Salate looked at the strangely brown piece of leather. Egad, he thought, this is a wallet. Salate picked up the wallet, and gazed inside. What he gazed at inside were a few photos, a few cards, and money! How much money? Lots of money. Salate smiled. He had lots of money now!
But wait! What was this? A card of some sort. A license. And hark, what was that writing? The name and address of the owner of the wallet. Oh no, Salate thought. Now I know who's wallet this is. Salate was sad. Now he'd have to give it back, and get rid of all that money that could have been his. Or... he could pretend he didn't see the card. Salate liked this idea at first, but then guilt came over him. If it had been his wallet, how would he feel? Bad. Salate realized that he had to give the wallet back.
So, disappointedly, but proud of himself, Salate walked to the house mentioned on the license, since it was in the area. He rang the doorbell and handed away the wallet and all the money to an older man who looked just like the picture in the wallet. The man thanked Salate very much, but didn't give him any money.
When Salate got home, he told his mother about the incident with the wallet. She told him that she was very proud of him and the way he had acted. Salate still looked sad, so Salate's mother hugged him and told him that she was very proud of him, because he had done the right thing. Salate smiled. He was happy that he had done the right thing.
Only, he hadn't done the right thing. The owner of the wallet was a psychopathic killer bent on world destruction. The money in that wallet pushed his savings up enough so that he could afford that nuclear arsenal he'd had his eye on. And so the earth was destroyed.