Series: My Son Bought Me a $1,200 Used Camry That Tunes to 00.0 MHz and Enters an Invisible Street of Clapping Ghosts

My life had been stripped bare, but Richard hadn’t taken the truth. The Nokia phone, tucked securely under the Buick’s seat, still held his incriminating [more…]

Kincaid’s cold dismissal echoed in my mind, louder than the rumble of the Buick’s idling engine. I had exhausted every official avenue. The police ignored [more…]

The military, the police, my own mother – they had all turned their backs. Richard Hollister stood protected by money and power. But I had [more…]

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 [more…]

Richard Hollister’s house of cards was poised to fall. All it needed was a push. The insolvency clause was the lever; the Buick was the [more…]

The hum of the Buick’s radio at 00.0 MHz filled the silent VIP parking lot. Inside the convention center, Richard Hollister was about to take [more…]

The Veterans Charity Luncheon ended not with a bang, but with a sudden, stunned silence. Richard Hollister’s public humiliation was complete, his carefully constructed facade [more…]

November 2009. Five years had passed since the Veterans Charity Luncheon. The Fayetteville scandal, once a whisper in financial circles, had faded from memory, replaced [more…]