There were twenty million dollars on the table in front of me, and I couldn’t afford the table. The check was headed to a university out west and the coffee table was special ordered from the Far East. At that same table pastors, musicians, college presidents, politicians, and others smiled as checks were extended across the table to their causes. And on many occasions, egos, disingenuous spirits and other intangibles sent sad souls away from the table empty handed.

At the same table three million dollars was written to the New Era Foundation, which at the time was considered a rather unique investment group helping non-profits. I had been asked to represent my patron in the final meeting with the investment group when his daughter decided to go instead—and reported back the wonderful treatment, amazing reception with special ice sculptures, and the overall class of the operation. And, as others nationwide had experienced, the first rounds of investments had paid 200% to 400% yields, some remarkable windfalls in any year—and keep in mind, the proceeds were headed to good causes. But it proved to be a Ponzi scheme; my patron happened to be the last of many to hand over big checks. They wanted to reel in one more big fish before skipping the country. Good organizations and well-meaning patrons everywhere were bilked. Though the amount of the check was small compared to various other gifts and investments he had made that same month, this was the same boss who once flagged the purchase of a tin of Bayer aspirins on my receipts from a successful multi-million dollar project involving sleepless nights in Europe.

During those days many seeking an audience with my patron would ask me for help, “the inside scoop” or “some tips.” “What’s he really like to fund?” Every time my advice was the same – “Be honest. Don’t try to make an impression, that’s the impression you’ll make.” I learned that like the Ponzi scheme, one of the most difficult things for my patron to determine was the genuine nature of the cause, and the character of the person representing it. And for larger gifts, “Kings like to talk to kings.” That is, he’d also say, “An organization is only as good as its leader.”

We were asked to help screen causes and individuals and learned that creative corrupt minds are a scary thing. And self-serving individuals are sad as well. Many good causes never received a seat at the table because their representatives failed to bring their integrity, and long ago they took their ego out of some unwelcome closet. More than once I had long lost friends and faint acquaintances show up at our house or called in the evening with, “I just happened to be passing through . . .” Well, unless they were headed to snowless summer slopes in northern Michigan, working on a random vacation trip, or some other unlikely scenario, what they meant was “I’m here in Grand Haven to try to convince you to introduce me to your patron . . .” Sometimes I’d learn from others the effort they made to make sure I was in town.

A few years ago I was walking through the old parking lot at the Lilly Endowment’s main Indy office. Like other grant recipients, I was simply handing in an annual report. I heard my named yelled in loud whisper. It was someone I had not seen in two decades, in town from several states away with some associates from his organization. The first question was “Do you know anyone in there?” These were grown men, dressed in suits worth more than my car, asking me a question that revealed enough for me to start looking for their lobotomy scars. I asked them a simple question – “Do you have an appointment?” When they answered “Yes, took us several years. . .” I replied, “Then I think you should take comfort in that they already know your organization better than you think and found it worthy enough for a meeting. And by the way, what’s with the suits?” Last time I had seen the group’s leader he didn’t own a tie.

I recently finished writing a book with a senior friend, Malcolm Evans, often asked for funds to help causes. Managing by the Book: Principles for a Fulfilling Business Life is his story, and they’re his principles—I was simply asked to help him write it. At first I turned him down. Though respecting his business savvy and his decades of helping others from his successes, it is my policy not to ghost write or to write another’s book. “Okay” he’d say, but this deliberate white-haired university Trustee would then proceed, “But could I treat you to coffee to run my thoughts by you?” I’d agree, read a few paragraphs, make some scribbles, and we’d go our ways. A few weeks later, the same thing. One coffee at a time I was re-writing his entire text with him. Finally, I took the whole manuscript and several dozen pots of coffee later we finished the text (to be published this summer by Triangle Press).

Something happened each meeting, and through the reading of each chapter—I found the man’s heart. And, through various interviews I saw it deeply. Regardless of the business adventures we discussed, principles in question, personalities involved in unpacking the stories, and any shortcomings any of us might have—his unbridled passion was there. No special suit purchased to impress me. No “Just happened to be in your neighborhood.” No ice sculptures of my children. During three years of writing this text his eyes were on the prize – a text that passes along lessons about personal and professional honesty, about sensible solutions, people-first practices, and about “planning your work and working your plan.”

I suppose we need to keep asking ourselves what table we’re bellying up to. What’s on the table and are we honest with ourselves and others. Oh, almost forgot—that imported table that held tens of millions during our discussions—it was a replica. My boss told me he loved saving money on such things when because of the context people only assume they’re real. His entire castle was filled with the same furniture. On my way out of his house I stopped and looked a little longer at the little Rembrandt painting, wondering if I’d ever know if it were real.