Cooper shrugged. He’d rather look hostile than get caught up in admitting they weren’t working anything, just spending their free time snooping in the name of justice. A rather appalling hobby that Cooper should try quitting or at least start getting paid for. “I take it you’re not?”

“Ever hear of Genevieve Crane?”

Cooper glanced at Park compulsively. That woman again. For someone with a reputation for not showing up to her own shoots, she was certainly playing a leading role in multiple conversations he was having today.

“The name isn’t big, but you’d recognize her if you saw her,” Neil continued, not waiting for a response. “She used to be an actress on one of those over-the-top-sexy, spooky high school shows with hot-adult casts, Mom, My Boyfriend’s a Minotaur, or something like that.

“Labyrinth of Love,” Park said, naming the show Ryan had mentioned.

“That’s the one. After seven glorious seasons of getting erotically gored by Mikey the Minotaur and making bank on the con circuit, the show got canceled. She did a sprinkling of guest roles here and there until she became the Ambassador of the Wild.”

“Is that an elected position?” Cooper said.

Neil snorted. “It’s basically the pretty face some conservationist orgs paid to deliver some pleading lines in their ads. Pose with an elephant for an educational video. Drum up some money for the earth. But, you know, make it hot so people care.” He twirled the bottle of cider between his fingers. “Thing is, she sampled her own product, so to speak. Developed a real passion for saving the animals.”

“Which animals?” Park asked.

“Well, I saw her kill an ant once, but everything else seems pretty beloved,” Neil said. “She started her own conservation charity: Wild Nature. Makes her own educational videos now by partnering with various zoos and orgs around the world. Puts on events for her rich industry friends. Spends a few months a year organizing some auction or party. Raises buckets of money in one night. People show up in their five-grand dresses and sign their one-grand checks. Get a cute little tax deduction. Go home knowing they’ve saved a turtle apiece and can rest easy until Wild Nature’s next boozy bash. Earth, you’re welcome.”

“But at least you’re not cynical about it,” Cooper said. “What’s the FBI’s interest?”

“Same thing the FBI’s always interested in, one way or another: Where’s the money going?”

“Not to the ants, I’m guessing,” Park murmured.

“A percentage of it, sure. But this year just over three million dollars has gone the way of the dodo. Kapoof.” Neil mimicked an explosion with one hand that transitioned into a little bow. “Enter yours truly, J.T. Armstrong, Genevieve Crane’s PA. I’ve been trying to get a peek at Wild Nature’s financials, but her husband, Arthur, sits on those like a dragon on its hoard.”