Forensic accounting is where spreadsheets lose their innocence, receipts acquire personalities, and money is asked to explain where it has been hiding.

Where I live, Thursday mornings are dedicated to the ritualistic pilgrimage to the local talipapa, a humble expedition to secure a week’s worth of sustenance for the household. Our modest needs are dictated less by appetite and more by the pragmatic demands of advancing age. Reaching for a favorite, I inquired about the price of a kilo of pompano—a fish that, not so long ago, went for a respectable ₱440.

Cars have become remarkably good at worrying about us. They can warn when we are drifting out of a lane, tell us when another vehicle has entered our blind spot, apply the brakes when we fail to notice something ahead, and, in some cases, even keep themselves pointed in the right direction while traffic crawls along. It is an extraordinary development, particularly in a country where driving is akin to participating in a live-action negotiation with several hundred strangers. The problem is that the smarter the car becomes, the greater the temptation for us to become slightly less smart ourselves.

Now you see the money. Now you don’t. And if Senator-Judge Vicente “Tito” Sotto III has the metaphor right, the money does not exactly disappear. It dances.