Guy Booker was just the sort of person that Piper and I would have laughed at if we'd come across him at Maxie's Pad--an attorney who had gotten so big in his own head that he had a personalized license plate which read HOTSHOT on his mint green T-Bird. "This is really about the money, isn't it?" he said. "No. But the money means the difference between good care and lousy care for my daughter." "Willow receives Katie Beckett monies through Healthy Kids Gold, doesn't she?" "Yes, but even so, that doesn't cover all the medical expenses—and none of the out-of-pocket ones. For example, when a child’s in a spica cast, she needs a different kind of car seat. And the dental problems that are part and parcel of OI might run thousands of dollars a year." "If your daughter had been born a gifted pianist, would you be asking for money for a grand piano?" Booker said. Marin had told me that he would try to get me angry, so that the jury would like me less. I took a deep breath and counted to five. "That's comparing apples and oranges, Mr. Booker. This isn’t an arts education we’re talking about. It's my daughter's life."