Only you and I seem to realize that.

  Ø      You should turn him in to the police.  Maybe they’ll give you a reward.  If it’s big enough, we could settle with that horrible accountant with the bad pants at Morrison-Touche—

Ivy, I can’t—

  Ø      —You can’t let him treat you like this!  I hope the son of a bitch strangles in his silk suspenders.