“More research. I track down the person who’s owed that money and convince that poor soul to pay me a cut for getting him or her some cash he or she didn’t even know was there. Once I’ve got their signature on paper, I petition the court for release of funds and wait. It takes about six months for the judge to sign off and the checks to get cut.”

“You get the court to hand over the money? You’re a lawyer?” Lester asked.

“No.” Ted still hated answering that question, and he got it all the time. “I used to practice, and if you ask around, someone will tell you why I don’t anymore. But no. I write up the contracts, the petition to release the funds, all of that, but I’m not a lawyer. My landlord is a lawyer. He also does my taxes. I pay him a few bucks to file the paperwork, and if he has to show up in court, I pay him a few bucks more, though I usually show up with him.”

“Sweet. You’re a fixer. A finder. What’s the catch? There’s got to be one; it’s too easy.”

“Right,” Ted said. “The catch is that a lot of people don’t want to be found or can’t be found, or when I find them, they tell me to get lost or just say ‘Thanks’ and go get the money on their own.”

“But you must do all right.”

Ted could see that the million plus was still having an effect on Lester. A change in venue was in order.

“Let’s take a break.” After a half hour hunched over the terminal, Ted needed to stretch—and he wasn’t about to share his financial status with this stranger. “We’ll meet down in the file room in ten minutes. Next thing we need to do is get the case file. The physical file. It’ll tell us who all the players are and whether I have a chance of getting paid.”