Now she had to sit and think about how to minimise the damage that might be caused by 100,000 IRS employees thinking that they’d lose their jobs if they didn’t supply some detailed answer about what they’d done during their work week. A meaningful percentage risked being tossed in jail if they described what they did in an email. It was a crime for an IRS employee even to acknowledge that some specific person had or had not filed a tax return. “People don’t understand what the IRS does,” said Kathleen.

The email came as a surprise, but then the IRS was suddenly full of surprises. Nine days earlier, on 13 February, a Thursday, the first Doge person turned up in the lobby, unannounced, and security called Traci DiMartini, who ran the IRS’s human capital department. There’s a kid down here who said he needs to get into the building, he said…

Gavin Kliger came with a chip on his shoulder, it seemed to Traci. He offered not even the faintest smile or the most glancing eye contact. Dressed in black from hoodie to sneaker, he was brusque to the point of rudeness. He looked, and was, just a few years out of college. Eyes on the floor, he explained to Traci that he’d come to sort out the problems inside the IRS and to root out the fraud. “That’s a big job!” she said.

Anyone who worked at the IRS knew that it had its problems; fraud wasn’t likely one of them. Its technology infrastructure was a case study in government dysfunction, but its ethical infrastructure was sound.