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Your Voice Assistant Works Today Thanks to Fraudsters Who Destroyed a $10 Billion Company

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February 1998. Bill Gates, the richest man in the world, walks up the steps of a Brussels government building. He turns to wave at someone behind him, smiling as he faces forward again. Then it happens: a cream pie hits him square in the face. Then another. And another.

Just days earlier, Microsoft had invested $45 million in Belgian speech recognition company Lernout & Hauspie. The pie-throwing activist who orchestrated this pastry protest later described his feelings as “the exhilaration of victory, exquisite pleasure.” But the real mess Microsoft had just stepped into would prove far stickier than whipped cream.

In this episode of Oh My Fraud, host Caleb Newquist unravels one of tech history’s most fascinating fraud cases. It’s a story where revolutionary innovation and elaborate deception became so intertwined that even today, the technology you speak to through Siri carries the DNA of a spectacular Belgian scandal.

Two Guys, One Vision: Kill the Keyboard

In late 1987, two West Flanders natives started what seemed like an impossible mission: eliminating the computer keyboard. Jo Lernout, the visionary salesman, was a former teacher turned MBA who’d worked his way through sales positions at Merck and Wang Laboratories. Paul Hauspie was the detail-oriented worker type who’d inherited his father’s accounting firm but spent his spare time developing software.

Together, they founded Lernout & Hauspie Speech Products (L&H) in Ypres. While we take voice assistants for granted today, in the late 1980s, the idea that computers could be operated by voice alone was revolutionary.

The technology was groundbreaking. By 1997, their products could recognize more words than a standard collegiate dictionary. The system could even handle tricky sentences like “Please write a letter right now to Mrs. Wright. Tell her that two is too many to buy.” For the late 1990s, this was nothing short of miraculous.

But like many startups, the early years were brutal. Lernout and Hauspie proved resourceful in securing financing to keep the lights on, including from local residents and the Flanders government. But year after year, they plowed money into research and development while making virtually no revenue.

When Your Hometown Believes in You (Maybe Too Much)

The company’s roots ran deep into West Flanders soil. One account described it as “a company set up by West Flanders natives with West Flanders capital and a West Flanders mentality: work hard and smart, take well-calculated risks.”

Lernout and Hauspie genuinely wanted their success to benefit their home region. They helped create the Flanders Language Valley, convincing the government to make Ypres a tax haven for tech companies. Research grants flooded the area, spawning new businesses.

In 1994, when L&H needed more funding, they tapped into the locals with something called automatic convertible bonds. These were essentially IOUs that would turn into stock if the company ever went public. Through sheer personal will and persuasion, Lernout and Hauspie raised money from 600 small Flemish investors, each contributing an average of $33,000. These weren’t venture capitalists; they were farmers, grocers, and small traders betting their savings on their hometown heroes.

The duo even approached a local pig farmer for investment. After hearing their pitch, he produced a half-eaten bank savings certificate worth about $60,000 that he’d salvaged after it was accidentally fed to his pigs. The farmer said if the bank would accept the damaged certificate, he’d let them invest the funds. After much convincing, the bank took it.

The technology started attracting serious attention. AT&T invested $10 million in 1993. Intel put in $30 million. Then came Microsoft with $45 million in early 1998, with their chief technology officer declaring they were “taking a big leap forward in transforming that vision into a reality.”

The company went public on the Nasdaq in November 1995 at $12.50 per share, despite skepticism from analysts who worried the technology was still too primitive. But beneath this genuine innovation and community support, troubling signs were already emerging.

The Art of Moving Money in Circles

As L&H struggled to generate revenue, it constructed an increasingly complex web of related-party transactions to maintain the illusion of explosive growth.

The centerpiece was the Flanders Language Valley Fund (FLV), co-founded and advised by L&H’s founders. This venture fund took a 49% stake in the Belgian unit of Quarterdeck Corporation, which just happened to be L&H’s largest customer, accounting for 30% of its revenue.

The new CEO of Quarterdeck was Gaston Bastien, a Belgian executive infamous for rushing Apple’s Newton operating system to market to avoid losing a wine cellar bet. The result was faulty handwriting recognition that disappointed consumers. Now he was running L&H’s biggest customer, which was partially owned by a fund controlled by L&H’s founders.

L&H also created something called Dictation Consortium to keep expensive R&D costs off its books while somehow claiming $26.6 million in revenue from this entity in 1996 and 1997. Who owned 61% of Dictation Consortium? The FLV fund. The other investors, according to Lernout, were “five or six people who were anonymous because they were rolled up into companies that were organized in Luxembourg and the British Virgin Islands.”

Even Microsoft threw $3 million into the FLV fund alongside their $45 million L&H investment, apparently missing these red flags entirely.

The Asian Revenue Miracle That Wasn’t

The real magic happened in Asia. In 1999, Bastien (now L&H’s CEO) claimed Asian sales had exploded to more than $150 million versus just $10 million the year before. Korean revenue jumped from $97,000 to $58.9 million in a single quarter—a mind-boggling 60,000% increase. Singapore contributed $80.3 million in 1999 after generating less than $300,000 the previous year.

But here’s where it gets weird. Singapore sales then mysteriously plummeted to $501,000 in the first quarter of 2000. Bastien had perfectly reasonable explanations for everything, of course. The company had sold licenses in Singapore that couldn’t be sold again. Korea had opened up thanks to an acquisition. Everything was great.

When Wall Street Journal reporters investigated these miraculous Asian numbers in August 2000, they uncovered a house of cards. Some companies that L&H identified as Korean customers said they did no business with the company at all. Others said their purchases were much smaller than L&H claimed. Only one customer would go on record confirming the numbers were accurate.

One major customer, Hung-chang Lin, supposedly doing between $5 million and $10 million in business with L&H, had a CEO who didn’t even know about the joint venture that was allegedly purchasing the products. When confronted about the discrepancies, L&H’s contact at Hung-chang admitted they had lied about everything.

The scheme involved creating sales agreements that let “customers” defer paying licensing fees until they made money from L&H’s products. The company booked these as sales anyway, then made deals with banks where the banks would take over the receivables in exchange for cash. L&H claimed these were sales of receivables, but they were essentially disguised loans.

The $100 Million That Vanished

The drama reached its peak in November 2000 when new CEO John Duerden flew to Korea to retrieve $100 million the company desperately needed to avoid bankruptcy. After waiting an hour, Duerden was grilling the Korean unit head about the missing money when three men kicked open the door, shouting and gesticulating before dragging the unit head out of the room.

Duerden fled the country, later telling the Journal, “The only thing I know for certain is that the money is not in the bank accounts.”

The end came officially on November 9, 2000, when L&H announced it would restate its financial filings due to “errors and irregularities.” The company admitted its third-quarter revenue would be about $40 million less than reported. Lernout and Hauspie resigned as executive co-chairmen, though they kept 30% of the voting rights. Weeks later, the company filed for bankruptcy. The stock that had soared to $72.50 in March 2000 (a 2,500% increase from its IPO price) was worthless. Ten billion dollars in market value had evaporated.

Justice came slowly. In September 2010, a full decade after the collapse, Lernout, Hauspie, and Bastien were found guilty in Belgium. Lernout and Hauspie each received five-year sentences with two years suspended. In December 2021, a Belgian court awarded 4,000 shareholders €655 million—but as one news source noted, “the compensation ruling is largely symbolic as the six former board members don’t have the financial means with which to pay it.”

The Technology Lives On (Under New Management)

Lernout maintains to this day, “The technology was real and great.” And he’s not wrong.

After ScanSoft acquired L&H’s assets from bankruptcy in 2001, the speech recognition technology began a remarkable journey. ScanSoft merged with Nuance Communications in 2005. By 2013, Nuance’s natural language processing algorithms, which were built on L&H’s foundation,  powered Apple’s Siri. In spring 2021, Microsoft acquired Nuance for $19.7 billion.

The same technology that L&H claimed would revolutionize computing actually did—just not under their ownership. The speech recognition in your phone and the voice assistant in your home all carry the DNA of a company that destroyed itself through fraud despite having a product that actually worked.

Lessons for the Number Crunchers

For accounting professionals, the L&H case offers a masterclass in red flags:

  • Circular related-party transactions: When a company’s venture fund invests in its own customers, the revenue isn’t real
  • Explosive geographic revenue shifts: A 60,000% increase should trigger every skeptical bone in an auditor’s body
  • Anonymous investors in tax havens: Luxembourg and the British Virgin Islands aren’t known for transparency
  • Revenue recognition without cash: Booking sales to customers who don’t have to pay isn’t revenue; it’s fiction

As Newquist emphasizes, “It isn’t enough just to have a great product or just great tech. If you cook the books, it doesn’t matter how good your product is. Bad numbers are bad numbers, and people get real upset about bad numbers.”

The L&H story proves that no amount of revolutionary technology can overcome the fundamental truth of financial reporting: when you cook the books, everyone gets burned except, ironically, the technology itself, which lives on in every voice command you give your phone today.

Listen to the full Oh My Fraud episode to hear Newquist’s complete investigation into this cautionary tale. CPAs can earn free NASBA-approved CPE credits through the Earmark app while learning these crucial fraud detection lessons. And remember, if you win a wine cellar on a bet, make that idiot pay up.

Two Stories That Expose How Accounting Credentials Get Weaponized for Fraud

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What happens when professionals look the other way? In this episode of The Accounting Podcast, Blake Oliver and David Leary dive into two jaw-dropping cases that show what happens when accounting credentials get tangled up with crime and fraud.

First, they discuss a Wall Street Journal investigation into Jeffrey Epstein’s inner circle that somehow flew under the radar until recently. Then there’s the startup founder who allegedly blew through $2.2 million in investor money on her wedding while pretending to be a CPA. Both stories raise serious questions about trust and accountability.

Epstein’s Financial Fixers

“Epstein wasn’t a one man operation,” Blake reads from the Wall Street Journal investigation. The convicted sex offender had help from his CPA, Richard Kahn, and lawyer, Darren Indyke, who kept his financial machine running for years.

The story starts with a letter Kahn wrote in 2016. He described a “very healthy marriage” between two women, saying he’d personally witnessed their passion for each other during meetings. He even had it notarized. But the marriage was fake. Epstein had pressured an American woman he’d abused into marrying an Eastern European woman to help with immigration papers. Kahn’s letter gave the scheme legitimacy.

David was baffled. “Has any other CPA on the planet been asked to write letters like this before for an immigration proceeding?”

Good question. This wasn’t normal accounting work.

Kahn became Epstein’s in-house accountant in 2005 after Epstein tried out three candidates from a recruiting firm. By 2008, Kahn and another accountant had set up HBR Associates, a firm with only one client: Jeffrey Epstein. Their office was a one-bedroom apartment in Epstein’s building, right across the hall from lawyer Indyke’s office.

Both men provided way more than typical professional services. They managed payments to women in Epstein’s orbit, covering doctor’s visits and rent. When banks cut Epstein off, they found new places to open accounts. They withdrew cash in amounts under $10,000 to avoid reporting requirements.

The money tells its own story. Between 2011 and 2019, Epstein paid Indyke over $16 million and Kahn more than $10 million.

“That’s a lot of money,” Blake notes. “That’s more money than you would expect to receive for those kinds of services.”

Both men claim they didn’t know about Epstein’s crimes. They say they never witnessed abuse and no one reported it to them. But neither was questioned by federal authorities during the Epstein-Maxwell investigation.

“That is insane to me,” David says. “How do you not question the CPA and the lawyer? That’s the inner circle.”

“This is the sort of thing that makes me think the conspiracy theorists are right,” Blake responds. “It just doesn’t compute.”

Now, Kahn and Indyke control Epstein’s estate as co-executors, managing assets worth over $100 million. They’re also beneficiaries of a trust that will collect whatever’s left after all claims are settled—potentially tens of millions each.

The Fake CPA’s $13 Million Con

The second story hits closer to home for the accounting profession. Shiloh Luckey founded a startup called ComplYant App, Inc. in 2019, positioning it as a tax compliance app for small businesses. She raised $13 million from venture capitalists, including a firm co-founded by David Sacks, cohost of the All-In podcast.

Luckey told investors the company was earning $250,000 in monthly recurring revenue. The actual number was $250. Not thousands. Just $250. The company averaged fewer than four new subscribers per month despite having about 50 employees.

Luckey allegedly represented herself as a CPA even though she wasn’t one. And according to the FBI and SEC, she spent $2.2 million of investor money on personal stuff, including a Caribbean wedding, a house, Super Bowl tickets, and luxury trips to Aspen, Miami Beach, Turks and Caicos, and Lisbon.

When ComplYant shut down in 2023, those 50 employees lost their jobs. They waited seven weeks for final paychecks and discovered their 401(k) contributions were missing.

The kicker? Luckey is currently on TikTok giving financial advice to nearly 24,000 followers. She’s even launched a new startup called HabitLoop, described as a digital financial assistant.

Other News From the Episode

The hosts also covered several other developments in accounting and finance, including:

  • Cannabis businesses can finally deduct regular business expenses now that marijuana is being reclassified as a Schedule 3 drug. Previously, they faced effective tax rates of 60-80% because they couldn’t deduct basic costs like rent and payroll.
  • Trump announced a new Tech Force that will hire 1,000 people to build AI infrastructure for the federal government, working with companies like Microsoft and Amazon.
  • Intuit partnered with Circle to integrate stablecoin payments into QuickBooks, potentially cutting out traditional banking rails for payments.
  • The IRS Criminal Investigations unit identified over $10 billion in financial crimes this year, including $4.5 billion in tax fraud.
  • A lawyer is suing the IRS to recognize her golden retriever as a tax dependent, arguing the dog meets every requirement except being human.

The Bigger Picture

What’s striking about both main stories is how they expose vulnerabilities in the accounting profession’s trust-based system. In one case, a real CPA operated at the center of a criminal enterprise while claiming ignorance. In the other, someone falsely claimed CPA credentials to defraud investors.

As Blake pointed out about the Epstein investigation: “It just doesn’t compute.”

These stories are reminders that the accounting profession’s credibility can be weaponized, either by those who hold credentials and choose to look the other way, or by those who fake credentials to exploit the trust that comes with them.

Listen to the complete episode of The Accounting Podcast for more, including details about AI-powered invoice fraud and why white-collar workers are getting nervous about their job prospects.

How a Small-Town CPA Practice Transformed Into a Million-Dollar Firm

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James Buss decided to open a CPA firm on April 1, 2005. Yes, April Fool’s Day, which he now admits was “a bad day to open a CPA firm.” That first year, he had about 50 clients and ended with just $50,000 in revenue. Today, nearly 20 years later, he and his wife Cindy run Buss CPA, a $1.1 million practice from Hartford, South Dakota, a town of 3,000 people just outside Sioux Falls.

In a recent episode of Who’s Really the Boss?, hosts Marcus and Rachel Dillon sat down with James and Cindy to talk about what it’s really like when married couples run accounting firms together. They shared stories of making tough decisions during crises, building systems that take emotion out of business choices, and finding a community of peers who actually share what works.

From Law Enforcement to Million-Dollar Firm

James worked in law enforcement before he became a CPA. He went to school for criminal justice and worked for Minnehaha County for about four years before, as he puts it, he “saw the light.” He’s still an EMT basic and has been a volunteer firefighter since 1995—longer than he’s been a CPA.

This background shapes how he approaches business. Growing up in a family that owned a plumbing and heating business since 1978, James has been around construction his whole life. That’s why today, 70% of his clients are construction companies. He understands their world because he lived in it.

When James opened his firm at 35, he’d already worked in public accounting for about five years and spent two years with a Fortune 500 construction company. But starting from scratch meant building everything from the ground up. About two or three years in, he brought Cindy into the business. As she explains it, she got some advice not to marry a CPA—advice she obviously didn’t take. “Sometimes advice isn’t taken well,” she laughs, “but I think one of the best pieces of advice beyond that is to treat people as you would like to be treated.”

Today, they’re a blended family with six adult children, including one who just graduated with a master’s in social work and another getting married next year who has a master’s in accounting. Between volleyball games and football seasons with the grandkids, they run a firm with four hybrid employees and one remote team member in the Philippines.

When Crisis Forces Change

The 2008 financial crisis changed everything for Buss CPA. James is clear that it was harder than COVID. “In 2008, it was a bumpy ride for companies,” he explains. “We were advising on whether companies should keep their employees, keep a line of business, keep their location, or if they should even stay open.”

During COVID, it was about navigating Paycheck Protection Program (PPP) programs and rules that changed every weekend. In 2008, it was about survival.

After joining a peer group in 2009, James made a radical decision: fire half the clients, let the staff go, and drop back to just himself. The firm was doing a little over $200,000 at the time, which was solid growth from that first $50,000, but the mix wasn’t working.

“We kept what we call now CAS,” James says, noting that the term might be new but the concept isn’t. They also went virtual after their server died, which turned out to be perfect preparation for COVID a decade later. “Going virtual during COVID was nothing new for us. We had been virtual for years.”

The crisis also pushed James to rethink pricing. He remembers pitching his first fixed-fee client around 2009, offering monthly accounting for about $900 instead of a $2,000 to $3,000 spring cleanup bill. The client’s response was, “So my wife won’t have to do this on the weekends?” Deal closed.

James had to abandon hourly billing simply because, “as the software got better, the hours went down. So in theory I’d be doing $50 tax returns now.” When clients push back on fixed pricing, he uses an analogy they understand. “When you bought your truck, did you ask them how many hours it took to put the truck together?”

Today, about 75 of their clients are on fixed-fee contracts, representing 70% to 75% of revenue. They’ve cut their tax-only work from nearly 1,000 returns to about 450, with more staff to handle them.

Taking Emotion Out of the Equation

One smart move Buss CPA made was creating systems that remove owner emotion from critical decisions. James no longer decides which clients to accept. Instead, a committee of two client managers and Cindy makes those calls.

“I don’t know if I can ever get out of this mindset that every client’s a new client. It might be my last one,” James admits. The committee asks questions prospects won’t answer honestly to the owner. They can find out if someone hasn’t filed taxes for four years or doesn’t believe in paying taxes—things they might not tell James directly.

The same approach works for pricing. Their current average monthly fee is about $900, with new clients coming in at $1,000 to $1,500. James is planning a 5% to 7% increase for January 1st, pushed through systematically using Ignition. One client who initially rejected their pricing came back after trying another firm. His comment? “My wife is really mad at me for not taking your fixed-fee contract.” He’ll now pay more than the original quote because, as James notes, “we have something called inflation.”

They also charge onboarding fees of about $1,500, sometimes quoting $2,500 initially then “negotiating” down. “It gives you that buffer for them to feel like when they walked out that they did some negotiation,” James explains, while still covering the 20 minutes it takes staff to set up a sales tax license and other setup work.

Even succession planning gets the emotion-free treatment. Back in 2021, Cindy announced she’d retire in  December 2024. Now she’s taking Wednesdays off and edging toward the door more gradually. “When we get tired, we don’t have to quit. We can rest,” Rachel observed during the conversation. Cindy might stay two more years part-time while they search for the right operations manager. It’s hard to find someone you trust with the books, invoicing, and “all those things near and dear to us that we don’t necessarily want everybody in the world to know.”

Finding Your People

Perhaps the biggest accelerator for the Buss firm’s growth has been community, specifically Collective by DBA, a group of accounting firm owners who share what actually works in their practices.

“I can’t get five accounting firm owners from Sioux Falls together in a room to talk about how we run our businesses,” James says. “Everything’s top secret.”

But in Collective by DBA, he has a Rolodex of people to call with specific questions. Should we use a Professional Employer Organization (PEO) now that we have seven employees? How did you implement fixed-fee pricing? Why is my tech stack so expensive? He couldn’t ask his old firm these questions because they’re still in suits and ties with everyone in the office—not dealing with hybrid teams and virtual infrastructure.

James participates in forums where ten firms take turns being the “focus,” sharing deep challenges and getting candid feedback. When it was his turn, they gave him nine different perspectives on hiring challenges.

He compares it to a military obstacle course. “The community lifts one person up so they can reach to the top of the wall and pull themselves up. Then they can reach down and grab you and pull you up over the wall.”

The results are concrete. James wouldn’t have his team member in the Philippines without community. He wouldn’t charge onboarding fees. “I don’t think we’d be at $1.1 million in revenue if we didn’t have this.”

For Cindy, it’s about more than tactics. “It’s the safe spot to go to. We’ve made great friends through community. Nobody makes you feel bad if you ask kind of a dumb question.”

The Real Secret: Communication

The importance of communication is a recurring theme throughout the conversation. “People don’t remember what you did for them. They remember how they felt,” James says, paraphrasing the poet Maya Angelou.

This belief drives everything from client service to team management. CPAs are notorious for not returning phone calls, but James and Cindy make communication a priority. “All you have to do is communicate with your clients and you’re 80% or more ahead of the game,” James says.

He shared a recent example where he got double-scheduled and missed a call. His message to the team member who made the mistake was clear. “You gotta remember that this person’s not going to remember how I took care of their IRS issue. They’re going to remember that we skipped their telephone call.”

Building Together, Growing Together

After nearly 20 years of working together, James and Cindy have built something remarkable from that risky April Fool’s Day start. They’ve weathered the 2008 crisis, adapted to virtual work before it was necessary, and built systems that let them make better decisions than either could alone.

Their story shows that you don’t need to be in a major market or acquire other firms to build a million-dollar practice. You need the courage to make hard decisions during a crisis, systems that remove emotion from business choices, and a community of peers who’ll share what actually works.

As they look toward the future, with Cindy gradually transitioning toward retirement and James continuing to grow the firm, they’re proof that working with your spouse can work, even in the demanding world of public accounting.

Want to hear more about how James and Cindy navigate working together, including the jokes about age differences and one-room schoolhouses? Listen to the full episode of Who’s Really the Boss? for all the stories, laughs, and wisdom these two couples share about building successful firms with the person you married.

Rachel and Marcus Dillon, CPA, own a Texas-based, remote client accounting and advisory services firm, Dillon Business Advisors, with a team of 15 professionals. Their latest organization, Collective by DBA, supports and guides accounting firm owners and leaders with firm resources, education, and operational strategy through community, groups, and one-on-one advisory.

Time Blindness and Trader Joe’s Paralysis Doesn’t Define This Accountant’s Career

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Jina Etienne stood in Trader Joe’s, paralyzed by eight different ice cream flavors, unable to choose between them. This moment perfectly captured what her decades-long accounting career had felt like, not because she wasn’t capable, but because her ADHD brain was processing every decision through multiple filters at once.

In this episode of She Counts, the real-talk podcast for women in accounting, hosts Questian Telka and Nancy McClelland sit down with CPA and speaker Jina Etienne to explore a reality affecting countless women in the profession: living with undiagnosed ADHD while maintaining the appearance of having it all together.

When Your Child’s Diagnosis Becomes Your Own

For both Jina and Questian, ADHD recognition didn’t come through self-awareness; it came through their children, as many late diagnoses do for women in their forties.

Jina’s story began when her husband couldn’t understand their son Dominic’s behavior. “Dominic was really into this project,” she recalls. “He worked really hard on the project. My husband takes him to school, drops him off, and then he says, ‘So, Dominic, where’s the project?’ He forgot to bring it to school.” Her husband wondered how someone could be so invested in something and completely forget it. That bewilderment sparked a diagnosis journey that would circle back to Jina herself.

After Dominic’s diagnosis, Jina asked the psychiatrist how to parent an ADHD child. The doctor gave her a book called “Driven to Distraction.” Reading through the diagnostic criteria, Jina found herself checking off symptom after symptom. “If you have more than 12 of these characteristics out of 20, you might have ADHD. Well, I had 12. So I called back and I said, ‘Can you diagnose me?’”

Questian’s path was similar. Watching her 14-year-old son navigate challenges that mirrored her own childhood, she recognized patterns she’d never connected before. “We have so many similarities between the two of us,” she shares, though her son hasn’t wanted to pursue formal diagnosis yet.

The Gender Gap in Diagnosis

ADHD in women often hides behind a carefully constructed wall of competence. The diagnostic tools themselves were designed around boys’ behaviors, focusing on the bouncing-off-the-walls hyperactivity that disrupted classrooms rather than the quiet inattention more common in girls.

“We make gender assumptions about boys and girls,” Jina explains. “Girls are quiet, girls are thoughtful. Girls are nice. So if a boy is boisterous and he’s busy running around and can’t sit still, then it must be ADHD. But if a girl is sitting still, maybe it’s not ADHD.”

This gendered lens means countless women slip through diagnostic cracks. Questian’s grandmother used to say she was “bouncing off the walls all the time,” even “climbing furniture, hanging from the ceiling, just all over the place.” The solution was to put her in gymnastics. No one connected those dots to ADHD because she could also sit still when required, even if her mind was racing.

The biological component adds another layer of complexity. Estrogen helps regulate dopamine, the neurotransmitter already inconsistent in ADHD brains. “As our estrogen levels start to drop, the struggle becomes more obvious,” Jina notes. “It was always there, but as we get older, it can feel like things got harder.”

Nancy adds important context: only three to five percent of adults have ADHD, though informal studies suggest higher rates in accounting. When people dismiss it saying “everyone has ADHD now,” they’re conflating normal distraction with a clinical condition that, as Nancy’s therapist reminds her, “doesn’t become a clinical diagnosis until whatever it is that you’re dealing with interferes with your life.”

The Exhausting Art of Masking

After decades of compensating and overachieving to hide their struggles, women with ADHD reach a breaking point. Jina describes it perfectly with an analogy. “Imagine picking up a 10-pound weight. You’re holding it halfway up, and you just have to hold it like that for ten years. At first it doesn’t seem that hard. Eventually it gets heavy, but you can do it. And then it gets to the point where it’s so heavy, you’re struggling to do it, and you ask yourself, ‘Why am I even doing this?’ And then at some point you just throw it down.”

“I constantly overprepare for everything and feel like if I don’t overprepare, I’m not going to be able to manage what’s happening,” Questian says, describing her version of this weight. But even this strategy is failing. “I’ve gotten to the point where it’s become very difficult for me to emotionally hide my overwhelm.”

Women tend to internalize the physical manifestations in professional settings. “If I’m in a meeting, trying to hide that,” Questian explains about suppressing her fidgeting, “if I can’t express it and move my body the way that I need to, then it becomes internal agitation. It moves inward.”

Decision paralysis adds another layer. Back to Jina’s Trader Joe’s story, “Instead of coming home with two things, I come home with eight things because I’m overloaded with the decisions I have to make, and I’m afraid to make the wrong decision.” This extends to work, where Questian describes having multiple big projects. “I get into a spiral in my mind. Which one do I start with?”

Time blindness creates special challenges in accounting. Jina explains there’s actual neuroscience behind it—something called scalar expectancy theory. The brain’s internal “pacemaker” runs inconsistently in ADHD brains. “It has nothing to do with not managing time,” she emphasizes. “People think it’s time management and I think it’s time processing.”

What Jina calls “imposter syndrome on steroids” compounds everything. Before diagnosis, the negative self-talk was relentless. “I felt like something was wrong with me.”

From Shame to Strategy

Diagnosis transformed self-blame into self-understanding for both women. “My whole life made sense to me,” Questian reflects. “Getting that diagnosis helped me understand myself a lot better and prevented me from feeling this level of guilt about who I was.”

For Jina, diagnosis brought vocabulary to experiences she couldn’t previously articulate. The revelation about difficulty reading social cues moved her to tears during the conversation. “Those words were not in my vocabulary. I just thought something was wrong.” But awareness brought empowerment: “Now I watch for things I didn’t watch for before.”

The practical strategies are highly individual. Questian found medication helps. She takes “a kid dose of Ritalin” because Adderall was too strong. Jina’s neurologist explained that different medications affect ADHD brains differently. “For anybody listening, if you had a reaction to one medication, try another before you dismiss it altogether.”

Technology is an ally when configured correctly. Jina’s iPhone has focus settings that automatically silence notifications on Monday writing days. “My phone automatically turns off all notifications at 9 a.m. It doesn’t ring. Nothing shows up on my screen.” She maintains 16 different Google calendars, color-coded for visual processing. At 11 PM, her phone grays out all icons, removing even visual temptation.

Communication strategies matter, too. Jina and her husband developed what she calls the “junk drawer” method. While he thinks internally before speaking, she needs to verbally process everything. Their solution was to let Jina talk it out. “I can just talk, and then I have to say, ‘This is the part you need to hear.’”

However, workplace disclosure remains complicated. “Some people worry about self-disclosure,” Jina notes, “because if you disclose something to your boss, sometimes the HR team feels an obligation to do something.” Her advice? “You don’t have to reveal that you have ADHD if you can explain what your strengths are.”

The Superpowers Are Real

ADHD brings legitimate strengths alongside its challenges. When Questian mentions her “high sense of intuition and emotional awareness” and extreme empathy, Jina confirms, “Those are markers for ADHD and so is high creativity.”

The same brain struggling with executive function excels at ideation. “You don’t even have a box to think inside of,” Jina explains. The hyperfocus that makes her work until 3 AM also allows her to solve complex problems others can’t crack. “When I’m in the zone, I can really work and knock stuff out.”

Nancy, who doesn’t have ADHD, offers perspective about the double-edged nature. “I don’t have the same creativity that y’all do, but I also don’t have to deal with idea overload.”

“We all have some of these things from time to time, but some of us have a lot of these things all the time,” Jina says, emphasizing an important distinction. Having occasional struggles with focus isn’t ADHD. It’s about having “ten, 12 or 14” of the chronic disturbances, not just a few.

Moving Forward with Understanding

This conversation reveals that ADHD in professional women isn’t about inability; it’s about brains that work differently in a world designed for neurotypical processing. The exhaustion comes from constant translation and compensation.

When someone dismisses ADHD saying “everyone has it,” they miss the clinical reality. As Questian shares, “I’ve actually had people make this comment to me, and I’m sitting here going, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, have you lived in my life? Have you walked in my shoes?’” Yet by speaking openly, Questian creates space for others to recognize themselves and seek understanding. 

“The labels we’ve been using do not reflect the beautiful, complex diversity that lives within each of us,” Jina reminds us. “Inclusion isn’t about them. It’s about how we show up for others.”

For women in accounting who’ve spent years perfecting their professional masks while struggling with focus, time management, and mental chaos, you’re not alone, you’re not broken, and there are strategies that can help. Whether through diagnosis, medication, technology, or simply understanding that your brain works differently, there’s a path from exhaustion to empowerment.

Listen to the full episode to hear more about specific strategies and the transformative power of understanding your own mind. Then join the conversation on the She Counts Podcast LinkedIn page, where we’re continuing this discussion about ADHD in the accounting profession.

From OnlyFans Audits to AI Cheating Scandals: Inside Accounting’s Strangest Week Ever

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In episode 465 of The Accounting Podcast, hosts Blake Oliver and David Leary tackle one of the most bizarre unintended consequences of recent tax legislation: IRS agents may soon need to review OnlyFans content at work to determine if digital creators qualify for tax deductions. This absurd scenario perfectly captures the chaos unfolding as artificial intelligence and new regulations collide with traditional accounting practices.

The IRS’s Awkward New Job Requirement

The new “no tax on tips” deduction allows digital content creators to deduct up to $25,000 from their taxes. But conservative groups successfully lobbied to exclude “pornographic activity” from this benefit, leaving the IRS to determine what qualifies as pornography—a definition the Supreme Court has never clearly established.

“Are IRS agents going to have to sit in their offices at work and look at OnlyFans accounts and determine whether or not this content qualifies?” Blake asks. “Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart famously said, ‘I know it when I see it.’ So that’s my question.”

The timing couldn’t be worse. The IRS just closed hardship telework requests, forcing employees back to the office while the agency faces a backlog of over 8,000 accommodation requests and has lost 25% of its workforce through voluntary separations this year.

David raises another complication: “If somebody did one video that got determined to be pornographic, do you lose the whole deduction or can you claim all the other days that you got tips?”

Tax professionals face their own dilemma. “Let’s say you get a client who says they want to claim the tips deduction, and they’re an online creator,” Blake explains. “Are you going to check out the content and decide whether it qualifies?”

When AI Meets Ethics—The KPMG Scandal

While the IRS grapples with content moderation, KPMG Australia is dealing with its own technology-related embarrassment. Multiple auditors were caught using AI and group chats to cheat on mandatory compliance training during 2023-2024. This happened after KPMG had already paid a $50 million fine for exam cheating from 2015-2020.

“AI is really good at taking these kinds of tests,” Blake notes. “Just copy paste all the questions into ChatGPT and you’ll pass in a heartbeat.”

The consequences were light: formal warnings for most, one verbal caution, and one person who left months later. The firm didn’t report the incident to regulators.

“They got fined $50 million for it before and then they just continued to do it,” David points out. “So the fines don’t work, obviously.”

The PCAOB is now warning it will closely scrutinize AI use in accounting firms. They’re particularly concerned about private equity-backed firms, fearing pressure for short-term results will compromise audit quality when combined with AI automation.

The Death of the Billable Hour

Beyond scandals, AI is reshaping how accounting firms operate and charge for their services. The billable hour, introduced in the early 1900s as a management tool and dominant since the 1960s, faces extinction.

“When AI can review thousands of contracts in minutes instead of weeks, charging for time spent becomes economically absurd,” writes Rita McGrath of Columbia Business School in the Wall Street Journal.

Blake experienced this transformation firsthand as a freelance bookkeeper. “I billed hourly for keying transactions into accounting software. I then figured out how to automate 90% of it. I had a choice: bill 80-90% fewer hours and lose all my revenue, or switch my clients to fixed fees and take ownership of the process.”

The efficiency gains are already here. Ramp has AI approvals handling 80-90% of transactions automatically. Xero’s new auto-reconcile feature uses AI to match transactions with high confidence. According to OpenAI’s survey of 9,000 workers, employees save an average of one hour daily using AI, with heavy users saving ten hours weekly.

But not every company succeeds at this transition. Pilot raised $118 million at a $1.2 billion valuation, betting it could automate bookkeeping and achieve software margins. Today, they have just 2,500 clients and recently launched a partner program to offload the labor they couldn’t eliminate.

“The fact that they’ve launched a partner program indicates they’re trying to push labor costs out of the company so they can be a software company,” Blake observes.

The irony isn’t lost on David. “They have this headline, ‘Tired of endless QuickBooks updates breaking your workflow.’ But the very first app they list in their integrations is QuickBooks. It’s built on QuickBooks.”

AI Writing Reports Nobody Trusts

Companies are racing to use AI for financial reporting even while harboring deep doubts about its reliability. Twenty-eight percent of financial executives already use generative AI for external reporting. ON Semiconductor’s AI writes entire sections of management discussion and analysis. Hewlett Packard Enterprise plans to use AI for first drafts of financial statements starting in January.

“Take financial statements, drop them into ChatGPT and ask for the narrative. It does a spectacular job,” Blake says. “Taking numbers and turning them into a story that non-accountants can understand, highlighting what’s important, it’s really good at that.”

Yet Harvard Business Review’s survey of 603 business leaders shows only 6% of companies trust AI for core business processes. Most limit AI to low-risk or supervised tasks.

“The work accountants do requires near 100% accuracy,” Blake explains. “Research shows AI achieves 80% accuracy at 30-minute tasks but 100% only for tasks taking a few minutes.”

Meanwhile, Meta’s creative accounting for its Hyperion data center—using complex structures to keep it off-balance sheet—shows human financial engineering still outpaces AI. As the Wall Street Journal called it, “Artificial intelligence, meet artificial accounting.”

What Comes Next

Interesting research is challenging assumptions about what drives audit quality. Studies show offices with less competition deliver better audits with fewer errors. “Competition pushes down fees, which incentivizes auditors to cut corners,” Blake explains.

Another study found audit teams with more women deliver higher quality at lower fees, but only in supportive environments with good work-life balance and female partners.

President Trump, meanwhile, claims tariff revenue will eliminate income tax entirely. “We’ve taken in literally trillions of dollars,” he stated, though actual tariff revenue was only $258 billion last year versus $2.7 trillion from income taxes.

“Doesn’t anybody prep him?” David wonders. “He just makes up numbers.”

The accounting profession is at a crossroads. Will accountants become the quality control layer ensuring AI meets professional standards? Or will they cling to outdated models until technology makes them irrelevant?

To hear Blake and David’s full discussion, including details about the new Trump IRA accounts for kids and Senator Jim Justice’s $5 million tax settlement, listen to episode 465 of The Accounting Podcast.