Gregory had just one rule: never trust a flamingo in finance… unless it floats.
On the sun-blazed shores of Offshoria, a pink corporate crusader in a power suit stood barefoot, papers fluttering like broken promises. His Bluetooth headset blinked with righteous urgency, lips locked in a call no one dared interrupt.
“SELL EVERYTHING,” he barked with the kind of certainty only someone sipping iced espresso on a flamingo float could pull off. “I’m about to drift into a tax haven.”
Behind him, a second flamingo — inflatable, smug, and somehow radiating CFO energy — bobbed approvingly in the turquoise sea, its plastic eyes full of off-balance-sheet wisdom.
This wasn’t just a vacation. This was a restructuring. Capital gains never felt so tropical. Every grain of sand under his feet was a loophole; every gentle wave, a soft whisper from the Cayman spirit guides.
He had traded boardrooms for board shorts. Now his briefcase only held SPF 50, a backup tie, and six burner phones labeled “Plan A” through “Monaco.”
As seagulls overhead argued about equity splits, Gregory grinned. He wasn’t evading taxes — he was embracing “fiscal fluidity.” A concept recently trademarked by his personal thought-leader parrot.
And as he floated toward freedom, cocktail in hand, one thing was clear: you don’t chase wealth. You float aggressively toward it on a flamingo.
