The first time I saved him, I didn’t even do it for him. I did it because the collateral damage was going to land on three subcontractors and a couple in their sixties who had invested their retirement money in one of his crooked condo pre-development schemes. He called it creative financing. In adult language it was a stack of bad paper held together by charm and denial. I had the trust purchase the contracts through a distressed-asset vehicle before the lawsuits hit. Jace walked around for a month telling people he had found an elite private backer who “recognized his instincts.”
The second time I saved him, it was because I didn’t want my mother sobbing in the kitchen at midnight over a sheriff’s notice.
The third time, I told myself it was the last.
People say money reveals character.
What they don’t say enough is that money also reveals the character of those around you, because the moment you have the power to intervene, you begin learning exactly who expects rescue without gratitude, exactly who mistakes miracles for entitlement, and exactly how long you can insult a person before you assume even the universe is on contract to protect you from consequences.