Danny!” Jason admonished between a bout of startled laughter.

Danny grinned to himself, proud as always to make Jason laugh like that, free and bright. He rewarded himself with another sip of his drink.

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - January 1-7

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles!

1. Homes built with clay, grass, plastic and glass: How a Caribbean island is shying away from concrete

“[… Clay] traps moisture which then evaporates and pulls heat from the surface as it goes. […] The roof is covered in old recycled advertising banners and piece of a water tank, the other half of which is used to house some of Rahaman-Noronha's fish [… and] multi-coloured glass bottles inset into walls provide an avenue for streams of light and colour.”

2. To Combat Phoenix’s Extreme Heat, a New Program Provides Sustainable Shade

“The neighborhood workshops allow residents to get a shade plan tailored to their community’s needs and identify the locations where officials can plant trees. Meanwhile, the workforce-development side of the program creates the jobs needed to keep the trees alive for generations[….]”

3. Conservation corridors provide hope for Latin America’s felines

“[… S]cience has shown that to maintain healthy populations there needs to be connection between individuals. [… A] protected area that is close to another has more species and more potential for their survival.”

4. Social program cuts tuberculosis cases among Brazil's poorest by more than half

“The decrease [“in TB cases and deaths”] was over 50% in extremely poor people and more than 60% among the Indigenous populations. […] "We know that the program improves access to food [… and healthcare…] and strengthens people's immune defenses as a result.””

5. Geothermal has vast potential to meet the world’s power needs

“New geothermal systems could technically provide as much as 600 terawatts of carbon-free power capacity by 2050[…. C]ountries could cost-effectively deploy over 800 GW of geothermal power capacity using technology that’s in development today[….]”

6. New D.C. Catholic archbishop is pro-LGBTQ+ and anti-Trump

“In 2018, he objected to the blaming of gay priests for the clergy sexual abuse crisis, “saying that such abuse was a matter of power, not sexual orientation[….]” “We must disrupt those who portray refugees as enemies [… and] seek to rob our medical care, especially from the poor.””

7. Chesapeake Bay Will Gain New Wildlife Refuge

“The Chesapeake Bay area will have a new wildlife refuge for the first time in a quarter century. […] “This new refuge offers an opportunity to halt and even reverse biodiversity loss in this important place, and in a way that fully integrates and respects the leadership and rights of Indigenous peoples and local communities.””

8. Inside Svalbard seed vault’s critical mission to stop our favourite fruit and veg from going extinct

“[… T]he world’s largest secure seed storage […] sits proudly in a massive former coal mine[….] Right now, there are over 1,331,458 samples of 6,297 crop species. […] “During 2024, 61 seed genebanks deposited 64,331 seed samples, including 21 from institutes that deposited seeds for the first time this year[….]””

9. Medical debt will be erased from credit reports for all Americans under new federal rule

“The rule will affect more than 15 million Americans, raising their credit scores by an estimated average of 20 points. [… S]tates and localities have already utilized American Rescue Plan (ARP) funds to support the elimination of over $1 billion in medical debt for more than 700,000 Americans[….]”

10. 'Forgotten' water harvesting system transforms 'barren wasteland' into thriving farmland

“"The process started with the community-based participatory planning[….]” 10% to 15% of the water will actually soak into the ground to replenish the water table, creating a more sustainable agricultural process.”

December 22-28 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[the1younevernoticed]

I work in the government. At the VA as a social worker. I want to document what I have seen so I’m not gaslit into thinking it isn’t as crazy as it clearly is right now.

I am editing some things down. I will be sharing non-political facts and personal concerns as they relate to me on a personal level through my job. My opinions and beliefs do not represent the VA, the government, or any political party. These posts are to encourage transparency for all.

This may be a long one.

It started with an email. And then continued with many more.

First email:

1/22/2025

MESSAGE FROM THE ACTING SECRETARY

We are taking steps to close all agency diversity, equity, inclusion, and accessibility (DEIA) offices and end all DEIA-related contracts in accordance with President Trump’s executive orders titled Ending Radical and Wasteful Government DEI Programs and Preferencing and Initial Rescissions of Harmful Executive Orders and Actions.

These programs divided Americans by race, wasted taxpayer dollars, and resulted in shameful discrimination.

We are aware of efforts by some in government to disguise these programs by using coded or imprecise language. If you are aware of a change in any contract description or personnel position description since November 5, 2024, to obscure the connection between the contract and DEIA or similar ideologies, please report all facts and circumstances to DEIAtruth@opm.gov within 10 days.

There will be no adverse consequences for timely reporting this information. However, failure to report this information within 10 days may result in adverse consequences.

In addition to the above, all personnel are directed to withdraw any final or pending documents, directives, orders, materials, and equity plans issued by the agency in response to now-repealed Executive Order 14035, Diversity, Equity, Inclusion and Accessibility (DEIA) in the Federal Workforce (June 25, 2021). These actions must be taken immediately, but no later than January 31, 2025.

Thank you for your attention to this important matter.

Todd B. Hunter

Acting Secretary

This is an OFFICIAL email to federal employees. The language was shocking to our whole team. We are social workers. We work in kindness and helpfulness and we have been told there would be consequences if we do not report our coworkers.

There were messages between coworkers in fear of what this meant. If this would mean we couldn’t do our jobs.

Our morning meeting was cryptic and fearful. As federal employees, there are rules in place that extend beyond “appropriate language” that the community has. We are not allowed to discuss politics, express opinions on any party or figure or ruling, or protest of any kind. It’s called the Hatch Act 1939.

So we all sat there. All 30 of us. Unsure what could be said. We could see the smiles on one or two of those on the team that had spewed hate in the past, but at large we were all in shock.

I moved to the VA from hospice. I saw veterans dying and wanted to be part of the system to help them pass peacefully. Even though I am not pro-military, I am pro-senior care. And the VA is one of the few free systems that can actually help. I feel like I can actually help.

But god is it hard to work here right now. There is no shame in being conservative or liberal in beliefs. It’s a valid point. But the system I personally work in is suffering with this administration change right now.

This VA system is a socialist system that veterans can come to make up for the gaps in services that those in the community can’t escape. I have veterans coming to me concerned for their services. I can only offer hope to them. I’m frustrated daily now with the emails coming through.

I moved to the VA because, as a social worker, the community was so limited on options that I would feel depressed daily on what I couldn’t help with. Now I feel like I losing my mind even more. I think of quitting daily, but I want to stay and help if I can.

Our government has so much power and capacity for good. I want to be a part of that.

I’ll post more emails as well.

Be safe everyone

Disclaimer: this post is for educational purposes and is in no way supporting any particular political party and is not meant to incite any political activity

[darreny384]

Workforce Planning Tool

Bullseye Engagements' Workforce Planning Tool is a powerful solution designed to help organizations optimize their talent management strategies. This tool empowers HR professionals and managers to forecast, plan, and align workforce needs with business goals, ensuring that the right people are in the right roles at the right time. The platform provides a comprehensive view of your workforce, allowing you to analyze skill gaps, identify areas for development, and predict future talent requirements. By leveraging real-time data, organizations can make informed decisions about hiring, training, and succession planning. Bullseye Engagement’s tool also simplifies the process of workforce allocation, helping companies avoid both overstaffing and understaffing. Additionally, the tool supports strategic decision-making by offering customizable dashboards and reporting features that provide actionable insights. This helps businesses stay agile, adjusting to shifts in the market or internal changes. With its user-friendly interface and integration capabilities, Bullseye Engagement makes it easier for companies to execute their workforce planning initiatives efficiently. Overall, Bullseye Engagement Workforce Planning Tool is essential for businesses looking to stay competitive by ensuring their workforce is aligned with their evolving needs and goals. Whether you are planning for growth, managing transitions, or optimizing current resources, this tool helps pave the way for smarter, data-driven decisions.  For more info visit us https://www.bullseyeengagement.com/workforce-planning-software.asp

[mariacallous]

Federal employees are seeking a temporary restraining order as part of a class action lawsuit accusing a group of Elon Musk’s associates of allegedly operating an illegally connected server from the fifth floor of the US Office of Personnel Management’s (OPM) headquarters in Washington, DC.

An attorney representing two federal workers—Jane Does 1 and 2—filed a motion this morning arguing that the server’s continued operation not only violates federal law but is potentially exposing vast quantities of government staffers’ personal information to hostile foreign adversaries through unencrypted email.

A copy of the motion, filed in the DC District Court by National Security Counselors, a Washington-area public-interest law firm, was obtained by WIRED exclusively in advance. WIRED previously reported that Musk had installed several lackeys in OPM’s top offices, including individuals with ties to xAI, Neuralink, and other companies he owns.

The initial lawsuit, filed on January 27, cites reports that Musk’s associates illegally connected a server to a government network for the purposes of harvesting information, including the names and email accounts of federal employees. The server was installed on the agency’s premises, the complaint alleges, without OPM—the government’s human resources department—conducting a mandatory privacy impact assessment required under federal law.

Under the 2002 E-Government Act, agencies are required to perform privacy assessments prior to making “substantial changes to existing information technology” when handling information “in identifiable form.” Notably, prior to the installation of the server, OPM did not have the technical capability to email the entire federal workforce from a single email account.

“[A]t some point after 20 January 2025, OPM allowed unknown individuals to simply bypass its existing systems and security protocols,” Tuesday’s motion claims, “for the stated purpose of being able to communicate directly with those individuals without involving other agencies. In short, the sole purpose of these new systems was expediency.”

OPM did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

If the motion is granted, OPM would be forced to disconnect the server until the assessment is done. As a consequence, the Trump administration’s plans to drastically reduce the size of the federal workforce would likely face delays. The email account linked to the server—HR@opm.gov—is currently being used to gather information from federal workers accepting buyouts under the admin’s “deferred resignation program,” which is set to expire on February 6.

“Under the law, a temporary restraining order is an extraordinary remedy,” notes National Security Counselors’ executive director, Kel McClanahan. “But this is an extraordinary situation.”

Before issuing a restraining order, courts apply what’s known as the “balance of equities” doctrine, weighing the burdens and costs on both parties. In this case, however, McClanahan argues that the injunction would inflict “no hardship” on the government whatsoever. February 6 is an “arbitrary deadline,” he says, and the administration could simply continue to implement the resignation program “through preexisting channels.”

“We can't wait for the normal course of litigation when all that information is just sitting there in some system nobody knows about with who knows what protections,” McClanahan says. “In a normal case, we might be able to at least count on the inspector general to do something, but Trump fired her, so all bets are off.”

The motion further questions whether OPM violated the Administrative Procedure Act, which prohibits federal agencies from taking actions “not in accordance with the law.” Under the APA, courts may “compel agency action”—such as a private assessment—when it is “unlawfully withheld.”

Employees at various agencies were reportedly notified last month to be on the lookout for messages originating from the HR@opm.gov account. McClanahan’s complaint points to a January 23 email from acting Homeland Security secretary Benjamine Huffman instructing DHS employees that the HR@opm.gov account “can be considered trusted.” In the following days, emails were blasted out twice across the executive branch instructing federal workers to reply “Yes” in both cases.

The same account was later used to transmit the “Fork in the Road” missive promoting the Trump administration’s legally dubious “deferred resignation program,” which claims to offer federal workers the opportunity to quit but continue receiving paychecks through September. Workers who wished to participate in the program were instructed to reply to the email with “Resign.”

As WIRED has reported, even the new HR chief of DOGE, Musk’s task force, was unable to answer basic questions about the offer.

The legal authority underlying the program is unclear, and federal employee union leaders are warning workers not to blindly assume they will actually get paid. In a floor speech last week, Senator Tim Kaine advised workers not to be fooled: “There’s no budget line item to pay people who are not showing up for work.” Patty Murray, ranking Democrat on the Senate Appropriations Committee, similarly warned Monday: “There is no funding allocated to agencies to pay staff for this offer.”

McClanahan’s lawsuit highlights the government’s response to the OPM hack of 2015, which compromised personnel records on more than 22 million people, including some who’d undergone background checks to obtain security clearances. A congressional report authored by House Republicans following the breach pinned the incident on a “breakdown in communications” between OPM’s chief information officer and its inspector general: “The future effectiveness of the agency’s information technology and security efforts,” it says, “will depend on a strong relationship between these two entities moving forward.”

OPM’s inspector general, Krista Boyd, was fired by President Donald Trump in the midst of the “Friday night purge” on January 24—one day after the first HR@opm.gov email was sent.

“We are witnessing an unprecedented exfiltration and seizure of the most sensitive kinds of information by unelected, unvetted people with no experience, responsibility, or right to it,” says Sean Vitka, policy director at the Demand Progress Education Fund, which is supporting the action. “Millions of Americans and the collective interests of the United States desperately need emergency intervention from the courts. The constitutional crisis is already here.”

[batboyblog]

Things Biden and the Democrats did, this week #4

Feb 2-9 2024

The White House announced that a landmark 23 million Americans, 1 in 6 households, have been connected to affordable high speed internet with the help of the Affordable Connectivity Program, saving Americans between $30 and $75 every month on their internet bill. 4 Million ACP users are seniors, 1/4th of households on the program are African American and 1/4th are Latino, and it supports 320,000 households on Tribal lands. Sadly the program will be forced to end if Republicans in Congress continue to block new funding

The White House announced $5 billion for a National Semiconductor Technology Center, focusing on research and development as well as workforce needs. This is part of an effort under the CHIPS and Science Act to make America a world leader in science and grow jobs for the 21st century. This will include hundreds of millions of dollars of investment in workforce development

The EPA announced finalized rules that will strength air quality standard around fine particle pollution, AKA soot. The new stronger rules are projected to prevent 4,200 premature deaths and save Americans $46 billion in health costs by 2032. Soot is particularly harmful to those with lung and heart illnesses, children and those with asthma. Industrial soot is more common in low income communities

The Department of Transportation announced $1.5 Billion investment in America's bus systems. The bulk of the money will go helping local transport authorities buy low or no emission buses. There will also be investment in bus facilities.

President Biden signed a memorandum directing a strengthening of human rights safe guards around weapons transferred from US stockpiles to allied nations. The directive seeks to guarantee no arms are transferred that might be used to violate human rights.

HHS and HUD announced a join program partnering with 8 states and DC to help streamline an all of government response to homelessness. This is an off shoot of the $3.16 billion dollar investment amounted by HUD last week to end homelessness in America

The Department of Energy and FEMA released the findings of a two year study that projections Puerto Rico will be able to be 100% renewable energy by 2050. DoE also announced that by the end of the 30,000 low income Puerto Ricans will be able to apply for a solar power program, the first investments in a billion dollar DoE program for the island's renewable energy future

Department of Transportation announced $417 million dollar loan to the North Carolina Turnpike Authority to complete a major transportation overhaul in the greater Raleigh area

The EPA and Department of Energy announced a joint plan to invest federal funds to help measure and reduce methane emissions from the oil and gas production. Methane is the second largest green house gas after CO2 and is responsible for 30% of global warming in the last 200 years. This comes after the EPA pushed new rules to fine oil and gas manufacturers for excess methane emissions.

The Senate confirmed 2 more Biden nominated federal judges. This brings the total number of Biden judges to 177 For the first time in history a majority of a President's judicial nominees are not white men, Biden has nominated a majority women and people of color Biden also nominated 4 more federal judges, including two LGBT candidates. If they are confirmed it'll bring Biden's LGBT judge total to 11 tying with President Obama for the most LGBT people put on the federal bench

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Ilana Berger at MMFA:

As President Donald Trump’s administration orders mass layoffs and cuts to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, local meteorologists and influencer storm chasers — including some weather experts who previously claimed to avoid politics or expressed right-leaning views — are speaking out in support of federal employees and the essential information provided by the agency. 

Trump’s funding cuts and layoffs will hobble NOAA and the National Weather Service, potentially restricting access to a vital public good that costs taxpayers very little

NOAA and its subsidiaries, including the National Weather Service, employ thousands of scientists, engineers, and other experts to conduct vital research that is shared with the public. NOAA’s products and services range “from daily weather forecasts, severe storm warnings, and climate monitoring to fisheries management, coastal restoration and supporting marine commerce.” The NWS estimates that the critical information it provides costs just $4 per U.S. resident per year. [National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, accessed 3/14/25; The New York Times, 2/8/25]  

Project 2025 — the right-wing plan for a second Trump administration organized by The Heritage Foundation with over 100 conservative partner organizations — called for NOAA to be “broken up and downsized” and urged the National Weather Service to “fully commercialize its forecasting operations.” Weather experts across the country have expressed alarm at Project 2025’s plans to dismantle NOAA under the new administration. Project 2025 architect Russell Vought, who now heads Trump’s Office of Management and Budget, has promised, “We want the bureaucrats to be traumatically affected.” [Media Matters, 5/31/24, 9/27/24, 2/28/25; ProPublica, 10/28/24]  

Starting on February 27, the Trump administration has laid off more than 800 NOAA employees, plus another 500 who resigned if the agency promised to pay them through September. According to The New York Times, “The two rounds of departures together represent about 10 percent of NOAA’s roughly 13,000 employees.” On March 12, NOAA announced in an email to its staffers that the agency would be laying off another 1,029 employees, or roughly 10% of the agency’s remaining workforce. [The New York Times, 2/27/25, 2/28/25]  

The Associated Press: “After this upcoming round of cuts, NOAA will have eliminated about one out of four jobs since President Donald Trump took office in January.” “This is not government efficiency,” said former NOAA Administrator Rick Spinrad. “It is the first steps toward eradication. There is no way to make these kinds of cuts without removing or strongly compromising mission capabilities.” [The Associated Press, 3/12/25]  

The NWS’ National Hurricane Center has made great strides in tracking dangerous storms, but Trump’s layoffs are threatening that progress. A February preview of a report from the National Hurricane Center concluded that for the first time, the center managed to “explicitly forecast a system that was not yet a tropical cyclone (pre-Helene potential tropical cyclone) to become a 100-kt (115 mph) major hurricane within 72 hours.” However, experts fear that funding cuts and layoffs at NOAA’s Office of Aircraft Operations will impact the ability of the agency’s specialized “Hurricane Hunters” to collect data used for tracking and predicting destructive storms. [National Hurricane Center, 2/24/25; Yale Climate Connections, 3/6/25]

Meteorologists and storm chasers of all political persuasions issue dire warnings that the Project 2025/DOGE-inspired cuts to the NOAA and the NWS threaten public safety and forecast accuracy.

[pintadorartist]

Keep the US Postal Service Independent

Trump is planning to take control of the United States Postal Service after firing the entire Postal Board and placing the agency under the control of the Commerce Department. The Postal Board of Governors cannot be legally dismissed without cause, and Trump’s attempt to override the system is an illegal takeover that threatens mail-in voting, veterans’ jobs, and the public’s ability to receive affordable mail service. This comes just days after Postmaster General Louis DeJoy announced his resignation following five controversial years at the agency. The USPS is mandated to provide affordable service to every zip code, but privatization could result in significant price hikes, post office closures, and slower mail—especially in rural areas.

Beyond delivering mail, USPS is also one of the largest employers in the country, with over 635,000 workers—including nearly 100,000 military members and veterans in its workforce. Privatization would put these jobs at risk.

Congress must act now to prevent this blatant power grab and ensure the USPS remains independent, affordable, and accessible to all Americans.

Call TOOLS:

Call(Most important, but if you can do the other two):

Fax:

Email if you can:

https://www.senate.gov/states/statesmap.htm