“I wouldn’t rush home and check your mailbox,” Beckett responded doubtfully.

“Hypocrite.”

“This isn’t stealing!” Beckett insisted.

“What else do you call it? Aggressive borrowing?”

“I’m just borrowing more equity than they expected me to borrow, that’s all.”

“You mean, more equity than you legally own, don’t you?”

“Technically, that is correct,” Beckett conceded.

“Ok Socrates, square that with your position on stealing.”

“Easy: I’m not taking the equity. I’m only borrowing it. It’s not like I’m going to default or anything.”

“If it’s that simple, why don’t you tell the mortgage company what you’re up to?”

“I’m sure they have other things to worry about.”

“Does your wife know about this?”

Beckett smiled again.

“Face it, it’s stealing no matter how you slice it.”

Beckett furrowed his brow. “Call it what you want, but you don’t have a family to worry about. I have people who depend on me. Sometimes, you need to bend the rules if you want to take care of the people you love.”

Corbin ignored Beckett’s suddenly darker tone. “The old Evan Beckett once said to me, after calling me ‘hopelessly corrupt’ mind you, that ‘a starving man may need to steal bread to survive, but his need does not make the theft proper. It remains theft.’”

Beckett shook his head. “I’m not stealing. Think of it this way. I’m not taking bread from the baker’s shelves, I’m dumpster diving for the bread he no longer wants.”

Corbin pursed his lips. “‘Dumpster diving’? Remind me never to accept an invitation to your house for dinner.”

“Consider it done.” They both laughed.

“All right, stealing, borrowing with intent, call it whatever you want. I have no love for mortgage companies.” Corbin poked at his half-eaten french fries and watched Beckett finish the last of his fajitas, adding a new grease stain to his frayed paisley tie. “Hey Evan,” Corbin asked cautiously, “how far would you go to help your family?”