The answer was obvious. Becker would say: Study the weak areas. Take the practice exam cold. Review the wrong answers. Repeat.
Jordan laughed bitterly. Two times more likely than what? Than studying with crayons? The statistic didn’t matter when you were the unlucky half of that doubled probability.
On the other monitor, Dad’s text went unread for four hours. cpa becker
“Seventy-one,” Jordan whispered, staring at the score report like it was a typo. A single point. One multiple-choice question, maybe two. That was the difference between passing and doing it all over again.
Dad didn't mean harm. Dad had paid for Becker, after all. But Dad also thought “studying for the CPA” was like studying for a driver’s license—read the booklet, take the test, move on with life. He didn't understand that Becker had become a cage. The progress bars. The lecture hours. The way the software tracked every wrong answer and served up the exact same question three days later, just to remind you that you’d missed it before. The answer was obvious
Jordan deleted the list and wrote something new: What would Becker tell me to do?
So Jordan did exactly that. No shortcuts. No unlocking tricks. No pausing. Review the wrong answers
That night, Jordan didn’t open Becker. Instead, they opened a blank Word document and typed: