CHAPTER 75 The Judge and The Jury

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copyright 2015 Chris Smith All rights reserved.

"The antidote for fifty enemies is one friend."

Aristotle

Greek Philosopher, Scientist

(384-322 BC)


Maybe they were infuriated because we'd asked them for help?

Maybe they didn't think we deserved what we had?

Whatever their reason, they certainly took no pause in acting like our personal judge and jury. Fuck. Yes, please shove our noses in the failures, like you'd do with an animal that has made a mess on the carpet. Show us the mess we've made. Remind us how everything we've poured our hearts and money into, has failed to make a return on investment.

"I guess some people are just fair weather friends," Dad said.

"I guess so. Well, at least we know that now. At least we're finding out who really cares about us, and who cares more about our financial standing, or lack of. If we'd been funded by now we'd probably still be working with him [Henry]."

"That's true," Dad said.

Dad was bothered. He had held onto some measure of hope that Henry could help us. But more than that, Dad was upset because he was met again with judgement when he'd mustered up the courage to ask for help.

There was nothing else to do but start packing. It was time to get ready. Tomorrow would be a bleak day for all of us and we would all need all the sleep we could get.

When I looked at the clock again it was ten. I was in the middle of my nightly physical therapy and stretching. I had managed to pack my suitcase though. Tonight would be the last night I would have the privilege of sleeping in this God-forsaken room. I'd miss the Farm but not this room.

I was on the floor stretching when I felt a strange pull. Not a physical pull, mind you. More like an instinctual pull. My instinct was telling me to look in the corner of the room.

I'd been in this shanty shack of a room for weeks, hiding and licking my wounds. It had been my Uncle's old office. I tried to clean part of it to make it more livable. He had left a bunch of books, which I put into boxes. The more I tried to discount the little push, the more it nagged at me.

I figured, "What the fuck."

What I was looking for?

I had no idea. But something told me to look. So look I did. I came across all these self-help binders and audio seminar cases. Then I happened across several packages of various Bob Proctor programs. They were still in their original packaging.

I recognized Bob Proctor's name from watching "The Secret" so many times. If I hadn't already been familiar with Bob, I probably wouldn't have given the stacks of Bob's audio seminars a second glance.

I couldn't believe it! This had to be what I was being pulled towards. I grabbed all of Bob's seminars and shoved them in a bag. One of the packages "You Were Born Rich" even came with a book, which I pulled out of the package so I could hand it over to Dad the next day. We were going to need all the inspiration we could get.

Nothing would be the same and part of me wondered if I would ever see the Farm again.


"Have you considered that if you don't make waves, nobody including yourself will know that you are alive?"

Theodore Isaac Rubin

American Author, Psychiatrist

(1923- )


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