Numbers dressed up in fancy suits pretending to be words.
The discount rate that makes the net present value of an investment zero—basically the breakeven return that justifies the project. If IRR exceeds your hurdle rate, it's theoretically a go; if not, it's a hard pass.
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.
A document that categorizes accounts receivable by how long invoices have been outstanding, essentially a report card showing which customers are ghosting you. The longer the aging period, the less likely you'll ever see that money.
Money already spent that cannot be recovered and therefore should not factor into future decisions, though humans are psychologically terrible at ignoring it. Your brain keeps asking 'but what about the money we already spent?' and economics keeps answering 'it's gone, move on.'
A metric measuring a company's ability to meet short-term obligations with liquid assets, like the current ratio or quick ratio. Think of it as the financial equivalent of asking whether you can make rent next month without selling your car.
Temporarily moving assets or liabilities off the books through short-term sales with prearranged buyback agreements, essentially hiding things in plain sight. It's the financial equivalent of shoving everything into the closet before guests arrive.
The practice of manipulating earnings to reduce volatility and create the appearance of steady, predictable growth, because investors apparently can't handle reality. It's the financial equivalent of Instagram filters for your P&L.
The art of entrusting your money to institutions that will charge you fees for the privilege of holding it, then lend it to other people at higher rates. This financial sector involves a complex ecosystem of overdraft charges, minimum balance requirements, and ATMs that somehow always cost $3.50 when you're desperate. For corporations, it's where money goes to make more money through mechanisms mere mortals cannot comprehend.
The total value of a leveraged position's assets, as opposed to the actual cash you put up, which is usually much less. It's the difference between owning a $100,000 house and the $20,000 you put down.
Changes made to financial statements to remove one-time or unusual items and show what 'normal' operations look like, assuming such a thing exists. It's the accounting version of 'this isn't my usual performance.'
An accounting entry recognizing that an asset is now worth less than its book value, forcing companies to admit their expensive acquisition was actually terrible. It's the corporate version of finding out your vintage comic book collection is worthless.
The person or institution you owe money to, who will periodically remind you of this fact with varying degrees of politeness. In the great financial food chain, creditors sit above debtors and pray they'll actually get paid back. They range from your friendly neighborhood bank to that guy you borrowed twenty bucks from in college and somehow never repaid.
The state of being equal or equivalent, whether in prices, power, or purchasing ability across markets. In finance, it's used for everything from currency exchange rates to comparing values between different assets. Economists love this word because it makes 'same-same' sound sophisticated, and it's fundamental to understanding why your dollar doesn't buy as much abroad.
The formal way of saying 'money spent,' used by accountants and government agencies to make spending sound more official and less like shopping. It's the act of paying out funds or the amount actually disbursed, tracked obsessively in budgets everywhere. The difference between expenditure and expense is subtle enough that even accountants argue about it at parties—yes, those parties are exactly as fun as they sound.
The ancient art of recording, classifying, and summarizing financial transactions, then presenting them in ways that either enlighten or confuse everyone involved. It's the language of business, spoken fluently by people who find tax codes exciting. Keeps companies legal, investors informed, and provides employment for millions who really, really like spreadsheets.
The foundational accounting system where every transaction affects at least two accounts, ensuring the books always balance through equal and opposite entries. It's the yin and yang of accounting, except with more debits.
A report categorizing accounts receivable by how long they've been outstanding, typically in 30-day buckets. It's a snapshot of who owes you money and which customers are slow payers or potential deadbeats.
Cash from operations minus capital expenditures—the actual money left over after keeping the business running that can be used for dividends, buybacks, or acquisitions. It's the ultimate 'show me the money' metric that cuts through accounting games.
Where governments and large organizations stash their cash and valuables, or the department responsible for managing all that money. In corporate settings, it's the team that handles cash flow, investments, and debt—basically the company's personal bank manager. Also refers to government bonds, because apparently one word should mean seventeen different things.
The accounting principle that recognizes revenue when earned and expenses when incurred, not when cash actually changes hands—because accountants live in a theoretical world where money is real even when it's not. It's how companies can show profit while being cash-poor, a magical concept that keeps CFOs employed. The opposite of cash accounting, and infinitely more confusing.
Money returned to you after you've already paid, usually requiring more effort to claim than it's actually worth. It's the corporate world's way of saying 'we'll give you a discount, but only if you jump through these seventeen hoops first.' Beloved by marketing departments, despised by everyone who's ever lost a receipt.
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.
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.
A financial wizard who makes money by exploiting price differences across markets, basically the sophisticated cousin of the person who buys concert tickets cheap and sells them expensive. They're the reason your economics professor kept going on about market efficiency being impossible. Investment banks love them; everyone else thinks they're basically legalized scalpers in suits.