My Son Bought Me a $1,200 Used Camry That Tunes to 00.0 MHz and Enters an Invisible Street of Clapping Ghosts
The Buick hummed in the quiet of the lumber mill. My amplified broadcast capability was ready. But broadcasting Richard’s texts to random civilians wouldn’t be enough. I needed to hit him where he lived, where he held his true power: his money.
Richard Hollister was a businessman first, a killer second. Financial ruin would be a more potent punishment than any prison sentence. I needed to understand Apex Logistics’ vulnerabilities.
I spent days at the county library, hunched over microfilm readers and public online databases. I sifted through Apex Logistics’ financial disclosures, annual reports, and SEC filings. It was tedious work, but I was focused.
My eyes scanned a footnote in a recent quarterly report. Apex Logistics was surviving on an emergency $12 million credit facility. Regional defense investors had provided it, likely to keep the company afloat after some unspoken prior difficulties.
My breath caught. A loan of that magnitude wasn’t just a lifeline; it was a noose. I dug deeper into the fine print of the loan agreement. There it was, stark and clear: a mandatory acceleration clause.
“Automatic full repayment required,” the document stated, “should the company’s corporate debt ratio exceed 40%, or its credit rating fall below investment grade.”
Richard was teetering on the edge. His empire, built on fraud and death, was structurally unsound. All I had to do was nudge it. Expose his corruption, tank his credit rating, and the entire $12 million loan would come crashing down. He wouldn’t just lose a contract; he would lose everything.
This was it. The Achilles’ heel. I didn’t need to put Richard in jail. I just needed to bankrupt him. The means to do it was sitting outside, a rusted 1995 Buick Regal, waiting to deliver the truth. The stage was set.
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