It was the start of the new year, a bright and glorious day, marred only by the near total collapse of the global economy. Standard & Poor’s 500-stock index was down almost 40 percent from where it had been 12 months earlier. In the last four months of 2008, 1.9 million U.S. jobs had disappeared.  You opened your mailbox. You found a letter. It was from the firm that keeps tabs on your erstwhile holdings: your 401(k) or, as wags had begun to call it, your 201(k), and the 529 plan you conscientiously opened so your kids’ college funds could grow and grow—tax-free! The letter was earnest and as empathetic as a form letter can be. It went something like this:

Dear Valued Client,
Our mission has always been to light your path to the secure financial future you’ve always envisioned. Our philosophy has long been that day-to-day market volatility is simply “noise along the journey.” Yet recent market developments have no doubt impacted the value of your holdings. A few days from now, when you receive your year-end statement, you will most likely see that the value of your portfolio has been severely diminished. While we remain optimistic that the economy will eventually rebound, we wanted to alert you—prior to the arrival of your statement—that it’s more important than ever to stay focused on a game plan for the long term. Meanwhile, please don’t hesitate to contact us with any questions.

You were relieved, actually. The letter could have rubbed it in. It didn’t mention that your spouse had been among the nearly 2 million job casualties. Or how obsessed you are with keeping your health insurance. Or that your home had been on the market for three years and that the asking price was now a shadow of its former self. The letter, in fact, could have been far more concise:

Dear Valued Client,
You’re screwed. You’re poor. Please don’t hesitate to contact us with any questions.

A step back to happier days: In 2006, I began research on a book about how much money we think we’ll need to feel emotionally and financially secure over the long haul: How much does it take to go off to write the great American novel or buy an unlimited pause to refresh? How much does it take to quit the rat race, devote time to a worthy cause? How much does it take to underwrite a satisfying retirement? ( View an interactive feature about best and worst case financial scenarios.)

Part of my research consisted of asking people to explain what money signified to them. Nearly everyone answered the same way. Money is “freedom.” Money is “security.” Money provides “peace of mind.” Now and then, someone reached for the moon and offered an original take. “For me,” one woman said, “money is fuel. It allows me to put my best ideas into action.”

The book, published three years ago, was called The Number.

“The Number? Oh, you mean ‘Fuck you’ money,” a veteran Wall Streeter said.

Anyway, that was then, this is now. Then was about daydreams and wishful thinking as to what lay ahead, fantasies captured on the covers of money magazines: Adirondack chairs on a beach. Happy, toothy couples who own small vineyards or charming country inns. The headline: how to retire rich!

Now is about the gloom and doom embodied in that letter. Now is the auto industry gone to hell. Now is Bernie ­Madoff. Now is several international financiers dead of self-inflicted wounds. ( View an interactive feature to see what your number is.)