Numbers dressed up in fancy suits pretending to be words.
That delicate financial state where your books don't scream for an audit, achieved by making sure debits and credits play nice together. It's either equilibrium or a temporary illusion before the next reconciliation nightmare.
When something gets smaller, fewer, or less impressive—the opposite of what marketing teams promise. In knitting, it's the deliberate reduction of stitches; in budgets, it's what finance asks for right before you need more resources.
The magical number left over after you subtract all expenses from revenue, assuming your accounting department is feeling generous about what counts as an expense. It's what companies supposedly exist to generate, though many startups operate for years as if this is merely optional. Shareholders love it, the IRS wants to tax it, and CFOs have seventeen different ways to calculate it.
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 practice of adjusting a subsidiary's books to reflect the parent company's purchase price allocation, essentially forcing the acquired company to record the acquisition cost on its own books. It's accounting inception.
The numbers-heavy documents that reveal whether a company is actually making money or just really good at spending investor cash. It's the collective term for financial statements like balance sheets, income statements, and cash flow reports that accountants love and everyone else pretends to understand. Essentially, it's where the truth about a business's health lives, buried under Generally Accepted Accounting Principles.
The accounting equivalent of admitting you overpaid for something—a reduction in the book value of an asset that's lost value faster than a new car leaving the dealership. Companies take write-downs when reality crashes their optimistic valuation party. It's how CFOs say 'oops' in the annual report without actually saying it.
The fancy financial way of saying money actually left the account and went somewhere else, as opposed to being promised, allocated, or trapped in bureaucratic purgatory. It's the moment when funds stop being theoretical and become someone else's problem or pleasure. Government agencies and large organizations love this word because it makes spending sound more sophisticated.
In business and legal contexts, the thorough investigation and analysis conducted before making a decision or completing a transaction. Due diligence is the corporate equivalent of looking before you leap, except you're also hiring consultants to examine the depth, temperature, and legal ownership of the water below. Skip this step and you might acquire a company that's actually three lawsuits in a trench coat.
Products sold without government taxes at airports and border zones, creating the illusion of amazing deals while you're trapped in transit. The magical land where alcohol and perfume become 'affordable' because customs duties don't apply. Convinces travelers they're saving money while spending it on things they didn't need in the first place.
Deferred acquisition payments contingent on the target company hitting future performance metrics, bridging valuation gaps between optimistic sellers and skeptical buyers. It's 'prove it and we'll pay more.'
An accounting treatment that matches the timing of gains and losses on hedging instruments with the hedged items, preventing volatility from making your financials look bipolar. IFRS 9 and ASC 815's way of acknowledging that risk management shouldn't tank your earnings.
Fancy financial speak for stocks—those little pieces of companies you can buy that either make you feel like Warren Buffett or a complete idiot, depending on the day. They represent actual ownership in a corporation, unlike bonds where you're just the company's reluctant banker. The asset class that lets you participate in capitalism's rollercoaster while your stomach does backflips every time the market hiccups.
A record of actual money moving in and out—the only financial statement that truly matters to people who need to eat.
To assume financial risk by guaranteeing payment or agreeing to buy unsold securities, essentially the business equivalent of being the backup friend who promises to buy all the unsold Girl Scout cookies. Investment banks underwrite stock offerings, insurance companies underwrite policies, and both pray they've done their math correctly. It's putting your money where someone else's mouth is.
Forcing distributors to buy more inventory than they can sell to inflate current sales figures, essentially borrowing from future sales to make today look better. It's corporate kicking-the-can-down-the-road at its finest.
The entity that gives you money now in exchange for you giving them more money later, ideally with interest and your sanity intact. Banks, credit unions, and that one friend who still brings up the $20 from 2015 all qualify.
The official release of funds from one entity to another, typically involving more paperwork than should be legally necessary. It's when money moves from the theoretical column to the actual payment column, often after surviving multiple approval layers. Think of it as the money finally escaping from financial prison.
In finance, the Greek letter measuring how much an option's price will swing when market volatility does its thing—basically, it's sensitivity to how much everyone is collectively freaking out. The higher the vega, the more your option's value rides the uncertainty rollercoaster. Named after Las Vegas (sort of), because options trading is basically sanctioned gambling with more math.
The price at which an asset would trade in an orderly transaction between willing parties, a theoretical concept that accountants somehow need to calculate. It's what something should be worth in an imaginary perfect market.
The practice of letting someone borrow money they probably can't pay back, then being shocked when they don't pay it back. Banks do this professionally and call it 'credit risk management'; friends do it and lose both the money and the friendship.
Assets expected to be converted to cash within 12 months, including cash, accounts receivable, and inventory. Basically, the stuff you expect to turn into money before the year ends.
Using assets pledged for one loan to secure multiple loans. It's a clever way for lenders to reduce risk and a way for borrowers to get tangled in interconnected debt.
Past tense of owing money or obligations—the financial hangover that lingers. When you're stuck with a debt or duty that should have been paid/performed already.