Numbers dressed up in fancy suits pretending to be words.
Combining the financial statements of a parent company and its subsidiaries into a single unified report, eliminating intercompany transactions to avoid counting the same revenue twice. It's like merging family budgets while hiding the money you owe your brother.
The direct costs of producing goods or services that were actually sold, abbreviated as COGS. It includes materials and labor but not the CEO's golf club membership, no matter how insistently he argues it's 'client development.'
The time between paying suppliers and collecting from customers, measured in days. Negative is magical—you get paid before paying bills, turning working capital into a profit center. Positive means you're funding your customers' purchases with your own money.
Loans with few or no maintenance covenants that would normally protect lenders, essentially trusting borrowers to be responsible without supervision. It's the financial equivalent of lending your car to a teenager with no curfew.
To verify that the sum of row totals equals the sum of column totals in a spreadsheet, because trusting your formulas is for amateurs. It's the accounting equivalent of checking your math twice before raising your hand.
The practice of attaching specific conditions or requirements to financial assistance, loans, or agreements, most notably used by international financial institutions. It's the global economic version of "you can have dessert after you eat your vegetables," except the vegetables are structural reforms and the dessert is billions in credit. The IMF's favorite way to ensure countries follow through on promises.
An insurance contract against a borrower defaulting on debt, except it's called a 'swap' instead of insurance to avoid pesky insurance regulations. The financial instrument that nearly destroyed the global economy in 2008.
The fee you're about to pay that wasn't mentioned upfront, or the accounting entry that makes your expenses look worse than they already are. It's money levied for services, penalties for existing, or the formal recognition of costs on financial statements. Also, what your credit card company loves to add in mysterious increments.
Basic goods traded in bulk markets where one unit is virtually identical to another—think oil, wheat, gold, or coffee beans before they get a fancy name at Starbucks. These fungible raw materials are bought and sold on specialized exchanges where traders gamble on price fluctuations. It's where agricultural products and natural resources become abstract financial instruments.
An account that offsets another account on the balance sheet, like accumulated depreciation playing bad cop to your asset's good cop. It reduces the value of the related account without actually touching it.
A provision requiring executives to return compensation if certain conditions aren't met or if it was based on fraudulent numbers. It's the corporate version of 'give that back right now.'
A potential obligation that may or may not materialize depending on future events, like pending lawsuits or product warranty claims. It's Schrödinger's debt—simultaneously owing money and not owing money.
The stuff you promise to forfeit if you can't pay back a loan—basically insurance for lenders who don't trust your word alone. It's the financial equivalent of leaving your driver's license at the bowling alley when you rent shoes. Can be your house, car, or collection of vintage Beanie Babies (though banks prefer the first two).
Borrowing money in a currency with low interest rates, then investing it in assets with higher returns elsewhere, pocketing the difference. Works brilliantly until exchange rates move against you and your 'free money' becomes very expensive.
Abbreviated slang for cryptocurrency, used by people too busy day-trading Dogecoin to type out the full word. It's the linguistic equivalent of buying low and selling lower while pretending you understand blockchain technology.
The master list of all accounts a company uses—organized chaos with numbers assigned.
A risk-averse approach to accounting and investing where you assume the worst will happen and plan accordingly. It's the financial equivalent of bringing an umbrella to every event because clouds are technically possible.
A record of actual money moving in and out—the only financial statement that truly matters to people who need to eat.
A bank's capital expressed as a percentage of its risk-weighted assets, essentially measuring whether a financial institution has enough cushion to survive its own bad decisions. Regulators love it; bank executives pretend to.
Direct costs of producing goods you sell—labor, materials, and the despair of manufacturing.
The act of eating, drinking, or using something—basically how humanity's relationship with resources goes downhill. In economics, it's the fuel that keeps capitalism humming; in health, it's the thing your doctor warns you about.
The running total that keeps adding up over time—like compound interest that rewards patience or technical debt that punishes procrastination.
The chemical element (symbol C) that literally forms the backbone of all organic life and fossil fuels. It's also what your company's carbon footprint is made of—the environmental metric you're pretending to care about.
The upper limit you're not supposed to exceed—whether it's a price cap, altitude restriction, or your boss's patience. The thing above your head that prevents you from going higher.