Atlas Shrugged

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future. Nobody is permitted to have gold in Europe, except the whip-wielding friends of humanity, who
claim that they spend it for the welfare of their victims. That is the gold which my smuggler-customers
obtain to pay me.
How? By the same method I use to obtain the goods. And then I return the gold to those from whom the
goods were stolen—to you, Mr.
Rearden, and to other men like you."
Rearden grasped the nature of the emotion he had forgotten. It was the emotion he had felt when, at the
age of fourteen, he had looked at his first pay check—when, at the age of twenty-four, he had been
made superintendent of the ore mines—when, as the owner of the mines, he had placed, in his own
name, his first order for new equipment from the best concern of the time, Twentieth Century
Motors—an emotion of solemn, joyous excitement, the sense of winning his place in a world he
respected and earning the recognition of men he admired. For almost two decades, that emotion had
been buried under a mount of wreckage, as the years had added layer upon gray layer of contempt, of
indignation, of his struggle not to look around him, not to see those he dealt with, not to expect anything
from men and to keep, as a private vision within the four walls of his office, the sense of that world into
which he had hoped to rise. Yet there it was again, breaking through from under the wreckage, that
feeling of quickened interest, of listening to the luminous voice of reason, with which one could
communicate and deal and live. But it was the voice of a pirate speaking about acts of violence, offering
him this substitute for his world of reason and justice. He could not accept it; he could not lose whatever
remnant of his vision he still retained. He listened, wishing he could escape, yet knowing that he would
not miss a word of it.
"I deposit the gold in a bank—in a gold-standard bank, Mr. Rearden —to the account of men who are
its rightful owners. They are the men of superlative ability who made their fortunes by personal effort, in
free trade, using no compulsion, no help from the government. They are the great victims who have
contributed the most and suffered the worst injustice in return. Their names are written in my book of
restitution. Every load of gold which I bring back is divided among them and deposited to their
accounts."
"Who are they?"
"You're one of them, Mr. Rearden. I cannot compute all the money that has been extorted from you—in
hidden taxes, in regulations, in wasted time, in lost effort, in energy spent to overcome artificial obstacles.
I cannot compute the sum, but if you wish to see its magnitude —look around you. The extent of the
misery now spreading through this once prosperous country is the extent of the injustice which you have
suffered. If men refuse to pay the debt they owe you, this is the manner in which they will pay for it. But
there is one part of the debt which is computed and on record. That is the part which I have made it my
purpose to collect and return to you."
"What is that?"
"Your income tax, Mr. Rearden."
"What?"
"Your income tax for the last twelve years."
"You intend to refund that?"