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outcomes.”
    Well, that sentence wouldn’t fit on his card, Jane thought. “Why?” Jane asked, catching Joe off guard.
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘why’?” Joe looked stunned.
    Jane decided to play devil’s advocate. She didn’t have to, but she liked pissing off people like Joe Harvey who were puffed up with self-importance. “Why is it so important for you to help people? What do you get out of it?”
    Joe seriously considered her question. “My late mother was Carolyn’s sister. As rich as Carolyn was, it never trickled down to us. But the one thing that was driven into my head was that it didn’t matter how much money you had—the most important thing in life was your word.” He leaned forward, mindlessly playing with a paper clip as he spoke. “A man can own all the riches, but he’s as good as a pauper if his word isn’t his bond. I saw so many people growing up who had nothing, and I knew there had to be a way to attract people in need to people with means to help.” Joe discarded the paper clip and gave his full attention to Jane. “There is no reason for people in this world to suffer needlessly.”
    Suffer . There was that damn word again. This guy was the Johnny Appleseed of hope, planting kernels of
prosperity in fields where paucity once flourished. Joe Harvey was a take-no-prisoners activist, intent on providing everyone with that elusive “pursuit of happiness.” If Joe had his way, there’d be a chicken in every pot, in every home and in every country.
    â€œI’ve been called a bleeding-heart idealist,” Joe quickly added. “I don’t give a shit. Nobody should be a victim of circumstance.”
    Oh, fuck . This was going to be fun, Jane figured. “If there were no victims of circumstance, Joe, I’d be out of a job.”
    He leaned closer, severity carved across his brow. “ Nobody should be a victim of anything .”
    Jane felt the resonance of his statement bounce off the walls several times. She decided to go in for the kill. “So how much did you invest in your Aunt Carolyn’s little Mexico scam?”
    His eyes showed surprise. “How did you—?”
    â€œLaura Abernathy.”
    â€œRight . . .” He appeared distracted.
    â€œSo, how much did you invest?”
    He looked Jane straight in the eye. “Nothing. I invested absolutely nothing on this one.”
    â€œThis one?”
    Joe fiddled again with the paper clip. “After she and her fourth husband divorced three years ago, she asked me for capital to invest in an interactive video game that was being launched in Asia.”
    â€œHow much did you lose?”
    â€œNot a cent.” He shook his head in dismay. “I made a killing.” Embarrassment was evident.
    â€œSo, Aunt Carolyn wasn’t always a crook?”

    â€œI’m not sure. I often wonder if my profit on that deal was made on the backs of others who invested after me in varying ‘investments.’”
    â€œA ponzi scheme?”
    His face cloaked in sorrow. “Yes. My profit was most likely gained from the misery and loss of another human being’s resources. I just didn’t understand that soon enough.”
    Jane nonchalantly stood up and crossed over to the wall with the four photos. She noticed that Joe immediately tensed up. She studied the faces of the men in the two photos. The Vietnam vet’s photo bore an inscription reading: “Charley P. Hall, former P.O.W.” The other gentleman on crutches was Raymond Honeycutt and he appeared to be from a Denver diabetes support group associated with Denver Health Medical Center. “What were you doing in California, Joe?”
    He looked distracted by Jane’s attention to the photos. “I went out to L.A. to check out a prospective contact for a new client who runs a children’s cancer charity. I wanted to make sure he was