There can be no recovery for me nor consequences for The Man of Steal, a CPA who was elated to be part of the plan to steal the assets and kill me. I encountered contaminated drinking water in my refrigerator July 9, the twelfth occurrence of unexplainable poisoning in my home since the first of the year.
However, he was defrocked. The accountancy board saw fit to revoke his certificate, and asked him to pay a $25,000 fine plus $7,000 expenses he’ll never pay. It doesn’t recover my lost money and won’t stop his team from continuing to attempt to murder me. He’ll keep going to work and live his life as usual, ad infinitum.
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| The state accountancy board's order |
Silly me: I started thinking unlimited stealing and killing simply don’t cross the threshold of matters of interest to important, busy police and prosecutors. It turns out we don’t have those, because there ain’t no lawmen down here to Indian Territory. There are Indian courts, but they don’t help palefaces. They just say, “We smokem peyote buttons in peace pipe.” It gives you a buzz and a headache, but it doesn’t help recover money or stop killers.
Your only hope for that is to saddle your horse Paint, ride to Cheyenne and fetch back the marshal, if he’ll come. In the old west with a jurisdiction covering hundreds of thousands of square miles of unsettled country, he’s stretched very thin.
You need plenty of ammo, because that dusty trail is crawling with sidewinding varmints who’ll grab your saddlebags and plug you.
The regional judge comes through every 20 years or so and hangs some cattle rustlers. I told my fellow pioneers I.T. will never become a state without lawmen. Then we could have steam trains and telegraph wires. They recoiled and told me those are consarn contraptions what goes agin the Lord.
