[Chapter 859: William's Fury]
Having just wrapped up a counseling project, David Miskiewicz walked into his favorite coffee shop, feeling as familiar with the place as an old friend. He had chatted a bit too much, leaving him mentally exhausted. If he had stayed that hyped up all day, he likely would have been in serious trouble.
Fifteen minutes later, his two associates started to worry. Even considering his known issues, it shouldn't have taken that long. When they rushed into the restroom, they found their boss unconscious, a black bag covering his head.
The only silver lining was that he was alive, only knocked out. The awful smell that hit them, however, was almost unbearable.
David had long known that the Church of Scientology was up to no good. They could make some money off their scheme, but if anyone bought into their nonsense, that was on them. He didn't care about the Pentagon Town scandal that had come to light; although many had been exposed, a lot more had slipped under the radar. David had warned them once, now it was up to them to be wise.
He was stunned to learn that this group had not only set their sights on White Films and Disney but were also targeting NBC. That he could not tolerate. Sure, they might be legitimate, but he wasn't about to let them get away with messing with him.
As David slowly regained consciousness, he couldn't quite wrap his head around how he had ended up in this situation again. He vaguely recalled that his men had called an ambulance.
Everything around him was pitch black. "Couldn't they just send him straight to Somalia, or have him go dig for gold?" one associate joked.
"Idiot, his identity is special; the FBI has records on him. It's fine if he gets roughed up, but if he goes missing, that'd be a whole other problem," another responded.
"Come on, he really knows how to pull a fast one. A few homeless guys took pity on him instead of getting him in trouble," one said with a chuckle.
"Whatever, let those punks take their shot again," another said.
David Miskiewicz returned to his lair three days later, and those days had been nothing short of bizarre. Not only had there been fake ambulances, but the police were also in on the act. Just when he thought he was rescued, he ended up getting beaten up.
David wasn't naive; he had his own survival instincts that had gotten him this far. The rule was simple: never go home relying on someone else's help. Every attempt he made to seek assistance had ended in bizarre mishaps - whether getting knocked out or getting stunned. The message was clear: if someone wanted him gone, they had countless chances.
It was bluntly evident; this was a lesson. Should this happen again, he could easily predict his fate. Connecting recent events, he figured out who wanted to take him down.
He could care less about William White; this was a legitimate business endeavor, and they couldn't stop him. Underhanded tactics were sometimes the most effective. He couldn't care less about lawsuits and could use them as a chance to create some buzz. After all, lawsuits hadn't ceased since the 1950s - and they still thrived.
Clearly, William White's influence was far more extensive than he had imagined. In just three days, the scattered Los Angeles branch had been dismantled entirely. Facing questions from the police, David wasn't about to say anything. It was obvious they weren't interested in sticking their noses in.
"Man, you guys certainly know how to stir things up. How many people did you offend?" he thought.
"Mr. Miskiewicz, can you describe what happened these past three days? It might help with the investigation."
"Officer, I told you, I was knocked out. When I came to, I found myself near Chinatown and just walked back from there."
"Mr. Miskiewicz, didn't you try to call the police or seek help?"
Inside, David felt like he was losing it. Of course, he had sought help - from doctors to homeless folks to the police. Each time ended in unexpected chaos and beatings.
"No, I felt drawn by some force. I saw a bright ocean."
"Uh-huh, if there's nothing else, let's leave it at that. Just to confirm, you haven't suffered any injuries?"
"Yes, except for the incident at the restaurant, I haven't been harmed."
The two FBI agents exchanged helpless shrugs. Clearly, his face bore the signs of fresh bruises.
Since he didn't want to tell the truth, they figured it would be easier to let it slide. With so many cases to handle, why complicate things? If worse came to worst, they'd chalk it up as a supernatural event.
David Miskiewicz had no desire to complicate matters. If things went south, he might just end up knocked out again.
These two cops seemed casual, almost dismissive. He could imagine them bursting into laughter as soon as they stepped outside.
Did he seriously expect someone to pursue justice?
Of course not. When he had deceived these guys, had there ever been a sense of justice? For the sake of some so-called purification, some were left destitute, some lost everything - where was the justice in that?
"Why is this guy so short? He looks like he's barely there. Huh, I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up like Tom Cruise. Too bad, next time he acts up, I might just cut him down a notch."
"Sir, that shouldn't be a problem; those who know the ropes seldom make foolish decisions. Running such a large operation, he should know better."
"Don't underestimate him; remember, Tanner, when it comes to religion, it always gets messy. Honestly, he seems to know his limits, not too fanatical."
"If that weren't the case, do you think I would allow any loose ends?"
Tanner's questions finally had some answers. While toying with this guy was amusing, he was skeptical. Cat and mouse games could end with someone getting eaten.
William White had a point. If a more radical figure showed up, they might be in deeper trouble. Ironically, the Church of Scientology operated legally in the U.S.
Most parts of the world had banned it, yet in America, it thrived without restraint. Lawsuits aside, these folks kept growing like a snowball.
William had discovered that the best hustle in America was through deception. As long as your con game was strong enough, no one could touch you.
It was a shame that people like the White Lotus Sect had been born too early. Had they developed in America, who knows how far they could have gone?
With gun violence rampant in the States, it would have been an easy campaign for invulnerability.
"Tanner, we can't let our guard down. These players are wealthy and powerful; they're not easy to deal with. I've heard they have their own security and intelligence operations."
"Yeah, these guys are not simple. I'm a bit confused; aren't they about science? How do they tie that to superstition? This guy is definitely something."
"Ha, he's already dead. The one we're messing with is just the heir. If it were the old man, I'd probably send him to Somalia myself."
*****
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