should also be able to take at least half of all revenue earned in casinos and other gambling resources, and plough them back into supporting the victims. That would turn a great many people away from opening casinos in the first place, but it would also give underfunded institutions and charities the funds to actually help addicts fight back."
Her passion was always clear and intoxicating, and he loved how the more passionate she got the more the crease between her eyes deepened.
"All good ideas. All ideas I would rush to endorse."
She blushed again, and bit her lips like a bashful schoolgirl, "Why, thank you. Drop your money envelope in my purse before you leave." A soft snort left her mouth and her radiance made him lick his lips.
"How did you get the foundation started?"
"Fortunately, my father was heavily insured so when he died, I used most of the pay-out to begin the foundation . . . and well, it grew from there."
"He paid insurance premiums?"
"I know. Whenever he won big, he'd pile cash into it. The policy could only be paid out on his death. Crucially, he couldn't get his hands on the money."
"Good for him. Shows he was always thinking about you, even when he perhaps couldn't put you first."
"I thought so too, so thanks for saying so."
Her face beamed.
This one last act of her father's was how she could forgive him.
He understood, now.
He asked, because not to would seem strange. "What's the name of your foundation?"
"The Benjamin James Against Gambling Foundation, named after my father, naturally." She tried not to smile. "It's pretty big."
"Wow."
Fredrick donated to her charity annually, for years, because he admired how they supported the same people his father, and now he, damaged for profit.
Call it a guilt cleanser, but the donations went some way to helping him sleep at night, to rebalancing his karma.
"It's a huge charity, I am impressed."
"Thanks," Clara grinned and moved higher in her seat. "I'm proud of the reputation it has, of all the charity offers to gambling addicts. Whether I built the charity or not, it's the volunteers who do the hardest work. You know, the hands-on work. They're the one's who turn lives around."
He remembered how she once wrote about helping someone with such compassion, that he wept.
"If you say so, but you look like the type to get her hands dirty." Fredrick held her gaze. She held his, and her breath. He wanted to tell her who he was, about his father, but she might never see him again. "Let's be honest here. Without you, the foundation wouldn't even be around for the volunteers or the gamblers. You could have done anything with his money, but you chose to give instead of take. It's incredibly . . . humbling."
"Me, humbling?" The question mark hung above her head like a huge sign. "When you save lives for a living? When you saved my life?"
"This isn't a competition, remember?" If she realized his post at the fire station was voluntary, she'd soon take back that statement, and any affection developing for him.
"Fine. But without donors, my foundation wouldn't be going strong. My financial input only lasted so long. Donors keep us going, not me."
"Oh yeah?" He couldn't help himself. "So, are there any regular donors or do you need to keep knocking on doors?"
Clara blushed, "Doors continue to be knocked, believe me, but I'm proud to say there is one regular donor who is incredibly generous." She picked up her phone, checked the screen and set it down on the table. Fredrick guessed she was looking for Anon to get in touch, unconsciously. "In fact, I'm in regular contact with him too but he wishes to remain anonymous – even to me. I mean, who does that, right?"
"Does what?"
"Who gives literally millions every year to charity but doesn't want a soul to know about it. Now that's selfless compassion right there, don't you think?"
Part of him was aroused by her opinion of him, but another part was strangely jealous.
Would he ever be able to reveal himself
Her passion was always clear and intoxicating, and he loved how the more passionate she got the more the crease between her eyes deepened.
"All good ideas. All ideas I would rush to endorse."
She blushed again, and bit her lips like a bashful schoolgirl, "Why, thank you. Drop your money envelope in my purse before you leave." A soft snort left her mouth and her radiance made him lick his lips.
"How did you get the foundation started?"
"Fortunately, my father was heavily insured so when he died, I used most of the pay-out to begin the foundation . . . and well, it grew from there."
"He paid insurance premiums?"
"I know. Whenever he won big, he'd pile cash into it. The policy could only be paid out on his death. Crucially, he couldn't get his hands on the money."
"Good for him. Shows he was always thinking about you, even when he perhaps couldn't put you first."
"I thought so too, so thanks for saying so."
Her face beamed.
This one last act of her father's was how she could forgive him.
He understood, now.
He asked, because not to would seem strange. "What's the name of your foundation?"
"The Benjamin James Against Gambling Foundation, named after my father, naturally." She tried not to smile. "It's pretty big."
"Wow."
Fredrick donated to her charity annually, for years, because he admired how they supported the same people his father, and now he, damaged for profit.
Call it a guilt cleanser, but the donations went some way to helping him sleep at night, to rebalancing his karma.
"It's a huge charity, I am impressed."
"Thanks," Clara grinned and moved higher in her seat. "I'm proud of the reputation it has, of all the charity offers to gambling addicts. Whether I built the charity or not, it's the volunteers who do the hardest work. You know, the hands-on work. They're the one's who turn lives around."
He remembered how she once wrote about helping someone with such compassion, that he wept.
"If you say so, but you look like the type to get her hands dirty." Fredrick held her gaze. She held his, and her breath. He wanted to tell her who he was, about his father, but she might never see him again. "Let's be honest here. Without you, the foundation wouldn't even be around for the volunteers or the gamblers. You could have done anything with his money, but you chose to give instead of take. It's incredibly . . . humbling."
"Me, humbling?" The question mark hung above her head like a huge sign. "When you save lives for a living? When you saved my life?"
"This isn't a competition, remember?" If she realized his post at the fire station was voluntary, she'd soon take back that statement, and any affection developing for him.
"Fine. But without donors, my foundation wouldn't be going strong. My financial input only lasted so long. Donors keep us going, not me."
"Oh yeah?" He couldn't help himself. "So, are there any regular donors or do you need to keep knocking on doors?"
Clara blushed, "Doors continue to be knocked, believe me, but I'm proud to say there is one regular donor who is incredibly generous." She picked up her phone, checked the screen and set it down on the table. Fredrick guessed she was looking for Anon to get in touch, unconsciously. "In fact, I'm in regular contact with him too but he wishes to remain anonymous – even to me. I mean, who does that, right?"
"Does what?"
"Who gives literally millions every year to charity but doesn't want a soul to know about it. Now that's selfless compassion right there, don't you think?"
Part of him was aroused by her opinion of him, but another part was strangely jealous.
Would he ever be able to reveal himself
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