American Injustice by John Paul Mac Isaac

Author:John Paul Mac Isaac [Isaac, John Paul Mac]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781637586853
Publisher: Post Hill Press
Published: 2022-09-12T10:38:31+00:00

Soon the holiday season was in full swing. The shop was busy, brimming with customers full of unrealistic expectations. It didn’t take long for me to be distracted and more interested in surviving the season than surviving a politically motivated assassination.

The subpoena was hidden behind a ceiling tile above the workbench. If someone were to come to claim the laptop, I could pull it down as proof that the FBI had come in and taken it.

And apparently, I wasn’t the only one thinking about someone coming and collecting the laptop. About a week before Christmas, Agent DeMeo called.

“Hi, John, just checking in. Did Hunter come in asking for it yet?” he asked.

“Nope, no one has come asking about it. Why?” I felt like he knew something but wasn’t telling me. He seemed genuinely surprised, and that worried me.

“Well, you know how to get a hold of me if you need us to bring it back,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

The red flags sprang back up. I realized that not only was the FBI essentially holding on to the laptop and waiting for its original owner to return, but they had no intention of admitting it as evidence in the approaching impeachment trial. And if that was the case, then I was certain that the FBI had no intention of providing me with protection.

I was back to square one, but this time a whole lot more people knew about the situation and my involvement. And worse, the proof to exonerate the president was now in the hands of a corrupt Justice Department. I knew that the content of Hunter’s laptop contained evidence justifying both the phone call to Zelenskyy and the pressure to investigate the former administration…but would the American people ever know of it?

January 2020

The impeachment trial began. For five days I, along with the nation, watched the president get accused of and attacked for crimes he hadn’t committed. On January 22, the prosecutors made their opening arguments. The shit show lasted three days until it was the defense’s turn. For the next three days, I kept my fingers crossed waiting for a lawyer to hold up a silver thirteen-inch MacBook Pro and demand a mistrial—the way a condemned man might get a reprieve while sitting in the electric chair.

I waited and waited, but nothing happened. The defense rested on January 28, and there had been no mention of the laptop or its incriminating evidence. This wasn’t fair. Hunter’s name and some of his questionable activities had been brought up in the three days of questions, answers, and debates, but nothing of what I’d seen on the laptop had been even touched upon. I was convinced that the device was once again locked away in a dusty Wilmington storage closet, or worse, sitting at the bottom of the Delaware River.

Once again, I thought of Plan B: going straight to Congress. I knew I couldn’t do it myself, and I was still hoping to keep my business and avoid retaliation from the FBI.

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