Hunter wasn't out seeking altruism. He was simply on a stroll, his fingers curled around a smoldering cigarette, when chance emerged from a neighbor's door cloaked in whispers of misfortune. A failing artist. A dismissed model. Medical debts mounting. A home teetering on the edge of foreclosure. Charity wasn’t Hunter’s style - he preferred investments. With decisive steps, he knocked, entered, and placed a stack of cash on the table substantial enough to pride. By night’s end, the money was tangible, the humiliation indelible, and the house - at least for the moment - still standing.

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