“After paying for the genetic registry kit, I’ve got less than ten dollars left in my coat pocket.”

Arthur leaned back against the red vinyl booth and gazed out the window at the gray afternoon sky.

“Thirty years ago I worked at a high-dollar estate firm,” Arthur said kindly.

“I spent my days guarding wealth for men who didn’t even know their own groundskeepers’ names.

I didn’t take this legal aid job so I could watch a venture capitalist sweep a pregnant woman out into the street.”

“Arthur,” I said softly.