Numbers dressed up in fancy suits pretending to be words.
A massive payout given to executives when they get fired, because apparently failing at the highest level should be rewarded with generational wealth. It's the corporate equivalent of getting expelled from school and receiving a Ferrari as a consolation prize.
The intangible asset representing the premium paid during an acquisition over the fair market value of tangible assets—essentially the accountant's way of saying 'we overpaid, but let's call it strategic value.' It sits on the balance sheet until reality sets in and it gets impaired.
The master accounting record containing all financial transactions, organized by account. It's the single source of truth for a company's finances, assuming someone entered everything correctly.
The assumption that a company will continue operating for the foreseeable future rather than liquidating, which underpins how financial statements are prepared. When auditors question this assumption, update your résumé.
The rulebook for financial reporting in the US, commonly abbreviated as GAAP. It's the reason accountants can't just make up whatever numbers feel right, though creative interpretation remains an art form.
The rate of change in an option's delta relative to the underlying asset's price movement. It's the derivative of a derivative, because one Greek letter measuring risk wasn't nearly confusing enough for options traders.
The beautiful, untarnished number before reality sets in—your total earnings before taxes, fees, and other joy-killing deductions take their bite. It's what you earn in theory versus what actually shows up in your bank account (the "net"). Finance departments love talking in gross because it makes everything sound way more impressive.
The percentage of revenue remaining after subtracting cost of goods sold, revealing how much you make before paying for all the other stuff that keeps businesses running. High margins are good; low margins mean you're working hard to stay broke.
Money given to organizations or individuals, usually with more strings attached than a marionette convention and enough paperwork to deforest a small nation. Unlike loans, grants don't require repayment—just your soul, quarterly reports, and the ability to justify every pencil purchase. In the nonprofit and academic worlds, securing grants is essentially a full-time job that determines whether your actual job continues to exist.
A write-down acknowledging that the premium paid in an acquisition was optimistic, to put it kindly. It's the accounting equivalent of admitting you dramatically overpaid for something because you got caught up in the moment.
A promise so legally binding that breaking it costs money, which is why companies hide them in fine print. It's corporate insurance against customer rage, written in language designed to make sure nobody actually understands what's guaranteed.
Free money from governments, foundations, or institutions that you don't have to pay back, making them the unicorn of funding options. The catch is you have to write a novel-length application, jump through bureaucratic hoops, and then use the money exactly as specified or risk audits and shame. It's basically a scholarship for organizations, except with ten times the paperwork and the constant anxiety that you're somehow violating section 3.14(b) of the compliance requirements.
Revenue minus COGS—the money left before operating expenses crush your dreams.