Every spring like clockwork, Bridget Cusick receives a package from her father. This year, she opened it to find two manila envelopes, stamped and pre-addressed; one to New York state; one to the Internal Revenue Service. Her address was written in the top left-hand corners. There were forms, too: three stacks, held together by paper clips. A Post-it Note stuck to one said, “your copies.”
“It’s very turnkey for me,” says Ms. Cusick. “He puts little sticky arrows that say, ‘sign here.’ ”
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