Despite accumulating an estimated $8.3 billion fortune through his holdings in Apple and a 7.4 percent stake in Disney (through the sale of Pixar), there is no public record of Mr. Jobs giving money to charity. -Andrew Ross Sorkin, 2011

The shelter brimmed with tired, hungry occupants as volunteers arrived to serve dinner.

Ignoring the bustling kitchen activity, Sinclair rooted through the CIA clown's black tactical bag. His heart leapt when he found his stolen smart phone. "Now that I have my cell, I know what I have to do."

"Whatever it is, it can wait," Deedee admonished. She transferred a heap of mashed potatoes into a tin serving pan. "We have to help feed these people. Here, Prince, take these out. And don't forget the gravy," she called after him. Deedee, Vince, and Evie jostled about filling large serving dishes. "These poor souls depend on the shelter for an evening meal. For most of them, this is the only hot food they'll get all day."

Ray was surprised. "Really? I thought they came here to eat throughout the day. It's freezing outside."

"I wish our kitchen could serve a full daily menu," she answered, wistfully. "I have great cooks." Deedee smiled at Vince and Evie. "Unfortunately, the shelter doesn't have enough funds right now. Corporate donations have been dwindling. But you wouldn't know about that, would you, Sinclair?" Deedee shot him a scathing look. Abashed, Ray put his phone away and lent a hand getting the hot meals out to the dining hall.

Afterwards, Deedee and the gang sat down and served themselves. She smiled approvingly at Raymond. "I like seeing all the hard work you did today and your change in attitude. There might be hope for your grinchy ass yet. All right people, dinner's served." After saying grace, she removed her apron, spotted with food, grime, and blood. "Let's eat." She turned to the disheveled CEO. "Now that you have your phone, tightwad, what do you have in mind?"

"I need to get back to CENTIEN. I didn't kill Denis —I can prove it." Sinclair held up the video of the deep fake. "CENTIEN invented this software. I can show everyone how they did it."

"Using your own nefarious software against you. How diabolical." Vince said, sarcastically.

"I need to get back to CENTIEN," Ray, insisted.

"You're going to get yourself killed." Evie cried, alarmed.

"I don't give a crap." CENTIEN's CEO and the former intern heatedly stared at each other, neither of them willing to back down.

"The drugs and death of your friend are making you irrational." Evie's fierce resolve reminded him of Hermione Granger.

"You just stood up to me." Immensely pleased, Raymond smiled, crookedly.

"Cool your asses down." Vince admonished the two love birds." He pointed his fork at Raymond. "You're not going anywhere near that place. We need to stick you in a bunker."

"What about me?" Prince asked. "What should I do? Pack for an overnight stay in the bunker too?"

"You stay here and oversee the cleanup," Deedee soothed. "I'm counting on you. Here." She handed him a tray of food. "Slide this under the pantry door for big foot. And be careful he doesn't bite you. With all that hair, he might have rabies."

She pulled out agent Mercer's phone. "We have a while before shit gets real and his friends start tracking us. I've been updating his associates, pretending I'm him. Throwing them off the trail."

"If you have a safe place for me to stay, I'll go along with your plan," Raymond said, exhausted. Oddly, he found himself trusting Vince and Deedee's judgement, even after they'd nearly killed him. Instinctively, he trusted Evelyn with his life.

"All right, it's settled. We're moving the package." Deedee lifted her arm and opened her hand, palm facing forward. "Keys." Ray obliged and threw her the key card to his Tesla.