George listened intently to Fred's impassioned tale of woe.  He felt his heart go out for Fred - both some remorse and plenty of sympathy.  George had taken Vicki all those years ago, and after Fred got over that, some ass pulled the chair out from under Fred again, leaving him with mud on his face and having to crawl back out again.  Yet, here he was, doing just that.  Once again pulling himself up by the boot straps and challenging life again.  George was filled with admiration, he wasn't sure he could do the same if that had all happened to him.  But George was always more academic, more artistic than Fred.  Fred was driven.<br/><br/>"Jesus, Fred.  What an asshole...pardon my French...your client was.  I'd have tried to kill the son of a ..."  George reeled himself in.  "Anyway, anything I can do to help, just say the word.  Beth, I don't know how much my recommendation means in the world of finance, but I can tell you on a personal level, Fred was always a stand-up guy in college.  I always trusted him, and when he could have been a dick about Vicki and I - sorry about my language again, Fred's story just has me a little worked up - he wasn't, he was a perfect gentleman."<br/><br/>George barely noticed that his anger at Fred's unknown nemesis, had been quickly subsumed into compassion.  George wanted more than anything just give Fred a hug; to wrap his arms around him and make him feel better; and it was only the positioning of the bodies in the room that kept him from doing that.