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Regards, Whitney Tilson Founder, Empire Financial Research This thing she held in her hand was worth more than a mountain of weaponsgrade plutonium, more than the total oil production of Saudi Arabia. With this in her possession, who k? Perhaps even a Russell-Richmond ticket? The possibilities were aely infinite. She smiled and put the plastic bag inside her purse. THE SCREAM MADE LUTHER WHIP HIS HEAD AROUND. THE PAIN shot through his neck and he almost cried out. The President ran into the bedroom. He was wide-eyed, but still half-drunk. The memory of the last few hours had come back like a Boeing 747 landing on his head. Burton ran up behind him. The President started toward the body; Russell dropped her purse on the nightstand, and she and Collin met him halfway. “Goddammit! She’s dead. I killed her. Oh sweet Jesus help me. I killed her!” He screamed and then cried and then screamed again. He tried to push through the w in front of him but was still too weak. Burton pulled at the President from behind. Then with convulsive strength, Richmond tore loose and launched himself across the room and slammed into the w, rolling into the nightstand. And finy the President of the United States crumpled to the floor and curled up like a fetus, whimpering, next to the woman he had intended to have with that night. Luther watched in disgust. He rubbed at his neck and slowly shook his head. The incredibility of the entire night’s events was becoming too much to endure. The President slowly sat up. Burton looked like Luther felt, but said nothing. Collin eyed Russell for instructions. Russell caught the look and smugly accepted this subtle changing of the guard. “Gloria?” “Yes, Alan?” Luther had seen the way Russell had looked at the letter er. He also k something that no one else in the room k. “Will it be okay? Make it okay, Gloria. . Oh God, Gloria!” She rested her hand on his shoulder in her most reassuring manner, as she had done across hundreds of of miles of campaign dust. “Everything’s under control, Alan. I’ve got everything under control.” The President was far too intoxicated to catch the meaning, but she didn’t rey care. Burton touched his radio earpiece, listening intently for a moment. He turned to Russell. “We better the hell out of . Varney just scoped a patrol car coming down the road.” “The alarm… ?” Russell looked puzzled. Burton shook his head. “It’s probably just a rent-a-cop on routine, but if he sees something…” He didn’t need to say anything else. Leaving in a limo in this land of wealth was cover they could have. Russell thanked God for the routine she had developed for using rented limos without the regular drivers for these little adventures. The s on the forms were dummies, the rental fee and deposit paid in , the car picked up and dropped after hours. T were no faces associated with the trans. The car would be sterilized. That would be a dead end for the police if they ever snagged that line, which was highly doubtful. “Let’s go!” Russell was slightly panicked. The President was helped up. Russell went out with him. Collin grabbed the bags. Then ped cold. Luther swowed hard. Collin turned back, grabbed Russell’s purse the nightstand and headed out. Burton started up the sm vacuum, completed the room and then left, closing the door and turning the light. LUTHER’S WORLD RETURNED TO INKY DARKNESS. This was the first time he had been alone in the room with the dead woman. The rest of them had apparently grown used to the bloody figure lying on the floor, unconsciously stepping over or around the inanimate object. But Luther had not grown accustomed to the death barely eight feet away. He could no longer see the pile of stained clothing and the less body inside of them, but he k it was t. “Sleazy rich bitch” would probably be her informal epitaph. And, yes, she had cheated on her husband, not that he seemed to care about that. But she hadn’t deserved to die like that. He would’ve killed her, t was no question about that. Except for her swift counterattack, the President would’ve committed murder. The Secret Service men he could not rey fault. That was their job and they did it. She had picked the wrong man to attempt to kill in the heat of whatever she had been feeling. Maybe it was better. If her hand had been a little er or the agents’ response a little slower, she might be spending the rest of her in jail. Or she’d probably death for killing a President. Luther sat down in the chair. His legs were almost numb. He forced himself to relax. he would be ting the hell out of t. He needed to be ready to run. He had a lot to think through, considering that they were unwittingly setting up Luther Whitney to be the number-one suspect in what would no doubt be deemed a heinous and gruesome crime. The wealth of the victim would demand that enormous law enforcement resources be expended in finding the perpetrator. But t was no way they would be looking to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue for the answer. They would search elsew, and despite Luther’s intense preparations, they might very well find him. He was good, very good, but then he had faced the types of forces that would be unleashed to solve this crime. He quickly thought back through his entire plan leading up to tonight. He could think of no obvious holes, but it was the not-so-obvious ones that usuy did you in. He swowed, curled and uncurled his fingers, stretched his legs to calm himself. One thing at a time. He still wasn’t out of . Many things could go wrong, and one or two undoubtedly would. He would wait two more minutes. He ticked the seconds in his head, visualized them loading the car. They would probably wait for any further sight or sound of the patrol car before heading out. He carefully ed his bag. Inside were much of the contents of this room. He had almost forgotten that he had come to steal and in f had stolen. His car was a good quarter mile away. He thanked God he had quit smoking those years ago. He would need every ounce of lung capacity he could muster. How many Secret Service Agents was he confronted with? At least four. Shit! The mirrored door slowly ed and Luther stepped out into the room. He hit the remote one more time and then tossed it back onto the chair as the door swung cd. He eyed the window. He had already planned an alternate escape through that aperture. A hundred-foot coil of extremely strong nylon rope, knotted every six inches, was in his bag. He made a wide berth around the body, careful not to step in any of the crimson, the position of which he had programmed into his memory. He glanced once at the remains of Christine Sullivan. Her could not be brought back. Luther was faced with keeping his own int. It took him a few seconds to reach the nightstand, and probe down behind it. Luther’s fingers clutched the plastic bag. The President’s collision with the furniture had toppled Gloria Russell’s purse on its side. The plastic bag and its immensely valuable occupant had fen out and slid down behind the nightstand. Luther’s finger nudged the blade of the letter er through the plastic before secreting it in his duffel bag. He went quickly over to the window and carefully peered out. The limo and van were still t. That wasn’t good. He went across to the other side of the room, took out his rope, secured it under the leg of the enormously heavy chest of drawers, and ran the line across to the other window, which would drop him at the opposite end of the house, from the road. He carefully ed the window, praying for a well-oiled track, and was rewarded. He played out the rope and watched it snake down the brick sides of the house. GLORIA RUSSELL LOOKED UP AT THE MASSIVE FACE OF THE mansion. T was real t. and position that Christine Sullivan did not deserve. She had it with her boobs and artfully displayed ass and her trashy mouth that had somehow inspired the elderly Walter Sullivan, awakening some emotion buried deep within his complex depths. In six months he would not miss her anymore. His world of rock-solid wealth and power would hurtle on. Then it struck her. Russell was halfway out of the limo before Collin caught her arm. He held up the leather bag she had bought in Georown for a hundred bucks and was worth incalculably more to her. She settled back down in her seat, her breath normalized. She smiled, almost blushed at Collin. The President, slumped in a semicatatonic state, didn’t notice the exchange. Then Russell peeked inside her bag, just to be sure. Her mouth dropped , her hands franticy tore through the few contents of the bag. It took her willpower not to shriek out loud as she stared horror-stricken at the young agent. The letter er was not t. It must still be in the house. Collin tore back up the stairs, a thoroughly confused Burton racing after him. Luther was halfway down the w when he heard them coming. Ten more feet. They burst in the bedroom door. Six more feet. Stunned, the two Secret Service men spotted the rope; Burton dove for it. Two more feet, and Luther let go, hitting the ground running. Burton flew to the window. Collin threw the nightstand aside: nothing. He joined Burton at the window. Luther had already disappeared around the corner. Burton started to head out the window. Collin ped him. The way they had come would be er. They bolted out the door. LUTHER CRASHED THROUGH THE CORNFIELD, NO LONGER concerned with leaving a trail, worried about surviving. The bag slowed him down slightly, but he had worked too hard over the last several months to walk away empty-handed. He exploded out from the ly cover of the crops and hit the most dangerous phase of his flight: a hundred yards of field. The moon had disappeared behind thickening clouds and t were no streetlights in the country; in his black clothing he would be almost impossible to spot. But the eye was best at spotting movement in the darkness, and he was moving as as he could. THE TWO SECRET SERVICE AGENTS PED MOMENTARILY AT the van. They emerged with Agent Varney and raced across the field. Russell rolled down the window and watched them, shock on her face. Even the President was somewhat awake, but she quickly calmed him and he returned to his half-slumber. Collin and Burton slipped on their night-vision goggles and their view ly resembled a crude computer game. Thermal images registered in red, everything else was dark green. Agent Travis Varney, t and rangy, and vaguely aware of what was going on, was ahead of them. He ran with the easy motion of the collegiate miler he used to be.     In the Service three years, Varney was single, committed entirely to his profession, and looked to Burton as a father figure to replace the one killed in Vietnam. They were looking for someone who had done something in that house. Something that involved the President and that tfore involved him. Varney pitied whoever he was chasing if he caught up to him. LUTHER COULD HEAR THE SOUNDS OF THE MEN BEHIND HIM. They had recovered er than he had thought. His head start had dwindled but it still should be enough. They had made a big mistake by not jumping in the van and running him down. They had to have kn he would have transportation. It wasn’t like he would have coptered in. But he was grateful that they weren’t quite as smart as they probably should have been. If they had he would not be alive to see the sun come up. He took a shortcut through a path in the woods, spotted on his last walkthrough. It gained him about a minute. His breath came in quick bursts, like machine-gun fire. His clothes felt heavy on him; as in a child’s dream, his legs seemed to move in slow motion. Finy he broke from the trees, and he could see his car and was again grateful for having taken the precaution to back in. A HUNDRED YARDS BEHIND, A THERMAL FIGURE OTHER THAN Varney’s finy came alive on Burton’s and Collin’s screens. A man running, and running hard. Their hands flew to their shoulder holsters. Neither weapon was effective long-range but they couldn’t worry about that . Then an engine roared to and Burton and Collin ran like a tornado was raging at their heels. Varney was still ahead of them and to the left. He would have a better line of fire, but would he shoot? Something told them he would not; that was not part of his training, to fire at a fleeing person who was no longer a danger to the man he was sworn to protect. However, Varney did not k that at stake was more than a mere beating heart. T was an entire institution that would be the same, in addition to two Secret Service agents who were certain they had done nothing wrong, but were intelligent enough to realize that the blame would f heavily on their shoulders. Burton was much of a runner, but he picked up his pace as these thoughts flew through his head, and the younger Collin was hard-pressed to keep up with him. But Burton k it was too late. His legs started to slow down as the car exploded out and turned away from them. In moments it was already two hundred yards down the road. Burton ped running, dropped to his knee, aimed his gun, but he could see was the dust kicked up by the fleeing vehicle. Then the taillights went out and in a moment he lost the tar entirely. He turned to see Collin next to him, looking down at him, the reality of the whole event starting to set in. Burton slowly got up and put his gun away. He took his goggles; Collin did likewise. They looked at each other. Burton sucked air in, his limbs shook. His body was finy reng to the recent exertions that the adrenaline had ped flowing. It was over, wasn’t it? Then Varney came running up. Burton was not too distraught to note with an envious twinge and a sm measure of pride that the younger man wasn’t even out of breath. He would see to it that Varney and Johnson didn’t suffer with them. They didn’t deserve that. He and Collin would go down, but that was . He felt bad about Collin; however, t was nothing he could do about that. But when Varney spoke, Burton’s thoughts of the future went from complete and absolute doom to a sm glimmer of hope. “I got the license plate number.” “W THE HELL WAS HE?” RUSSELL LOOKED incredulously around the bedroom. “What? Was he under the goddamned bed?” She tried to stare Burton down. The guy hadn’t been under the bed, nor in any of the cts. Burton had examined those spaces when he was sanitizing the room. He told her so in no uncertain . Burton looked at the rope and then the window. “Jesus, it was like the guy was watching us the whole time, k right when we left the house.” Burton looked around for other possible bogeymen hovering nearby. His eyes rested on the mirror, then moved on, ped and went back. He looked down at the carpet in front of the mirror. He had gone over that area repeatedly with the vacuum until it was smooth; the carpet nape, already plush and expensive, had been a good quarter inch thicker by the time he was finished. No one had walked t since they had come back into the room. And yet as he stooped down, his eye discerned very rough traces of footprints. He hadn’t noticed them before because the whole section was matted down, as if something had swept out… . He slapped on his gloves, rushed to the mirror, pulling and prying around its edges. He yelled to Collin to some tools while Russell looked on stunned. Burton inserted the crowbar about midway down the side of the mirror and he and Collin threw their weight against the tool. The lock was not that strong, depending on deception rather than brute strength to safeguard its secrets. T was a grinding sound and then a tear and a pop and the door swung . Burton plunged inside with Collin right behind. A light switch was on the w. The room turned bright and the men looked around. Russell peered in, saw the chair. As she looked around, her face froze on the inner side of the mirror door. She was staring right at the bed. The bed w a little while before … She rubbed her temples as a searing pain ripped through her skull. A one-way mirror. She turned to find Burton looking over her shoulder and through the mirror. His earlier remark about someone watching them had just proven itself prophetic. Burton looked helplessly at Russell. “He must have been right the whole time. The whole goddamned time. I can’t fucking believe this.” Burton looked at the empty shelves inside the vault. “Looks like he took a bunch of stuff. Probably and untraceables.” “Who cares about that!” Russell exploded, pointing at the mirror. “This guy saw and heard everything, and you let him away.” “We got his license plate.” Collin was hoping for another rewarding smile. He didn’t it. “So what? You think he’s going to wait around for us to run his tag and go knock on his door?” Russell sat down on the bed. Her head was spinning. If the guy had been in t he had seen everything. She shook her head. A bad but controllable situation had suddenly become an incomprehensible disaster, and toty out of her control. Particularly considering the information Collin had relayed to her when she had entered the bedroom. The sonofabitch had the letter er! Prints, blood, everything, straight to the White House. She looked at the mirror and then at the bed, w a short time before she had been on top of the President. She instinctively pulled her jacket tighter around herself. She was suddenly sick to her stomach. She braced herself against the bedpost. Collin emerged from the vault. “Don’t for he committed a crime being . He can in big-time trouble if he goes to the cops.” That thought had struck the young agent while he peered around the vault. He should have thought a little more. Russell pushed back a strong urge to vomit. “He doesn’t have to exly go and turn himself in to in on this. Have you ever heard of the goddamned ? He’s probably cing the Post right . Dammit! And then next the tabloids and by the end of the week we’ll be watching him on Oprah and Sy being shot on remote from whatever little island he’s retired to with his face blurred. And then comes the book and after that the movie. Shit!” Russell envisioned a certain package arriving at the Post or the J. Edgar Hoover Building or the U.S. Attorney’s ice or the Senate Minority Leader’s ice, possible depositories promising maximum political damage—not to mention the repercussions. The note accompanying it would ask them to match the prints on it and the blood with specimens of the President of the United States. It would sound like a joke, but they would do it. Of course they would do it. Richmond’s prints were already on file. His DNA would be a match. Her body would be found, her blood would be ed and they would be confronted with more questions than they could possibly have answers to. They were dead, they were dead. And that bastard had just been sitting in t, waiting for his . Not king that tonight would bring him the biggest pay of his . Nothing as simple as . He would bring down a President, in flames and tatters, crashing to earth without a of survival. How often did someone to do that? Woodward and Bernstein had become supermen, they could do no wrong. This topped the hell out of Watergate. This was too fucking much to with. Russell barely made it to the bathroom. Burton looked over at the corpse and then back at Collin. They said nothing, their hearts pounding with increased frequency as the absolute enormity of the situation settled down on them like the stone lid of a crypt. Since they could think of nothing else to do, Burton and Collin dutifully retrieved the sanitizing equipment while Russell emptied the contents of her stomach. In an hour they were packed and gone. THE DOOR CD QUIETLY BEHIND HIM. Luther figured he had a couple of days at best, maybe less. He risked turning on a light and his eyes went quickly over the interior of the living room. His had gone from normal, or c to it, straight to horror land. He took the backpack, switched the light, and stole over to the window. Nothing—everything was quiet. Fleeing from that house had been the most nerve-racking experience of his , worse than being overrun by screaming North Koreans. His hands still twitched. the way back, every passing car seemed to bore its headlights into his face, searching out his guilty secret. Twice, police cars had passed him, and the sweat had poured his forehead, his breathing constricted. The car had been returned to the impoundment lot w Luther had “borrowed” it earlier that night. The plate would them , but something else could. He doubted they had gotten a look at him. Even if they had, they would k genery his height and build. His age, race and facial features would still be a mystery, and without that they had nothing. And as as he had run, they probably figured him for a younger man. T was one end, and he had thought about how to handle that on the ride back. For , he packed up as much of the last thirty years as he could into two bags; he would not be coming back . He would clear out his tomorrow morning; that would give him the resources to run far away from . He had faced more than his share of danger during his long . But the choice between going up against the President of the United States or disappearing was a no-brainer. The night’s haul was safely away. Three months of work for a that could end up ting him killed. He locked the door and disappeared into the night.   ExpertModernAdvice.com is sending this newsletter on behalf Inception Media, LLC. Inception Media, LLC appreciates your comments and inquiries. Please keep in mind, that Inception Media, LLC are not permitted to provide individualized financial аdvіsе. This email is not financial advice and any investment decіsіоn you make is solely your responsibility. 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