Duh

Feeling free sending the generous donation, sure. Why not? Wasn't his money, even though credit for the same would be ascribed to his name. He absolutely hated this job, still, it was one where you could pay yourself well beyond the humiliation of insulting numbers. Actually, much more so than that measly absurd amount originally bargained for. That's if you were in fact as much of an substantial accountant as he claimed. Used solely for the just re-establishment of personal equilibrium. Again, why not?

For him, easy enough to accomplish, as it should be, if you're going to be doing this sort of thing, especially, while your obnoxious, no talent, ego-centric, maniacal employer rakes in more geet in one year than a seasoned spendthrift could frivolously waste in four-hundred lifetimes. And trusted, for never letting on to anyone, of the indignant repressed aggression he kept quietly concealed. That alone, to him, had a worth well in excess of some mere economic repairation.

Although, early on, unknowing for certain had he a pampered jerk signing his quarterly paycheck, earnestly trying once, to self-determine if his increasing malevolent conduct should somehow warrant his unexplained resignation. Somehow it didn't and somehow it won't, not yesterday, not today nor would it tomorrow within the slim chance of "oh yes sir, Mr Dipstick's" composure ever being put up for alteration. Besides that, the way Mr. Big Man carries on with his Diptube girlfriend, his pretty wife could also look as fashionable if she had spent the equivalent of the nation debt for her wardrobe.

Yeah, go ahead and smile, saying to himself, acting as if he was the only instrument capable to exact a meaningful revenge for the "Great Bookkeeper" upstairs. Perfect.

Because, if anyone had it coming, he need not guess "who" did. Duh