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A Saint in the City

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A Saint in the City

Kerry tries to hide the guilt in her eyes with a smile, asking a friendly lab tech if she can delete lab records because the sample was mislabeled. The woman pleasantly lets Weaver sign the papers. "Is that it?" Kerry asks. "That's it," smiles the woman. Weaver seems surprised that it was so easy to compromise her integrity this time.

Carter and Abby stand outside the event, neither looking at the other. Carter half-heartedly offers to take her to dinner. "I'm not hungry," she sniffs. "Not hungry, or pissed at me?" Carter asks, still staring in the other direction and not sounding terribly concerned either way. Abby ignores him. "Look, I'm sorry, but I don't think you have any right to lecture me about my family," he bristles. Abby swivels and stares at him in disbelief. "Was that an apology?" she asks. "I don't owe you an apology," he says calmly. Ooh, bitchy. Carter argues that he doesn't want to become a clone of his father -- a lifeless shill doling out checks to museums -- and Abby suggests that he sack up and join the foundation and try to effect change. They're both kind of right. Carter should get off his high horse about his wealth and, if he resents the way they use it so much, he should try to take a role in directing the money toward better causes. But Abby shouldn't meddle and assume she knows best if she's going to turn around and get resentful and bitter when Carter shows an interest in her family problems.

"Change [the foundation's] priorities," Abby continues. "Give the money to health care, education, needle exchange -- anything you feel passionate about." Carter feels most passionate about his work at County, and doesn't want to give that up. Abby doesn't see why he has to choose, and can't understand why Carter acts so ashamed of having been born wealthy. He lies that he isn't ashamed. "No? You drive a Jeep. You wear a cheap watch. You rent a two-bedroom apartment," Abby ticks off a list. He does? I thought he still lived with Gamma. Maybe that was temporary, while she was sick. Who knows. "What do you want me to do, drive a BMW?" Carter sneers. "No. I don't care. I couldn't care less," Abby swears. "But you care a lot. You want everyone to think that you're just like them, and you're not. You just signed a check for ten million in there, and you didn't even blink." Hey, Abby? That giant check? It wasn't a real check. Rich people only figuratively have huge pocketbooks. Carter prefers to see himself as an altruist -- a crusader for the public who donates time and skill instead of money, but Abby points out that money could buy a lot of positive societal change. Finally, Carter whirls and spits that the money came from his great-grandfather cornering the coal market during the depression. "In the winter of 1933, children froze to death and my family made out like bandits," he hisses coldly. Then quit your crying, rich boy, and give the money back to starving families. Abby agrees with me. "You can't give it back now," she says. "Why not give it to people who really need it? There's still lots of kids freezing to death every winter, Carter." He stares at her like he doesn't know her, then whirls and gets into his Jeep.

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