Picture this: you’re a client in search of a qualified financial advisor, someone you can trust with not only your life savings, but your livelihood. You walk into their dated office, which is filled with old, scratched furniture. The conference table is caked with some unknown residue and, instead of a legal pad, the advisor settles for writing notes about your conversation on the back of a junk mail envelope. (This is a true story, by the way.)

Ford Stokes