“I would’ve thought having grown up on a farm, you’d know that most wealth isn’t lined with gold watches and sports cars,” he says.  “Trust me, there’s more here than meets the eye when you take into account machinery and farmland.  I’ve met millionaires who live in one-story ramblers and own a twenty-year-old car.  It’s the not-so-clever ones who buy everything under the sun on credit and wonder where all of their money went.”

The front door swings open.  A hefty woman, drying her hands on a towel, says, “There he is, our guest of honor.  Any troubles finding the place?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Engels,” Bart says, switching the briefcase from his right hand to his left.  He shakes her hand.  “A pleasure to finally meet you.  Where’s Mr. Engels?”