Chapter 4: The Show Must Go On

One of the most striking adjustments for me upon my release back into the world—was the advances (improvements?) in technology. Cell phones had come a long way and I found myself missing the simplicity of my old Nokia. My sister had a Motorola Razr and even that seemed a bit too much for me. Those things were considered vintage now. The internet wasn’t so much of a shock as I was able to use it on a limited basis in Level 3. X-Boxes, 3D printing, genetics ... everything, virtual this and that, artificial intelligence. I was trying to absorb it all as Kevin tried to explain these ‘advances’ for my integration.

It was the drone that caught me off guard. Who’d a thunk it?

I was smoothing out the forms I had finished pouring as the base foundation for my first converted ISO container. The clearing had been a hard and noisy affair to clear and expand. The ground was ripped up where I had dug out the pit for my septic and drain field. A skeleton of PVC pipes and tanks sat in place, awaiting inspection later this week. Off to the side lay a huge 2,500-gallon tank that would eventually become my water supply. It would be topped off periodically by an electric pump down alongside the river. Another ditch exposed the supply line from the pump house down there.

The peace and quiet were refreshing after running the Yanmar, generator, and cement mixer all morning. Even so, it was Travis who alerted me to the high-pitched whine that his keen ears detected long before mine. After he had sat up and looked curiously into the sky for the third or fourth time, I began to take note of his distraction. Holding very still with my trowel at my side, I let my senses expand to try and isolate whatever it was. I think I felt its presence before I heard the distant buzzing. A moment later I was able to spot the tiny contraption as it hovered directly overhead, about 100 yards above. I couldn’t make it out as more than a tiny mechanical thing, details of Its shape or construction beyond my distance vision. But I knew that it was there with a purpose and that I was likely being spied upon.

Suddenly it darted away climbing as it went until it disappeared completely. It was headed Northerly toward the county road. I filed the incident away for later contemplation and turned back to my wet form.

REFLECTIONS

The fabrication shop was a busy place when I was first accepted into the welding/fab program. It got a lot busier over the next 2 years as we were tasked with numerous projects. My favorite job was converting the ISO shipping containers. We received half a dozen of them at first and the complete CAD inventory for converting each of them into a different product. Two were converted into heads and showers and were eventually incorporated into the expanding Level 3 housing unit. One was made into a training suite, complete with classroom and lab stations. Two others were converted into temporary living quarters for the COs or other prison staff. We divided them into 4 complete 2-man dormitories with shared heads and laundry facilities.

The last was made into a complete, fully contained living shelter. It had a bedroom with its own full bath (tub included), second half bath, kitchen, office, and living room, with all the amenities. It even had skylights and bay windows and was insulated to an R40 rating.

I availed myself of every step of the many processes from the initial cut-out (I love a good plasma cutter!), framing, insulating, wiring, plumbing, and construction. Each model had attached HVAC, natural gas, hot and cold water, septic, electrical, and even wired-in internet and entertainment systems. It even had an array of 5 400-watt solar panels on the roof for backup power.

The internet was a veritable clearinghouse of free information and I poured through every article, blog,, or site I could find that featured alternative power sources for off-grid living. Solar and wind turbines were great but nothing baked my cookies like the research I did on hydroelectric. Every aspect of my research would in turn open the door for other subjects for research. Thus, I fell head-first into the electronic information rabbit hole. Geology, metallurgy, off-grid living, changing identities, low carbon footprints, survival prepping, fall-out shelters, food preservation, forestry, mining, etc. You name it, I researched the hell out of it. If I couldn’t Google it, I asked around until someone pointed me in the right direction. The Library of Congress was another gold mine of information and it was a free service to any inmate with good behavior. I was keeping my nose very clean at this point of my confinement.

I was able to read and remember nearly every detail from every CAD that we received for our projects. I was completely sold on the idea of obtaining several of these inexpensive solid steel ISO containers and converting them for my own uses. Then I stumbled upon several websites that advertised the same units but were already made to order. They cost a pretty penny, but when you considered the price per square foot of a stick-built home, the expense was justified. I used up so much printer paper in the library that they threatened to start charging me per ream.

PRESENT

A week later my first modified ISO shelter was delivered and painstakingly positioned onto my concrete form. During that time, I also had my septic, water, and (future) hydroelectric ditches and conduits inspected. The ditches and drain field were filled in and smoothed out and I was ready to begin the next phase of my homestead development.

It took a great deal of work to bring it down my rugged road and onto the clearing. Setting it onto the preformed base was a slow and methodical process. The driver who delivered it was a crusty old cuss named Randy. We had met a few weeks prior when I was asking about rural deliveries at the local Home Depot. He was a freelancer who spent most of his life driving logging trucks and long haulers from coast to coast. After delivering several pallets of lumber, concrete, and miscellaneous construction items, he offered his wisdom for improving my road and expanding the clearing to enable an eighteen-wheeler to maneuver about. He was a wizard at turning, backing, and positioning the trailer perfectly for off-loading the 53-foot structure. It took us all day and by the time we finished, I promised him a very healthy tip as soon as I made it back into town.

I spent the next day connecting my new home to the power, septic, gas, and water supply. My power source was a 24kW Generac fueled by either diesel or natural gas that was piped to it from the 1000-gallon tank located 100 feet away. The latter also supplied the fuel for my kitchen range, refrigerator, and furnace. My water source was a 2500-gallon rigid, winterized poly tank that I filled from the river below. It in turn supplied a 52-gallon pressure tank.

As luck would have it, I found myself short of several important parts to complete any of the four projects. So, I grudgingly collected Travis and headed back to town. As I climbed out of the canyon, I noticed a recent disturbance in the ground where the road branched off towards the west canyon. It could’ve simply been folks sneaking down to the hot springs. Or something else entirely. I got out to study the tire tracks and memorized their pattern before continuing on.

I had made a couple of trips into town during that week and had stopped by to talk with Kevin about the drone I had spotted looking over my clearing and my work. We had just finished discussing his plans for protecting and growing my newfound wealth. He introduced me to the fundamentals of investing and tried to educate me about various stock market opportunities. I listened and nodded when appropriately but found it all more than a trifle beyond my grasp, or interest. That I trusted him without question was a given. So, if he was convinced that this weird explosive BitCoin thing was only the precursor to the main event—who was I to argue? Electronic gaming, digital streaming, Biomedical and pharmaceuticals, manufacturing, and electric vehicles, none of it mattered to me, but I trusted him to allocate a good portion of my settlement into an impressive portfolio that he would manage on my behalf. So long as I had enough left over to get me solidly off the grid and away from society—I was happy.

Shortly before my official release I was becoming more and more incensed by the constant barrage of legalities, court appearances, hearings, negotiations, and the growing public interest in my case. I had become emotionally and physically stressed to the point of breaking down and requiring intensive treatment and counseling.

Through it all Kevin remained beside me. I was at a point where I had firmly decided that I would rather remain in prison for the rest of my life rather than face another moment in the legal drama that was unfolding around me. It was then that he offered me a lifeline. I could sign a power of attorney allowing him to act on my behalf for specific legal, financial, and personal matters. I was already agreeing wholeheartedly even as he warned me of the pitfalls and hazards of such an instrument. I didn’t care and the more he tried to talk me out of broadening the scope of the POA, the more convinced I became that he was the one and only person I could ever trust to act so staunchly on my behalf. It took several days for me to convince him to write it up and we signed the agreement in front of another magistrate who also warned me to think hard before doing so and advised me further on the binding nature of placing my trust so willing into another’s hands.

Afterwards, my life became much better and I found myself settling back into my comfortable sense of being. My court appearances, hearings, and public appearances halted almost immediately. I met with Kevin almost daily for a while and many times he would be accompanied by other members of my amnesty team (including his beautiful wife Rachel) to discuss various aspects of the legal process with me.

I was even relieved of attending the trial for the two cunts who had caused all of my hardship to begin with. As they were dragged through the system, I was able to watch the highlights on TV. Their capture, arrest, extradition, and arraignments were made for prime time. It was a legal drama of epic proportions and the world was watching with rapt attention.

REFLECTIONS

It was the daughter’s hubris that was their ultimate undoing. Having committed the perfect crime and escaping the terrible burden of fortune and fame—with new identities, looks, and tons of money, the two deranged socialites ultimately wound up living it up in Nice. But the life of leisure and pomp soon became boring to the young mademoiselle Chloé Moreau (aka Taylor Costas). Without knowledge of her mother, she secretly accessed her old social media sites to reminisce on her former life. She adored her millions of followers and their emotional tributes to her tragedy were heartwarming. She even (foolishly) posted her own colorful tribute to the lost heiress.