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How a Man in Prison Stole Millions From Billionaires

With smuggled cell phones and a handful of accomplices, Arthur Lee Cofield, Jr., took money from large bank accounts and bought houses, cars, clothes, and gold.

— By Charles Bethea | August 28, 2023

Illustration By Max Guther

Early in 2020, the architect Scott West got a call at his office, in Atlanta, from a prospective client who said that his name was Archie Lee. West designs luxurious houses in a spare, angular style one might call millionaire modern. Lee wanted one. That June, West found an appealing property in Buckhead—an upscale part of North Atlanta that attracts both old money and new—and told Lee it might be a good spot for them to build. Lee arranged for his wife to meet West there.

She arrived in a white Range Rover, wearing Gucci and Prada, and carrying a small dog in her purse. She said her name was Indiana. As she walked around the property, she FaceTimed her husband, then told West that it wasn’t quite what they had in mind, and that he should keep looking. West said that he’d need a retainer. She reached into her purse and pulled out five thousand dollars. “That was a little unusual,” West recalled.

Later that summer, Lee called again, with a new proposal. His wife, he said, had been “driving around Buckhead, and she came across this amazing modern house and thought it had to be a Scott West house.” She was right. The house, on Randall Mill Road, wasn’t quite finished, and it had not been on the market—but Lee told West that he was already buying it, from the owner, for four and a half million dollars. Now he wanted West to redo the landscaping and the outdoor pool, plus some interior finishes. West took another retainer, but he had other clients to attend to, and Lee grew impatient. Eventually, Lee asked West for his money back and began planning the renovations without him.

The renovations were supervised, as far as the neighbors could tell, by Indiana’s father, Eldridge Bennett, a sturdy man who drove an old Jaguar and wore a pair of dog tags around his neck. Neighbors described him as friendly but hard to pin down. He told one that he worked in the concrete business—and that he’d been on the team that killed Osama bin Laden—but gave another a card that identified him as the marketing manager for an accounting company. This neighbor noticed that a wine tower in the house was being stocked with Moët & Chandon (“thousands of bottles, like, twenty feet tall”) and asked who was paying for it all. Bennett told him that the new owner was in California, “working on music stuff.” Like many residents of Randall Mill Road, this neighbor is white. The Bennetts are Black. “It seemed like they didn’t come from money,” the neighbor said, “but they had sure found a lot of it.”

A closing meeting was scheduled for early September at a bank in Alpharetta, north of the city. By then, Lee and the Bennetts had made three down payments on the house, totalling seven hundred thousand dollars, most of which Indiana and Eldridge had delivered in rubber-banded bundles of cash. Lee told the seller’s attorney that they would deliver the rest—about three and a half million dollars—in similar fashion, at the closing. He couldn’t be there himself, he said, because he was still busy in California. (Lee, the lawyer recalled, said that he “represented a variety of entertainers and got paid in a variety of ways,” and also that he’d made money in Bitcoin.)

Because so much cash was going to be exchanged, the bank arranged for the closing to be held in its kitchen and break room, which offered some privacy. The bank also asked a local cop to be present. At the appointed time, Eldridge and a younger man carried several black duffelbags into the room and began handing stacks of bills to a bank employee, who spent the next three and a half hours counting them all. Afterward, on the phone, Lee asked the seller to complete a few punch items on the property. When the seller got to the house, he noticed that the door to a large safe that he’d installed—and which he’d left open—was locked, and that the combination had already been changed.

A few weeks after the close, Lee sent Scott West another e-mail. “I’m buying land in a month or so to start planning on designing a house 100% to my liking,” he wrote. “I want to give you the ball and let you run the entire project. Let you go insane on your ideas. I’m thinking of a seven million dollar budget just for the house, not including the landscaping.” He suggested that the two of them “become a team.” West replied, as gently as he could, that he was too busy. A week before, he’d received a call from a federal agent, who asked him if he knew a man named Arthur Cofield. West said that he did not, and the agent began rattling off names. “He kept going through aliases until he said ‘Archie Lee,’ ” West told me. Arthur Lee Cofield, Jr., the agent said, resided in a maximum-security prison in Georgia. He had been incarcerated for more than a decade.

Arthur Cofield probably stole more money from behind bars than any inmate in American history. His methods were fairly straightforward, if distinctly contemporary: using cell phones that he’d had smuggled into prison, and relying on a network of people on the outside, he accessed the bank accounts of the very wealthy, then used their money to make large purchases—often of gold, which he’d typically have shipped to Atlanta, where it was picked up by his accomplices. Some of that gold he seems to have converted to cash: he and his associates bought cars, houses, and clothes, and they flaunted all of it on social media. (At one point, Cofield wrote on Instagram, “Making millions from bed.”) By the time Cofield was charged—with identity theft and money laundering, among other crimes—he had likely stolen at least fifteen million dollars. “I don’t know of anything that’s ever happened in an institutional setting of this magnitude,” Brenda Smith, a law professor at American University who has researched crime in prison, told me. Cofield, she said, was “something of an innovator.”

He didn’t arrive in prison as a man with a lot of connections or a history of fraud. He didn’t have much history at all—he was just sixteen. He had grown up in East Point, a poor and predominantly Black suburb southeast of Atlanta. A number of gangs operate there, but, if Cofield belonged to one back then, no one seems to have noticed. When he was a kid, dirt bikes were his passion. He began riding at a motocross track northwest of the city when he was little; at eight, he finished fourth at the Amateur National Motocross Championship, in Tennessee. A friend from his riding days told me that Cofield stuck out among the motocross crowd for two reasons: “He was African American, and he was freaking badass.” Cofield told the friend that he was called racial slurs by fans and other racers. “Nasty stuff,” the friend said. “It almost fuelled the fire.”

Competing in motocross is expensive, and Cofield’s father, who mostly made his living hanging drywall, converted a box truck into a trailer, with living quarters, so that the family could get Arthur to the big races. At one of those races, when Cofield was about fourteen, a gate collector noticed that more than eight thousand dollars had gone missing from the till, and told the track’s operators that Cofield had been lingering nearby when it vanished. “We went into Arthur’s mobile home and he had the money hidden in there,” a member of the family who owned the track told me. The family was fond of Cofield and his father, and declined to press charges, but it was the last time that they saw the Cofields at a race. Soon, Cofield began to “slack off from racing,” his friend said, adding, “That’s when everything happened.”

In October, 2007, when Cofield was sixteen, he brought a gun into a bank in Douglasville, just west of Atlanta, and demanded that the tellers give him all the money they had. He walked out with twenty-six hundred dollars and headed for a stolen station wagon, where a friend of his older brother’s was behind the wheel. A smoke-and-dye pack hidden in a stack of bills exploded as he got into the car; the young men crashed soon after getting on the road. They ran but didn’t get far. The driver was sentenced to ten years and was paroled after three. Cofield got a fourteen-year prison sentence and ended up in a maximum-security facility in middle Georgia.

It took a few years and a couple of prison transfers before he became a more successful thief. Early in 2010, Cofield sustained cuts on his arm from a razor blade; according to a prison report, he initially told a guard that he’d cut himself shaving. But he later handwrote a carefully argued lawsuit alleging that he’d been attacked by a fellow-inmate and that prison staff had not only failed to intervene but knowingly allowed the assault to take place. Citing the damage to his motocross career, which he slightly embellished, he demanded more than a million dollars. A judge dismissed the suit on procedural grounds. Cofield was sent to another prison. Later that year, he was mailed a package containing bottles of shampoo and conditioner. Inside each bottle was a cell phone.

As smartphones have become more powerful and more ubiquitous, the barrier between life in prison and life on the outside has become more porous. Thousands of phones are confiscated from Georgia prisons every year, according to the state’s Department of Corrections. Prison guards are generally not well paid, and they are often bribed to assist in the smuggling or simply to look the other way. Most people in prison use phones in innocuous ways: to talk to loved ones, for instance—prison phone services are notoriously expensive—and to keep up with what’s going on in the world. In 2010, inmates at seven Georgia prisons used smuggled cell phones to organize a protest for better living conditions. But phones are also used to carry out drug dealing and other crimes. Authorities have recognized this problem for more than a decade now, but the phones keep coming.

In the years that followed Cofield’s first prison transfer, he was found with phones in his soapbox, taped around his waist, and inside his undershorts. Many more seem to have gone undiscovered. On one occasion, he told a guard seizing yet another phone, “I don’t give a fuck about that phone. I’ve had hundreds of phones.”

In 2014, he was transferred again, to Telfair State Prison, in south Georgia. There he met a man named Devinchio Rogers, who was serving a seven-year sentence for manslaughter. Rogers grew up not far from Cofield, but he was a few years older, and flashier. Cofield is stocky and gruff—he was lean and muscular in his motocross days but put on weight in prison. Rogers was tall and stylish. He shared Cofield’s knack for getting cell phones behind bars. He’d attained some brief local notoriety in 2011, when he began tweeting from inside Fulton County Jail. (His tweets were “littered with foul language and pictures of prison food, something that appears to be marijuana and himself,” a local TV station reported.)

Cofield and Rogers started a crew, which they called yap, for Young and Paid. There are dozens, if not hundreds, of similar crews in Atlanta, many with three-letter names, most of them small-time. They are typically founded in prisons or on particular city blocks. Some are involved in the drug trade; some flaunt a connection to nationally known gangs, such as the Bloods; some aspire to be movers and shakers in hip-hop. The most famous of these crews is Y.S.L., which was allegedly co-founded by the rapper Young Thug, whose real name is Jeffery Williams. Like Cofield, Williams, who is Cofield’s age, grew up in East Point. He and more than two dozen other alleged members of Y.S.L. are currently facing rico charges in Fulton County. They stand accused of crimes that range from drug dealing to murder. (Williams, who started a record label also called Y.S.L., has denied involvement in criminal activity.)

Cofield and Rogers adopted aliases, like hip-hop m.c.s, incorporating the name of their crew. Rogers went by yap Football, or just Ball. Cofield called himself yap Lavish. In March, 2017, they filed paperwork to establish yap Entertainment as a limited-liability partnership in the state of Georgia. yap Entertainment, according to its filing, planned to provide “agents and managers for artists, athletes, entertainers, and other public figures.” Within about a year of the partnership’s formal creation, three hundred thousand dollars went missing from a bank account in Alabama.

The Alabama Theft was probably not Cofield’s first big score, but it is the earliest, from his prison career, of which he has been formally accused. The target was a wealthy doctor. Cofield got hold of the doctor’s personal information, logged in to the doctor’s bank account, used money from the account to buy gold, and had the gold shipped to a UPS center near Atlanta, where someone else picked it up for him. According to a detective who has investigated Cofield and Rogers, the Secret Service, during the previous several months, had noticed a string of similar thefts, and began making inquiries. (The agency, which has jurisdiction over some federal financial crimes, declined to comment.) Eventually, the agency opened an investigation, and dubbed the case Gold Rush.

The year that followed, 2018, was a big one for Cofield and Rogers. They were, evidently, beginning to bring in a lot of money, and they also seem to have been actively recruiting associates. This recruitment could allegedly be quite direct. A young woman named Selena Holmes was approached by a friend, who, according to Holmes’s former lawyer, said, “Look, there’s these guys in prison. They’re really rich. And all you got to do is talk to them. They’ll look out for you.” A few days later, the lawyer said, Cofield called Holmes on the phone. She was nineteen and had grown up poor on the west side of Atlanta. (Cofield may have known her through a family connection.) She had dropped out of high school after becoming pregnant and was working at Panera. Shortly after Cofield called, according to the detective, a man named Keonte Melton found her outside work and handed her fifteen thousand dollars. (Melton could not be reached for comment.)

Soon, Holmes and Cofield were spending hours together on the phone. She got a yap tattoo and people began calling her yap Missus—the queen to Cofield’s king. He bought her a Mercedes-Benz and rented a penthouse apartment for her in Buckhead. He also flew her first class to Los Angeles, to shop on Rodeo Drive, where she bought a three-thousand-dollar purse. (The detective believes that Holmes was running yap-related errands.)

In May, 2018, a video was posted to YouTube of a pool party that yap threw at a “secret location” that looks a lot like a Buckhead mansion. The party was hosted by an aspiring rapper, Anteria Gordon, who had adopted the name yap Moncho. Gordon, in the front seat of a Bentley, gives a shout-out to Lavish. “Nobody doing it bigger than us,” he says later, amid drinking and twerking revellers. Around this time, Gordon released a single called “Lavish,” mostly about spending large amounts of money (“two hundred thousand, blow it on a stripper”), and gave an interview to the YouTube channel Hood Affairs, sitting in an ornate gold chair at the same mansion where the party was held. Wearing a diamond chain that spelled “yap,” Gordon shows his interviewer around the mansion, praising Missus and thanking Lavish, seeming to call him “the most richest motherfucker in the city.”

In June, Rogers was released from prison, and quickly began throwing money around, according to a person who knew him before he was incarcerated. “He bought four hundred and thirty-six pairs of Reeboks,” this person told me. “He had a line around Greenbriar Mall—people lined up to get those shoes that he paid for. He was giving them to kids.” This person also saw pictures of Rogers “standing on top of Mercedes-Benz trucks” and “living in penthouses.” (In one of them, there was a shark tank.) A lawyer for Rogers told me, “I’ve seen the photos, but he gets paid a lot because he’s attractive and he does social-media posts wearing different clothes and things of that nature. I don’t know if it’s called ‘influencing,’ but he’s a fashionista type.” As for yap, the lawyer said, “their business did sign people and do social media and marketing—club things—and that’s what our client Mr. Rogers is good at.”

The detective who has investigated Cofield and Rogers believes that the two men were both building a brand and enlisting accomplices—mostly young men who had spent time in prison, plus a handful of young women with whom one of them had been romantically involved. The detective pointed, for example, to an attempted theft for which neither man was charged. A woman who worked at Wells Fargo, in Atlanta—and who had, according to the detective, exchanged “affectionate text messages” with Rogers—gave Keonte Melton access to a large account at the bank in August, 2018. (Melton is the man who allegedly delivered Cofield’s cash to Selena Holmes.) The account belonged to one of the family businesses of John Portman, a famous Atlanta architect and developer who had died several months before. Melton tried to withdraw eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars; another Wells Fargo employee called two of the account’s signatories, who said that they had no idea who this withdrawer was. Melton was charged with an attempt to commit a felony; he pleaded guilty and is on probation.

The woman left Wells Fargo for another bank, then went into real estate. (She has also appeared in multiple episodes of the reality show “Love & Hip Hop: Atlanta.”) When I reached her on the phone, she denied knowing any of the men involved. She does follow Rogers on Instagram; on her own account, she often posts pictures of herself in Lamborghinis or wearing diamond-encrusted watches, not only in Atlanta but in places like Dubai and Aruba. She was questioned by police in connection with the Wells Fargo theft but was never charged. (As part of Melton’s plea deal, he was ordered not to have contact with her.) “It was like a big ring that all of them were part of,” the detective said.

In the summer of 2018, Cofield heard that Selena Holmes was growing close to a man she had met named Antoris Young. Cofield, perhaps flexing his growing power and resources, allegedly hired someone to kill him. The hit man, Teontre Crowley, tailed Young in a car; Rogers and Holmes followed in a separate vehicle so that Holmes could I.D. the target. Prosecutors say that the pair was on the phone with Cofield so he could be sure that the hit was carried out. Crowley shot Young around ten times outside a recording studio. Young survived but was paralyzed from the waist down.

Days later, according to the detective, Rogers threw a birthday party for Cofield at Club Crucial, on Atlanta’s west side. “They had ‘Lavish’ on the club’s marquee,�� the detective told me. Within months, Holmes, Rogers, and Crowley had been arrested for the shooting. All pleaded guilty and are now in prison. (Cofield was also charged, and pleaded not guilty; the case against him is ongoing.) A lawyer for Holmes maintained that she had been forced at gunpoint to help Crowley identify Young; Holmes later filed to withdraw her guilty plea but was denied. Last summer, at a hearing related to her sentence, an investigator said, of Cofield, “He finds these women from the outside and kind of pretends like he owns them from the inside, using money and things like that, and they enjoy the life style, so they go along with it. And they’re O.K. with it, as long as the money is good.”

“I Was a Pretty Girl in a Strip Club,” Eliayah Bennett, who goes by Indiana professionally, told me recently. “I wouldn’t say that I’m, like, a million-followers type of girl. But people know me. I danced for big people and stuff like that.” I had asked her how she and Cofield met. The full story would “probably take about two hours,” she said. I asked for the CliffsNotes. “Somebody seen my picture,” she said. “I don’t know who it was. And people was trying to find me. I was out of town. I think I was dancing in Miami or something, because, in the summer, Georgia gets slow. So one of my homegirls, they would have, like, stripper parties and I was invited to one. And that was it.” I waited for more. “It’s a real long story,” she said.

The detective offered me a shorter version: Cofield “wanted Selena to recruit a stripper and for them to have a girl-on-girl encounter in front of him on FaceTime,” the detective said, explaining that this detail came from Holmes. “That’s how Eliayah got involved. Then she and Cofield developed a relationship behind Selena’s back.”

Bennett told me that she and Holmes are very different. She said she comes from a more middle-class background and went to a good school—a charter school just north of the city. But, like Holmes, she began to live more fabulously after coming into Cofield’s orbit. She moved into a Buckhead home with separate floors for her mother and her father; she bought two Range Rovers and a four-hundred-thousand-dollar Rolls-Royce S.U.V.; she got breast implants and a nose job, though she said she funded those procedures herself. (“I’ve always had my own before Arthur,” she told me.) “When I talk to him, really it’s just to see me naked,” she told an investigator, downplaying the role of money in their relationship. “And that’s about it. And we’ll watch movies together.” They liked true crime, she told me.

She and Cofield were married, online, in July, 2019. Afterward, she was approved to handle his finances. As his spouse, she received another privilege: she could no longer be compelled to testify against him. Meanwhile, Cofield’s reputation within the prison system continued to grow. A month after his marriage, Cofield was moved temporarily to Fulton County Jail to attend a court hearing related to the Antoris Young shooting. “The jail was buzzing,” a person familiar with the case told me. “You could hear it on calls from inmates using the jail phone system: ‘That guy Lavish is here!’ ”

Cofield was transferred to the Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison and later placed in solitary confinement in its Special Management Unit—a notorious facility that had been described by a social psychologist, a few years earlier, as “one of the harshest and most draconian such facilities I have seen in operation anywhere in the country.” There, he was kept alone for around twenty-three hours a day. But every prison has guards, and smuggling happens at all of them. Jose Morales was the warden of the prison when Cofield arrived. He described him as an unusual inmate. “The others were boisterous, loud, violent,” he told me. “Cofield was the opposite of that. Very cordial, very respectful.” Morales thought he was up to something.

In September, 2019, the Secret Service was contacted by Fidelity Bank. Someone had breached a large account belonging to Nicole Wertheim, the wife of the billionaire investor Herbert Wertheim. This person had used more than two million dollars from the account to purchase gold coins and had then had the coins shipped to a suburb near the Atlanta airport. Investigators traced the I.P. addresses of devices that had accessed the account: one led to an apartment building in Buckhead, and another led to a Verizon cell tower near the Special Management Unit of the Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison.

Investigators informed Georgia’s Department of Corrections, which began looking for the second device. In November, guards at the Special Management Unit found two phones on Cofield, including one hidden in the rolls of his stomach. They gave the phones to prison investigators, who matched one of them to the Wertheim breach. The phone had a virtual private network that could mask its user’s identity by routing its connection through a private server, and it had a free app called TextNow, which is marketed as a provider of affordable phone service but can be used to disguise the number that a call or text is coming from. It also had several saved Yahoo and Gmail accounts that incorporated, presumably for the purposes of impersonation, the names of some of the richest men in the country, including the real-estate tycoon Sam Zell, the media mogul Sumner Redstone, the hair-care entrepreneur John Paul DeJoria, the businessman Thomas Secunda, and multiple founders of the global investment firm the Carlyle Group.

Cofield had apparently narrowed his targets to aging billionaires: men who were rich enough to not notice if millions went missing—and old enough, perhaps, not to have set up personal online-banking accounts. Secunda, who is in his late sixties, was the youngest person on the list. Two men on the list have since died: Redstone, less than a year later, at ninety-seven, and Zell, at the age of eighty-one, this past May. Before Redstone died, his Fidelity account was breached twice. (Secunda and the founders of the Carlyle Group declined to comment for this story; DeJoria told me that he hadn’t heard anything about Cofield’s scheme.)

Having identified a likely suspect in Georgia, the Secret Service turned the case over to Scott McAfee, an Assistant U.S. Attorney in the state’s Northern District. In August, 2020, one of McAfee’s investigators was contacted by the brokerage firm Charles Schwab. Two people, working in tandem, had successfully impersonated the ninety-five-year-old clothier and Hollywood producer Sidney Kimmel and his wife, Caroline Davis. Kimmel, who had recently executive-produced “Crazy Rich Asians,” reportedly had a net worth of around one and a half billion dollars, and had several accounts with Schwab. Cofield created an online brokerage account in Kimmel’s name, then called Schwab, claiming to be Kimmel, in order to connect the new account to a checking account. Over the phone, he provided Kimmel’s Social Security number, his mother’s maiden name, his date of birth, and home address. Three days after that, someone claiming to be Kimmel’s wife called Schwab and asked about making a wire transfer. Half an hour later, Cofield submitted a signed form authorizing such a transfer. The transfer was for eleven million dollars. It was used to purchase gold coins.

An investigator who has listened to these phone calls told me that the vocal impersonations were not sophisticated. “It was a bad old man’s voice,” he said, of Cofield’s Kimmel. “Just gravelly.” Even so, he said, the representative from Schwab was deferential. “I don’t know if they checked every single security-protocol box before transferring that money,” the investigator said. “It really seemed, like, ‘Yes, Mr. Kimmel. Yes, sir.’ ” Schwab, at the phony Kimmel’s behest, wired funds to a company called Money Metals Exchange L.L.C., in Idaho. This company was also deferential, the investigator told me: “They’re, like, ‘Folks, I’ve researched this Sidney Kimmel guy, this could be a really good client. Let’s give him the V.I.P. treatment! Let’s get him that gold!’ ” (When I asked the company’s director, on the phone, for comment, he hung up.)

Illustration By Max Guther

Cofield, still impersonating Kimmel, contacted security and logistics firms capable of transporting highly valuable assets from Idaho to Atlanta; that job was ultimately subcontracted to a man named Michael Blake. One night in June, just after 2 a.m., Blake landed on a private runway in Atlanta, during a heavy storm, with millions in gold coins in tow. He was met by two men in a Jeep Cherokee. The car was a rental, with Florida plates, which struck Blake as a little off. The driver showed him a license, and Blake loaded the gold into the car. He asked for a ride to a nearby hotel, due to the late hour and the weather, but the driver said no.

After the handoff, Cofield texted Blake with instructions to delete any photos that he had taken of the car or the driver’s license—and to send him a screenshot of his photo library and his deleted-files folder as proof. Blake, who had Googled Kimmel, thought this was an odd request to get, in the middle of the night, from a ninetysomething-year-old man. He complied, but he also kept a screenshot of the folder with the photos for himself.

Later, Cofield initiated another Schwab transfer, of eight and a half million dollars, again for the purchase of gold. But, before the transfer was complete, he cancelled the order and asked Schwab for a credit-line increase instead. At that point, a Schwab employee contacted a lawyer for Kimmel, who told Schwab that neither he nor his client had requested the transfer, or the previous one. (Kimmel’s lawyer did not respond to requests for comment. Last fall, he told the Atlanta Journal-Constitution that neither he nor Kimmel had knowledge of anything related to the theft, adding, “Mr. Kimmel was unaffected by whatever occurred.” According to the investigator, the Kimmel breach alone doubled Schwab’s average annual loss from fraud. Schwab, which reimbursed Kimmel, declined to comment on this figure.)

In the meantime, guards at Cofield’s prison found two more phones in his cell in the S.M.U. and gave them to a prison forensics unit. The timing was fortunate: Cofield had been using the TextNow app, on which messages can permanently expire, to communicate with Money Metals Exchange and with someone listed in the phone as Yum. Prosecutors believe that Yum is a bank employee who provided Cofield with a driver’s license and a utility bill that belonged to Kimmel. Federal investigators also contacted Michael Blake, who sent them his screenshot of the I.D. that the driver in the Jeep Cherokee had shown him. Investigators enlarged the screenshot and determined that the photograph on the I.D. was of Eldridge Bennett.

Cofield Was Indicted in December, 2020, and charged with aggravated identity theft, conspiracy to commit bank fraud, money laundering, and conspiracy to commit money laundering. His lawyer, a prominent Atlanta attorney named Steven Sadow, declined to comment. (Sadow currently represents Donald Trump in the ex-President’s election-interference case in Georgia; Cofield’s legal team also includes Drew Findling, who represented Trump until Trump replaced him with Sadow, in late August.) Eldridge and Eliayah Bennett were indicted on conspiracy and money-laundering charges.

Soon afterward, a resident of Randall Mill Road was working at his kitchen table when he looked out the window. “Up comes a white locksmith truck followed by maybe ten black unmarked S.U.V.s,” he said. Armed federal agents circled the house. “I’m, like, ‘This ain’t good.’ It was right out of the movies.” The agents couldn’t get the house’s large safe open; McAfee, the Assistant U.S. Attorney, became convinced that that’s where the gold was. He tried, unsuccessfully, to subpoena the man who designed the safe, in Arizona. (“He was, like, ‘You’re not the real government,’ ” McAfee told me.) A team of six safecrackers finally got it open. It was empty. The vast majority of the gold that Cofield is known to have purchased with stolen money has never been accounted for. Laundering tens of millions of dollars in gold coins is not easy—it often requires dealing with transnational organizations capable of smuggling the gold out of the country.

Agents also searched the Bennetts’ place, seizing electronic devices, a Range Rover, a firearm, three hundred thousand dollars, and six Buffalo Tribute Proof gold coins, which were found on Eliayah’s desk. Cofield entrusted his wife with much of what he stole, and text messages between the two, discovered by investigators, suggest that this strained their relationship: on several occasions, Cofield seems to have become convinced that Bennett was going to steal, in turn, from him. “I get why u mad,” Bennett wrote at one point. “Cause U think I’ll steal a house from u. Like I don’t steal money from u I had Millions in my house for months. I know u love that house probably more than me I’ll never do that to u.”

“Phones were the key to his success,” Scott McAfee said, of Cofield, “but also his downfall. For me, it’s all there.”

A Few Months after Cofield was indicted, McAfee was appointed inspector general of Georgia. He handed the case off to another U.S. Attorney, who left the post after two years and then handed the case off yet again. McAfee’s successors both declined to comment for this story. (McAfee has since become a judge in Fulton County’s Superior Court. In August, he was appointed to oversee Donald Trump’s election-interference trial.)

In March, I got a call from Eliayah Bennett, who told me that she had Cofield on the other line. She then patched him through. Calmly and firmly, with a cool Georgia drawl, he told me that he was going to take a plea on the fraud and conspiracy charges. With Bennett listening in, the only matter he seemed intent on discussing, apart from the plea, was his connection to Selena Holmes, which he insisted did not exist. “In the story, if you don’t mind, don’t put this lady’s name anywhere close to mine, because she don’t know me,” he said.

The detective who investigated Cofield and Rogers described listening to hundreds of calls that Holmes made from a county-jail phone—many of which, the detective said, were obviously with Cofield. “He’d disguise his voice like he was an old lady when they talked, the same way he disguised it as an old man when he called the banks to take over the accounts. It was crazy Madea-type stuff,” the detective added, referring to the grandmother played, in several movies, by Atlanta’s own Tyler Perry. “They’d usually try to talk in code, and she’d slip up every now and then. When she’d get really angry, she’d write e-mails saying she was gonna tell everything that happened.”

Several people I spoke to expressed a fear that Cofield could try to retaliate against anyone whom he perceives to be working against him. He has, after all, been charged with ordering the murder of one person, and he committed most of his crimes while detained in maximum-security prisons—it’s not clear what authorities can do to make things more difficult for him than they are. Earlier this year, Georgia’s attorney general, Chris Carr, announced that he and twenty-one other attorneys general were pushing Congress to pass a law allowing states to jam phone reception in correctional facilities, which is forbidden as a result of the Communications Act of 1934. Todd Clear, a criminal-justice professor at Rutgers, told me that the better approach would be to allow people in prison to have cell phones, and to closely monitor their use. This, he noted, would also make prison life more humane.

A month after I spoke with Cofield, I attended his plea hearing, at a downtown courthouse. His high-priced lawyers made small talk about their ties while he hunched between them in his jumpsuit. He has a large tattoo on his neck, which was partly visible: “Laugh now, cry later,” it reads, alongside drawings of clowns.

After he pleaded guilty, lawyers for the government laid out the agreement that they had reached with him: a hundred and fifty-one months for fraud committed in Georgia and Alabama. The judge asked Cofield to explain what he’d done.

“What did I do,” he began. He took a deep breath. Without visible emotion, he described gaining access to bank accounts belonging to Sidney Kimmel and to the doctor in Alabama, using their funds to buy gold coins, and shipping the coins to Atlanta. “I got possession of it,” he started to say, when one of his attorneys cut him off. “I think that’s enough,” the lawyer said. The judge accepted this, then shook his head. “If you would have taken the ability and knowledge you have and put it towards something that was legal and right—” he said, in Cofield’s direction.

“I would be investing my money with him,” one of the lawyers said.

Eliayah Bennett, who has not yet entered a plea in her case, sat a few rows behind Cofield in the gallery. (Her father, who declined to comment for this story, has pleaded guilty and is awaiting sentencing.) Cofield smiled at her before a U.S. marshal escorted him out of the room. Later, the detective told me that another phone had recently been found in Cofield’s cell, and that he’d been Googling “U.S. marshal uniforms.” The detective suspected that he was trying to formulate an escape—that he wanted to get back to the free world, where he hasn’t set foot since he was sixteen. Devinchio Rogers is now in Ware State Prison, in south Georgia. His lawyer told me that, in July, he was stabbed multiple times. He is currently recovering, the lawyer said.

On one of my last visits to the house on Randall Mill Road, I saw that weeds had grown in the yard and around the unfinished pool. “Someone smashed a basement window,” a neighbor told me. “It’s attracted lots of activity and gawkers.” Neighbors said that they had also seen Eliayah Bennett around, late last year, in a Mercedes. “She was taking everything that wasn’t screwed down to the ground,” one said (including the Moëts). Bennett has opened a business in a North Atlanta strip mall offering facials and ombré brows. When I asked her on the phone whether she’d been by the house, she said, “I don’t want to talk about that.” Earlier this year, the government seized the property and put it on the market for around two and a half million dollars. It went under contract quickly. The new owner is an ophthalmologist. Proceeds will go to Cofield’s victims.

When I visited, it had not yet sold. As I stood outside, a black Lamborghini pulled up and parked nearby. Two well-dressed young men got out and ventured onto the property. When they returned to the street, one of them said to me, “The guy who built this house is in prison. Have you walked up on it? It’s nice.” This man turned out to be a real music producer, with the stage name of BricksDaMane. He mentioned his work with Drake, Future, and Lil Baby. (The Lamborghini was his.) I told him that I’d spoken with the architect who designed the house, and the producer asked me for his number. He wanted to chat with him, he said. He had some ideas for how it might be finished. ♦

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beautiful-world-travel · 2 years ago

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Orange Beach

Orange Beach, Alabama, is a hidden gem on the Gulf Coast that offers visitors pristine white-sand beaches, crystal clear water, and a wide range of outdoor activities. Located just a few hours' drive from major southern cities like New Orleans and Atlanta, Orange Beach is the perfect destination for a weekend getaway or a longer vacation.

One of the main draws of Orange Beach is its stunning beaches. The white sand beaches are clean and well-maintained, and the water is warm and inviting. Visitors can sunbathe, swim, surf, paddleboard, and kayak in the Gulf of Mexico, or take a leisurely stroll along the shore to watch the sunset.

For those who want to get active, Orange Beach has plenty of outdoor activities to choose from. Visitors can take a fishing charter out into the Gulf to catch red snapper, grouper, and other local fish, or go on a dolphin watching tour to see these friendly creatures up close. Kayaking and paddleboarding are also popular activities, with several local companies offering rentals and guided tours.

If you're a nature lover, Orange Beach has several beautiful parks and nature preserves to explore. The Hugh S. Branyon Backcountry Trail offers hikers and bikers a chance to explore the local flora and fauna, with several different trails ranging from easy to difficult. The Gulf State Park has over 6,000 acres of protected land, including several miles of pristine beachfront, and offers camping, hiking, fishing, and birdwatching opportunities.

Of course, no trip to Orange Beach would be complete without sampling some of the local seafood. Gulf shrimp, oysters, and crab are all plentiful in the area, and there are several restaurants and seafood markets that specialize in these local delicacies. For a unique dining experience, visitors can also check out the many food trucks and pop-up restaurants that offer fresh, locally sourced cuisine.

When it comes to accommodations, Orange Beach has something to suit every taste and budget. There are plenty of hotels and resorts that offer amenities like pools, spas, and beachfront access, as well as rental properties like condos and beach houses. For those who prefer to camp, the Gulf State Park has several camping options, including RV sites and primitive campsites.

In conclusion, Orange Beach is a wonderful destination for anyone looking for a relaxing, fun-filled beach vacation. With its beautiful beaches, outdoor activities, delicious seafood, and wide range of accommodations, Orange Beach has something for everyone. Whether you're looking for a romantic getaway, a family vacation, or an adventure-filled trip, Orange Beach is definitely worth a visit.

#orange beach #alabama #Usa #Travel

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halfmoondaze · 3 years ago

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Belong in the Sun

this was requested by @husherstan, I really hope you enjoy it

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I had the best time tagging along with Jack in his Crème de la Crème Tour, but now that it was over, I was looking forward to being able to relax with Jack, which is why right now felt like the best time to surprise him with a getaway trip to Cabo San Lucas.

You had rented a villa overlooking the beach with a private pool. Now the only thing left to do was surprise him with the news.

You and Jack were currently in the airport and so far, Jack was under the impression you guys were flying to Atlanta, little did he know you had other plans.

You managed to convince him to stay behind while you checked your bags.

After going through TSA, you started to grow impatient and decided to break in the news to him.

"Jack"

"What is it?" he looked at you concerned.

"Remember I told you we were going back to Atlanta?"

"Yea?"

"Well, I lied, I booked us flying tickets to go to Cabo San Lucas because even though I know you enjoyed touring, I know you really wanted a break and I just wanted to surprise you because I love you," I said nonchalantly.

"You did this for me?"

"Yea of course, do you like it?"

In response to your question, he cupped your face and kissed you.

"I love it, this is the best thing someone has done for me. I truly appreciate it"

"Well, you deserve it"

You spent the rest of the time listening to music together, taking random videos of each other, and goofing around while waiting for your flight to be announced. This was going to be the first vacation you both have taken together so it was a pretty big deal.

The sun rays glazed over the windows radiating the whole room. As you turn to the other side of the bed, you were able to take a glimpse at Jack's sleeping figure next to you.

You and Jack had arrived in Cabo 2 hours ago and you barely managed to get into comfy clothes before crashing on the bed.

You stood up from the bed and walked over to the balcony. As you were in the middle of taking a video of the view for your Instagram story, you felt a pair of arms snaked around your waist.

“Hey, good morning”

“Good morning” he mumbled with his face buried in your hair.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Better than ever”

“Do we have something planned for today?”

“Oh, you have no idea”

We kicked off the day by having breakfast together in a local favorite restaurant a few minutes away from where we were staying.

After that, we went on a zip lining tour, followed by a snorkeling tour and finishing off with dinner at a local favorite small family-owned Mexican restaurant where we delighted our palettes with traditional Mexican food. We spent the whole dinner talking about the highlights of the trip, scrolling through the different pictures we took throughout the trip, and just having the most random conversation topics that never seemed to end.

We walked back to the villa hand in hand just enjoying each other’s company and admiring the view.

When we arrived back at the villa, we spent the rest of the evening lounging by the pool while making the most out of the few hours of sunlight there was left. Now the sun was setting; while you and Jack snuggled in the lounge pool chairs.

“Thanks for this, I really needed this” he admitted.

“Don’t mention it” I said smiling.

He kissed the top of your head.

“Can we stay up to see the dawn?” I asked.

“Of course, whatever you want”

#Jack Harlow #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x you #jack harlow fluff #bf!jack #jackman thomas harlow #jack x you #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow fic

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isthisthingeven0n · 4 years ago

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number eleven : s.r

a serial killer is at large in atlana, carving numbers into his victims and throwing their bodies from rooftops. yet, things seem to hit a little too close to home for your liking, and sadly you get caught up in it all (4.2k)

( this is an original idea of mine, I’ve gone based off what I know in the show but the killer is made up! pls do not steal my concept without at least asking, and i hope you enjoy :) )

“It’ll be okay, Spence,” You fight against the unsubs hold as his arm remains pressed against your neck. “just, don’t give up.”

“Please, let her go!” You can hear the crack in his voice as his gun shakes in his grip, his eyes not leaving yours as tears pool. “You don’t have to do this, there’s another choice for you.”

The unsub scoffs as you wince at he breathes into your ear. “This ends with you.”

Two Days Earlier

“Hey, Spencer,” You smile as you walk through the doors to the bullpen, two cups of coffee in hand as you place onto his desk. “how was the Doctor Who convention?”

Out of everyone in the team, you were the only one to pay attention to the small details Spencer shares. You always have done, ever since you first joined the BAU, you noticed the subtle eye rolls as he rambled on with facts and statistics so you made sure to always pay attention.

Lifting his head up, Spencer can feel a smile tugging his lips as you take a seat at your desk adjacent to his. “You would’ve loved it. They had the original designs from the Cybermen’s first appearance in 1966, ‘The Tenth Planet’ and for the time, it was high tech stuff.” He explains whilst you listen contently, oblivious to the others watching you both.

“God, they’re so into each other it hurts.” Emily sighs as Penelope nods along.

JJ walks over to the girls, catching sight of what they’re fixated on. “Why can’t they just say something? I mean, it’s been three years.” Penelope questions, but JJ simply chuckles.

“This is Spencer and Y/n we’re talking about.” JJ comments. “For one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, Spencer can be stupid sometimes.” She states, returning her focus to how you look at Spencer as he talks, but also how willing Spencer is to be close to you and laughs at your input in between his rambles.

“I bet twenty dollars he’ll say something by the end of the year.” Rossi chimes in, but Emily scoffs.

“Dream on, Rossi.” She comments, but Rossi shrugs his shoulders.

Hotch exits his office, catching a glance from the girls who quickly stand up straight. “We’ve got a new case,” He announces, passing between you and Spencer on the way.

As you all enter the board room, you sit beside Spencer as you look at the tablet in front of you whilst he sticks to the original file.

“Within the past few months in Atlanta, Georgia, at least nine women have been found dead having fallen from rooftops, all in their twenties, latest victim was Caroline Kutes, twenty-three. Last seen having gone for a run after her shift at a local diner.” Penelope explains as you scroll through the images, seeing what was left of them from the crime scene.

“It’s not some suicide pack, is it?” Morgan speaks up, but Penelope shakes her head.

“I’m glad you asked, sugar.” She turns her back as she pulls up more images, displaying the victims left forearms.

“Numbers?” You question, zooming in onto the number three having been carved into the victim's flesh. “Someone’s keeping track.”

“So we know there are nine confirmed victims of this unsub then, it’s not a suicide pack.” Hotch states. “The police have requested our insight on the case, wheels up in thirty.”

Closing the tablet you push your chair back. “You alright?” Spencer asks you as everyone begins to file out.

You force a small smile, nodding. “Yeah, just some cases are never easy.” You mutter before heading out and grabbing your things.

Arriving straight to the latest crime scene, Hotch splits the team up. “Prentiss, I want you and Morgan to go to the rooftop, see if there’s anything left by the unsub or Caroline Kutes. Reid, Y/L/N, go to the morgue to take a look at the carvings and if there’s any other sign of torture.”

With that, you climb into a car with Spencer, looking at the drop from the building to where Hotch stands. “One hell of a fall.” You whistle as the driver pulls away, Spencer not missing your comment or how you’ve been wiping your hands over your pants since you arrived.

Standing in the morgue, Spencer took the lead as you stood back whilst bodies were examined. “There isn’t any sign of sexual assault on any of the women, but there are bruises across the neck and the carvings on the arm.” The diener explains. “From the fall she suffered several broken bones, a collapsed lung and a crack to her skull along with internal bleeding.”

“Are you saying she was alive when she hit the ground?” You speak up, stepping closer to see how they’ve managed to clean up the victims face, what remains from the large gash in her head.

“Yes, but only for a minute. She chocked to death on her own blood.” The diener states and you can’t help but feel a shiver through your spine.

“It’s most likely the unsub approached these women, if Caroline was out for a run, he might’ve asked her for directions or grabbed her. If she was grabbed, it would explain the bruising on the neck in an attempt to cut the circulation off to the brain, rendering her unconscious.” Spencer suggests, looking over to you as you remain too quiet for his liking. “You in there?”

Snapping out from your thoughts, you nod. “So the unsub approaches these women, tries to strangle them and then takes them to a rooftop. He isn’t sexually assaulting these women, but why throw them off a roof?”

“If he’s trying to pose it as suicide, it’s unusual for women to throw herself off a roof, it’s too dramatic. If a woman were to commit suicide, she’d overdose or drown herself. A subtle way to go.” Spencer explains as you nod along. “It’s almost as if he’s apologetic. He wants them to suffer, but can’t inflict the pain besides carving a number into their forearm.” Spencer looks over the number on Caroline’s arm. “You can see in some area’s he didn’t go deep enough with the knife, he’s dug in multiple times to carve out enough skin to make it bleed.”

“Maybe he’s a narcissist? Keeping track of his victims, making sure no one else can take the limelight for these girls.” You state. “I mean, he knows he isn’t going to get caught by the girls. Based on Caroline, she could barely move let alone tell anyone who did this.”

“I’ve seen countless bodies from suicide by jumping from buildings. It’s a rarity if you survived such a fall like this.” The diener tells you. “Clearly they knew what they were doing.”

“Contrary to popular belief, when the body falls from a height their head does not splatter onto the ground. Their bones will break and splay out, but if you were to fall from say a 48 feet building you’re most likely to live with a 50% chance of surviving.” Spencer explains, and you nod along.

“But our unsub picks tall buildings. Office blocks, malls, parking lots.” You tell Spencer who hums. “He knows they’re not going to survive the fall.”

“Yes, but statistically,” Spencer begins, but your phone begins to ring cutting him off.

“Sorry, Spence.” You tell him with an apologetic smile before moving out from the morgue, taking the phone call. “Yeah?”

“Ah, my sweet angel. Have you found Cupid’s arrow yet?” Penelope chuckles, causing you to roll your eyes. “How’s the case going? No one’s called to update me on the gruesome details.”

You sigh quietly. “Honestly, Pen, you’re lucky.” You tell her. “And what’d you mean by Cupid’s arrow?”

Penelope groans loudly through the phone, and you can hear her head hitting the keyboard before she apologises to it. “Y/n, how are you so pretty yet oblivious to the attraction of one Spencer Reid?”

“I, what?” You stumble over your words as you look over your shoulder to see Spencer staring back at you with a small smile on his lips as he waves to you. “I, he, Spencer? No,” You scoff, trying to think about anything else to reduce the spike in your heart rate.

“I’m no profiler, but I know things,” Penelope states.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Pen. Sorry to disappoint you, but there is no way he could ever like-”

“Y/n?” Spencer calls out, now standing in the doorway in front of you. “Hotch wants us to meet him, has a potential lead.”

“Sorry P, I gotta go.” You tell Penelope before she has the chance to say anything else and hang up the phone.

Walking alongside Spencer, you can’t help but notice how close he is to you. For someone who is a bit of a germaphobe, he’ll always sit with you before anyone else. During a flight last month with bad turbulence, he held your hand in his as you began to fall asleep, resting your head on his shoulder. You woke up concerned he’d mind, but Spencer just smiled and offered his shoulder any time.

“So, what’s the lead?” You ask as you walk into the police precinct, finding the rest of your team in a small room as boards with pictures have already been set up.

“I’ve checked with Garcia about the possibility that whoever is doing this must have some form of access to each of these buildings. There has to be something tying them together,” Prentiss begins.

“Like a cleaning company, or security?” JJ suggests.

Emily nods before grabbing a file and reading directly from it. “SecureO is a security company based all over Atlanta. They have hundreds of security guards working at various office blocks, department stores, parking lots. You name it, they’ve got people there.”

“And our unsub works for them?” You question, looking at the file to see the hundreds of names. “How are we supposed to find him?”

Hotch reaches out to call Garcia. “And here I thought you forgot about me.” Penelope states through the line, and Morgan smiles to himself.

“Garcia, can you take a look at the employee records for SecureO and crosscheck to see if any of them have criminal records.” Hotch asks as you listen intently to Penelope typing away.

“Okay, fifty-seven members of staff have criminal records.” Penelope states.

“How about any with troubled pasts? Maybe this guy is using these women as a form of release. He’s not sexually assaulting them, so it’s less likely to be about an ex, maybe it’s more personal.” You suggest, and Spencer scans through the file once again before looking back at the victims on the board.

“You, my pretty might be onto something,” Garcia chirps. “right, there are twelve members of staff who grew up in the foster system. I’m sending their details over to you right as we speak.”

“Wait, Penelope,” Spencer calls out and Hotch raises his head. “how many of those twelve lost family? Basing on their age and strength, he must be at least in his late twenties or early thirties. Try looking up any accidents in the state in the late eighties to early nineties.”

“Thinking he might have never left the state?” Morgan questions, his arms crossed over his chest.

Clearing his throat, Spencer stands taller beside you as you glance up at him with a reassuring smile. “Looking at all these women, they’re all young and pretty. Anyone who grew up in the system is less likely to leave the place they’re comfortable in. If our unsub grew up in Georgia, he would’ve stayed here and have gotten a job at eighteen. SecureO has been around for twelve years, and five of these employees have been around since it began.”

“Okay, I’ll send across anything once I’ve found it.” Penelope speaks up and hangs up the phone.

“Good work, Reid. Let’s go deliver the profile.” Hotch nods as he leads the way out of the room, Rossi patting Spencer’s shoulder as he departs.

“Not too shabby, Doctor.” You nudge Spencer playfully and he softly chuckles as you walk out.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Y/n.” He mutters under his breath as you walk out of earshot.

Entering the station the next morning, you looked around as solemn expressions greeted you.

“What’s happened?” You ask, taking a seat beside Spencer who notions to JJ.

“Another victim was found in the early hours of this morning. Amelie Hartnell, twenty, was discovered on top of a dumpster in a back alley below a seven-story abandoned office building.” JJ passes over the file to you as you flick through the images whilst you hold your breath.

“She was only twenty,” You mutter to yourself, unaware of Spencer eyeing you carefully. “there’s something about the carving on her, it isn’t as deep. You can see it’s a lot shallower than the others.” You explain.

“He was in a rush this time.” Morgan states. “But if it was an abandoned building, who was going to see him?”

“I’m not sure,” Hotch mutters. “call Garcia, see if she’s found anything yet about those five employees.”

“On it. Baby girl,” Morgan comments before exiting the room.

“You seem tired, Y/n.” Rossi speaks up, and you lift your head up to see the concern in his eyes. “Is something bothering you?”

Shaking your head, you dismiss the matter as the team look over at you. “I’m fine, just thinking about a few things. Didn’t get much sleep last night.” You tell him, but Spencer can tell there’s something else underlying you’re not saying. “Excuse me, I just need some air.” You mutter before exiting the precinct.

Watching you walk away, Spencer sighs. “Well, go follow her,” Rossi motions to Spencer who quickly gets up and exits the room. “these kids, I swear.” He mutters to himself once Spencer is out of sight.

As you walk out, you take a deep breath, clearing your thoughts. “Y/n,” Spencer calls out and you turn around, forcing a smile. “something’s clearly bothering you.” He states as you move away to sit on a bench whilst Spencer hovers beside you.

“When I was growing up, I had a friend, Sylvia,” You start, and Spencer watches as you brush your hands over your pants once more. “she moved to Savannah and we just grew apart, but I’ll never forget her brother, Killian.”

Spencer sits down beside you, your leg touching his as he reaches out and takes your hand. “Y/n, what was it about Killian?” He questions quietly.

“He was always there, just watching us.” You mumble, remembering those bright blue eyes always in the background, never leaving you or Sylvia. “But, their parents, they died in a car crash when Sylvia was thirteen, Killian was fourteen.” You begin to explain as you exhale a shaky breath.

Squeezing Spencer’s hand, he shushes you. “It’s okay, just, take it one memory at a time.” He reassures you as your eyes remain tightly shut.

“From what I know, Sylvia couldn’t take it, losing her parents,” You swallow the lump in your throat as you open your eyes, focusing on Spencer’s. “she killed herself, by jumping off of the roof of a mall.”

“Just like the first victim.” Spencer mutters as he quickly stands up. “We gotta tell Hotch.”

“Why didn’t you mention this sooner, Y/n?” Hotch stressed as he frowns at you, but Spencer remains by your side as you keep your focus on the team, eyeing the photos behind Emily.

“I suppressed a lot of memories from when I was growing up, I forgot all about Killian and Sylvia, but seeing these photos it just made me think back to it all.” You explain, looking around at all of your team. “I’m sorry for holding back.” You apologise, and JJ smiles as she walks over, hugging you lightly.

“Garcia, can you look up Killian and Sylvia Atwork?” You speak up into the phone and Penelope begins to type rapidly before pausing.

“Oh my god,” She mutters. “Killian has been working at SecureO for ten years. He was employed when he turned eighteen and is in charge of the security footage for various locations.”

Hotch rises to his feet. “We have to inform the police department and the news outlets, JJ, can you sort a press conference?”

“I’m on it.” JJ states as she begins to call her contacts, taking the call in another room.

“Y/n, we might’ve just had a break in the case because of you, thank you.” Hotch comments and Rossi gives you a subtle thumbs up. “Garcia, I need you to look at any other buildings that SecureO are in charge of the security systems, see if our unsub is heading to any of these next. If we’re lucky, we’ve got enough time to stop him killing again.”

“Will do, Sir.” Penelope calls out from the phone.

“You think we’ll get him in time?” You speak up, fiddling with the hem of your cardigan.

“Hopefully.” Hotch sighs and JJ walks back in.

“Ready when you are, Hotch.”

* The plan was simple, and it should’ve been effective. All of you were teamed off into pairs. Prentiss and Morgan, JJ and Rossi, Hotch and the chief of police whilst you went with Reid.

“I’m proud of you, Y/n.” Spencer mutters as you sit beside him in the car on route to the office block about ten minutes west of the station. “Without you, we might not have gotten to this point.”

Spencer can’t help but feel warm inside as you smile up at him. “You think so?”

“I know for a fact.” He states as his hand reaches out to yours as he pulls up to the building. “Just keep an eye out, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Again.” You add as you close the car door, securing your vest on as the pair of you begin to head up to the roof of the building, you leading the way.

“Any sign, Y//L/N?” Hotch asks through your earpiece.

Looking around, you keep your gun extended in front of you as you quietly open the door to the roof. “Negative.” You state, turning the corner as you continue to search the place whilst Spencer is still coming up the stairs.

“Reid, my dead grandmother could’ve gotten up those stairs faster than you.” You joke playfully as he comes into sight, the sun beginning to set behind you illuminating his hazel eyes as they widen.

“Y/n!” Spencer yells, but you’re too slow to react as an arm is tightly holding your neck whilst a knife is being pressed against your back beneath the vest.

“Long time no see, huh, Y/n?” Killian mutters into your ear as he begins to drag you back as you sight against him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, this can end one of two ways, I prefer to keep this clean.”

“We need back up and medics at 1238 Meadow Lane, I repeat, we need backup. Killian is here, he, he has Y/n.” Saying that through the comms immediately causes his heart to sink as tears fill your eyes.

“We’re coming now,” Hotch announces, and you can hear the sound of sirens across the city as Killian drags you toward the edge of the roof with you in front of him.

“Spence,” You focus on Spencer’s face as his gun remains out, directed at Killian’s head. “what are the statistics of surviving this?” You ask him as a tear falls down your cheek.

“Y/n,” Spencer starts, but you shake your head as you fight against Killian, taking shallow breaths as he continues to apply pressure to your windpipe.

“Please,” You breathe out as Killian chuckles against you. “I need to know.”

The truth of the matter is you know your odds of making it out alive are slim to none, but you wanted to hear Spencer ramble one last time.

“From a building like this, a ten-story drop your odds aren’t great, in fact, falls from ten-story buildings have a 90% chance of death.” He explains, his gun now shaking in his hand as he pictures you on the ground below, bleeding out. “Those, those who survive can be paralysed if they land on their backs, permanent brain damage from skull fractures or,” Spencer stops himself as Killian focuses on him.

“Do finish Doctor Reid, I’m enjoying this.” Killian states, and you shudder at the fact he’s finding this entertaining.

“In cases like Sylvia, she survived but was left to bleed out.” Spencer finishes, and your eyes widen. “You see, Sylvia wasn’t suicidal like we thought. She was just in the wrong place, wasn’t she, Killian?” Spencer steps closer, but you wince as you can feel the knife starting to pierce your skin.

“No, Sylvia killed herself. I, I saw it.” Killian yells, tightening his grip around your neck as your hands lie limply by your sides. “I would never hurt her.”

“Not intentionally,” Spencer comments. “you were playing, and you knocked her, didn’t you?”

Killian shakes his head. “No! She jumped!” You can feel his heart beating against you. “She jumped and never said goodbye, she left me all alone.” He cries out.

“Killian, I’m sorry.” You manage to say. “It wasn’t your, your fault.”

“She left me here.” He spits at you. “Everyone else moved on, but I was left with the guilt.”

“There’s always another way, Killian.” You speak softly, focusing on Spencer. “But if this is it,” You start, but Spencer shakes his head. “Spencer, I’m so sorry.” You let your tears fall freely down your cheeks as Spencer steps closer.

“Y/n, don’t do this.” Spencer tells you.

“I love you Spence, but please, please be strong for me.” You can feel yourself beginning to slip out of consciousness as Killian continues to apply more pressure around your neck.

“There’s another way out, Killian. I promise you, just let Y/n go.” Spencer is yelling at the top of his lungs as Killian simply laughs.

“You think there’s another option? You sure you’re a Doctor, kid?” Killian scoffs.

“It’ll be okay, Spence,” You fight against the unsubs hold as his arm remains pressed against your neck. “just, don’t give up.”

The unsub scoffs as you wince at he breathes into your ear. “This ends with you.”

Closing your eyes, you embrace the feeling as Killian falls backwards, taking you with him.

“NO!” Spencer screams, running over as Killian lets go of you at the last second.

Spencer grabs a hold of your hand, but within a split second, it slips. “Spence,” You cry out as you hang on to the ledge of the building with all your might.

The sound of Killian hitting the floor only worsens your fear as Spencer begins to pull you up. All you can hear is the sound of your heart in your ears as the sirens dull behind you whilst Spencer is yelling in front of you, yet you can’t hear any of it.

“Come on, Y/n, stay with me!” Spencer screams as another pair of hands appear by his side.

“Come on, we’ve got you.” Hotch states, pulling you up with Spencer and away from the ledge.

Immediately you fall into Spencer’s arms, your hands gripping his arms as you sob into his chest. “It’s okay, I’m not letting go.” Spencer holds you tightly as he looks up at Hotch, his expression saying more than words can.

“We need a medic!” Hotch yells as three men appear, checking over you as you remain sat with Spencer on the roof, far away from the ledge.

“You’re okay,” Spencer tells you as you go quiet, going into shock as the medics help you out from the building and into the ambulance as your team stands by.

“Oh thank god.” JJ blurts out as Spencer exits the building, enveloping him into a tight hug. “Are you alright?” She checks as she pulls away, but Spencer can’t help himself as he focuses on you in the back of the ambulance, wrapped in foil as the medics check you over.

JJ follows Spencer’s gaze and can’t help but force back her smile.

“Go on, you should be with her.” She assures him, but Spencer pauses.

“Y/n told me she loves me.” Spencer quietly tells JJ who quirks an eyebrow. “You, you knew didn’t you?”

JJ chuckles under her breath. “Spence, we all knew. But she doesn’t know you love her too, does she?”

Spencer shakes his head as he glances back over to you, seeing you being given the all-clear as you begin to rise to your feet.

Immediately, Spencer darts over to help you, his hand resting on your waist as you look up at him. “Spence, I,” You stumble over your words, watching as Killian’s body is being transported away in the body bag.

“Hey, don’t focus on that,” Spencer rests his hand on your cheek. “you’re alive, and I guess you beat the statistic.” He states, listening as you laugh lightly.

“Probably because I didn’t fall.” You add.

“But you almost did, and, and I would never have had the chance to tell you this,” Spencer tells you.

“Tell me what?” You ask, looking up at him with hesitation.

Spencer opens his mouth and after exactly three years, two months and nine days of knowing you and falling in love with you, he cannot find the right words to string together. “In the English language. there are 171,476 words. I’ve only ever needed three of them to tell you how I feel, but I can’t even do that properly.” He laughs uneasily as he focuses on you.

Lifting your hand up, you rest it on the back of his neck as you rise to your tiptoes. “Is this okay?” You whisper.

“More than okay,” Spencer responds before his lips are on yours.

You can hear Rossi cheering in the background as Hotch tries to shush them all but secretly is proud of you both. Having seen the way you gripped Spencer’s shirt when he saved you on that roof, he knew it was about time something would finally happen.

Pulling away from the kiss, you laugh lightly. “I take it the feeling is reciprocated then?” You question, and Spencer smiles.

“I’m never letting you go again.” He mumbles into you as you rest your head against his chest, hoping that promise will remain intact.

#okay so it was v long #but i really hope you enjoyed it!#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid au #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine

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stormfall1327 · 4 years ago

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Part 2 of For What It’s Worth! Still planning some revisions, but it’s at least finished! Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28964154/chapters/71075985

For What It’s Worth - Part 2

V flops over onto her back with a huff and slings her arm over her eyes. Another restless night. Reaching over to grab her phone, she lifts her arm and squints at the screen. 0010. Son of a bitch. This is the third time in the last hour she’s woken up, her mind too full of… everything. Resigning herself to the fact that she won’t be falling back to sleep any time soon, she rolls out of bed with a groan and pads barefoot over to her closet.

“Might as well see what’s keepin’ the rest of Night City awake,” she mutters, pulling on her favorite pair of jeans and an old tank. She slips on her leather boots and grabs a plaid flannel shirt from a hanger, pulling it on as she heads for the door with a sigh.

V steps out of her apartment complex and instinctively heads west toward Bradbury Street. In the distance, she hears the gentle roll of thunder above the noise of the streets. Paying no attention to where she’s headed, her mind wanders as she walks, thoughts ranging from her growing list of opened gigs to whether she remembered to eat today.

A few minutes later, she’s torn from her reverie as the first drops of rain start to fall. Glaring up at the sky and cursing under her breath, she ducks into the nearest alley and suddenly realizes where she is. She’d subconsciously made her way to Vik’s clinic. She’s immediately comforted by the green neon glow above his door. Guess he couldn’t sleep, either, she thinks with a smile.

She heads down the stairs, her mind already feeling lighter knowing she’ll be in commiserate company. Just before she reaches the gate, she spots a bloody footprint leading away from the clinic. She calls out to him as she rounds the corner, voice echoing feebly off the concrete and when she reaches the metal gate, her stomach drops into her shoes.

“Oh, FUCK. Vik!” V runs to him, heart crashing against her ribs as she takes in the scene in front of her. Fuck, is this all his?

Vik is slumped over on the operating chair, right hand pressed to his side as blood seeps between his fingers and pools on the floor. He’s coated in a thin sheen of sweat and his face is too pale, but at least he’s still breathing. She crouches down in front of him and cups her hand under his chin to lift his head.

“Hey, V,” he mumbles with a weak smile, eyes fluttering open to look at her.

“Jesus Christ, Vik! What the fuck happened to you?,” she asks, desperately trying to keep her voice from cracking. She reaches for his hand to pull it from his side, but he resists, letting out a pained grunt.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, move your hand so I can see!”

He shakes his head and chuckles, face scrunching into a grimace at the movement. “Heh. Just a scratch. Asshole sure caught me off guard, though.” He huffs out a breath. “‘Sides, I’m the doctor here.” He winks at her before dropping his head again, a fresh gush of blood pouring out over his hand.

“Yeah, a fucking doctor who was gonna, what, let ‘imself bleed out all over the goddamn floor? Why the hell didn’t you call me?! Or Misty?! Or fucking Trauma, for that matter?!” She leaps to her feet, letting out a frustrated yell, hurt and anger and fear bubbling to the surface.

“Told ya. S’not that bad. I’m — fine.”

Her optics flash in warning as she scans him. “S’not that bad,” she mocks as she rolls her eyes. “Says the man who’s blood pressure is in the fucking toilet. You may be the doctor here, but I’m not about to stand here and watch you take one for the fucking team. I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

She pushes him back against the chair a little more roughly than she truly intends to and grabs his hand again, pleading at him with her eyes. Let me help you.

“So, you wanna be my nurse, huh?” He waggles his eyebrows at her, but the gesture falls short as he finally pulls his hand away with a wince.

She laughs as she reaches over him to grab some scissors, gauze and betadine from the side table. “Dunno about a nurse, but I spent the last two years hangin’ with Atlanta’s best medics. Picked up a few tricks from ‘em that I’m sure’ll come in real handy about now. Also, sorry about your shirt.”

Before he can say anything, she grabs his lapels and yanks her hands apart, sending buttons flying before grabbing the scissors and cutting through his undershirt.

“Hey - !”

“Thought you were the doctor here? Just part of the job, right?” She gives him a wink and sets to work cleaning around the wound to get a better idea of what she’s working with. The puncture is deep, but clean and still bleeding heavily. “Hmm. Well-approximated. Clean edges. Must not have been a serrated blade. Should be easy enough to suture,” she says mostly to herself before glancing up at him. She feels her cheeks heat up when she catches him staring at her.

“Your, uh, pressure’s still shit though. Lost quite a bit of blood. Gonna at least need at least a liter or two of fluid to compensate.” She grabs the gauze and presses it to his side to try and staunch some of the bleeding, flinching when he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Huh. Guess those guys did teach you well.” He covers her hand with his and her stomach flips at the contact. “Suture and IV kits are in the drawer next to the desk, and - you should find some LR in one of the cabinets on the back wall.” She nods and pulls her hand away with a small smile. “Thanks. Hold that for me, ya? Be right back.”

She finds what she needs easily enough and begins arranging her supplies on the side table, peeling open the IV kit.

“Fifty eddies says you can’t hit it first stick.”

She gives him a look, but says nothing as she applies the tourniquet and cleans his arm with alcohol . 10 seconds later, she’s taping down a perfect 16g IV in his forearm and hooking him up to a liter of Lactated Ringers, sliding the clamp down to let it run wide open.

He huffs out a laugh. “Well, color me impressed. Now, let’s see if you can suture half as well as you started that IV,” he says with a wink.

Her face flushes at the praise. “Keep eggin’ me on like that and I’ll stitch up more than your wound, old man,” she says without bite, leveling her best glare at him as she fights back a smile. She nudges his hand aside to remove the saturated gauze and grabs the suture kit and local anesthetic from the table. Scanning vitals again, she’s pleased to see his blood pressure and heart rate improving.

She injects the anesthesia and sets to work suturing his wound, letting herself fall back on muscle memory. “So, you never did tell me what the hell happened,” she says, glancing up at him.

“Heh. Old client of mine stopped by for some late night ripper work and went psycho. Tried to get some baloperidol in him, but I guess he figured stabbin’ me was the way to go before runnin’ off.”

She pauses, taking in a deep breath and shaking her head. “Holy fuck, Vik! You’re lucky all he did was stab you once! He could have… you - you could have fucking died before I even got here!” Her voice finally cracks under the sudden onslaught of emotion and she throws her head back, blinking away the hot tears springing up in her eyes.

“Yeah, but I didn’t. And for what it’s worth, V, I’m damn glad you’re here. I owe ya one.”

She laughs through a sniffle and gets back to suturing. “Please, Vik. After all the times you’ve patched me up, this is the least I can do.” She finishes the last stitch and ties the knot, stepping back to admire her handiwork. Vik pushes himself up on his elbows and looks down, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Not bad. A little crooked, but it’ll do.” She shoves his shoulder playfully and leans down to remove his IV before walking over to wet a cloth in the sink. “Asshole. And besides, it’s a helluva lot better than you woulda done,” she calls over her shoulder. Turning back, she finds him sitting on the edge of the chair, legs dangling over the edge. She walks over and grabs his chin, gently wiping the sweat from his face. “Don’t you do that to me again, Viktor Vektor, you hear me?” Her eyes are stormy as she stares him down. He stands up gingerly and pulls her into a left-sided hug. “Huh. Now you know how I feel.”

#my writing #viktor vector/v #viktor vektor #Viktor Vector

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outdoor-makeover · 8 months ago

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Looking for one of the Best Pool Companies in Atlanta? Discover top-tier pool design and installation with Outdoor Makeover and Living Spaces. Elevate your backyard oasis. Visit our website to turn your vision into reality.

#Pool Builders Atlanta #luxury swimming pool designs #Local Pool Companies Atlanta #best pool designers

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gardenwerks · 3 years ago

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Scenes from our Flower Garden, rebounding from record-breaking heat on Sunday and Monday, June 27 and 28, 2021. It was only 96 F here in Kingston 1/4 mile from the moderating waters of Puget Sound, but Seattle hit an all-time historic high of 108 F. Our hyper-energy-efficient mini-split heat pump kept us quite comfortable until the peak heat of Monday, when the interior of the house registered 80 F. We were very fortunate, and grateful, since only about 40% of Western Washington homes have a/c.

1. Unknown clear cantelope-orange Asiatic lily serendipitously bought this spring untagged in the discount section of a local nursery, Colorita dwarf lavender Alstroemeria, Shasta daisy Real Glory, with Madison star jasmine (Trachelospermum jasminoides) peaking out from the left. More about Shasta daisies below. Shasta Real Glory, which was purchased as feathery Real Galaxy, but clearly is not, is part of the RealFlora series

2. The south side Flower Garden - this is where the husband allows me to experiment. It is small - 7′ wide by 19′ long, with the heat pump in the middle and propane tank at the top. The ground slopes evenly from top to bottom with a 10′ change in grade. The lower end is held back with a low curved block retaining wall, anchored by an angled, rusted-metal trellis tower that is home to the Madison jasmine. At the upper end, two golden upright Jantar arborvitaes screen the “service area”, and a curved tall trellis was installed to screen the heat pump from below. It is planted with Winter jasmine, and beside that, a Grevillea ‘Audrey’ is being trained up as a standard. The final flush of bloom from Superman Mauve erysimum (shrubby wallflower) shows up in the foreground. Behind them are the lovely lilies Karen North and Eurydice, which were just starting to bloom last week and were blasted by the heat, and the tall spikes of the reblooming Salvia nemerosa Caradonna.

3. Erigeron x speciosus Darkest-of-All (from Germany - Dunkeste Aller), with The Third Harmonic alstroemeria and Mediterranean sea holly (Eryngium bourgatii) behind, and a new flush of flower stalks from Geum borisii. The Erigeron is quite floppy when in bloom at 18″ high, thus the green wire cage makes a great cut flower. In fact, it was transplanted to this better site this spring. We forgive it that fault because the blooms make a great cut flower. This clump is a foot across - It readily expands, so offshoots are available in the Spring to share with friends. Some quick research today...this native American “fleabane daisy” was improved on by the German seed company Benary, and released in 1951. The species E. speciosus is called Aspen fleabane, and is native to the mountains and foothills of Western North America north of California.

4. This scene is from the Back Garden that runs along the eastern property line separated only by a split-rail fence from the Upper Meadow of our subdivision’s forest restoration project. This is the Shasta daisy named Becky, certainly one of the most vigorous forms of this very tough plant. In one season it grew from a gallon can into a clump nearly 2′ across, and was summarily evicted from the south side Flower Garden. Simply took up too much room. However, yours truly is loathe to throw any living plant away, so the clump was divided and planted along the back side of the curving band of Rudbeckia fulgida ‘Early Bird Gold’ in the “prairie” part of the back garden. It blooms well before the Rudbeckia’s main flush of bloom, so fits into it’s new role quite well. In the foreground is variegated Northern hair grass (Deschampsia caespitosa), and the first blooms from Early Bird Gold.

We can thank Luther Burbank for mixing up the gene pools of several different daisies in the 1890s to produce the excellent Leucanthemum x superbum hybrid that he named after the year-round white snowy peak of nearby Mount Shasta (California). Further breeding was undertaken by others, and today there are MANY cultivars now available based on the original “pure white daisy” template. Garden designed Troy Rhone shared the story of Shasta daisy Becky in Flowere Magazine. Becky is a “foundling” - having popped up in a neighborhood in Atlanta, Georgia in the 1970′s, by Ida Mae Gatlin, a local florist. She recognized the vigor of this plant in the Southern heat and humidity, and admired the long-sturdy-stemmed large white daisies as cut flowers. Ida Mae and her daughter Mary shared it with friends, and in the 1980′s it was “discovered” by three different plantsmen and introduced under 3 different names, including Ida Mae and Ryan’s Daisy as well as Becky. One of the plantsmen, Bill Funkhouser, joined White Flower Farm in Connecticut and brought Becky with him. From there it was widely distributed throughout the US. And, in 2003, Becky was name the US Perennial of the Year. Alas, Becky does have somewhat mixed reviews. It is touted as blooming all summer long. That has not been my experience so far. Others have noted it is not particularly attractive out of bloom - I concur! When I first grew it in Georgia, it was so vigorous during the longer Southern growing season, that new plants would form several inches above ground on the lower stems. Very awkward to cut back. However, the stems are strong, the flowers are great for cutting, they tolerate poor soils and limited moisture, and they easily grow above the top rail of the fence - blending our Back Garden in with the Meadow.

5. A bouquet of Erigeron Darkest-of-All, Becky Shasta daisy, and Mediterranean sea holly.

#shasta daisy #erigeron speciosus #leucanthemum superbum #erigeron darkest of all

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eternalrosx · 4 years ago

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Human Guardians AU

Here is a little idea i came up with not too long ago. Since i don’t really feel to rp at the moment and still feel a little under the weather, i decided to put this up here. It’s a human AU where Gan, Bessa, Pennywise, Maturin and the Guardians life as humans in the mortal world, dealing with day to day struggle in their normal lifes.

Gan and Bessa are living in a fancy looking apartement in Bangor, Maine. Gan is a successful writer(just like his self insert Stephen King) while Bessa is a very successful owner of a flowershop with multiple branches all over the US. Pennywise and Maturin life with them, they are children with Maturin being eight years of age while Pennywise is around the age of four. The former Turtle Guardian goes to a private school in close proximity of their home, same goes for Penny who is enlisted in the kindergarden which is located in the same building on the first floor.

They all agreed to forget their former lifes and as deities and gods respectively, starting anew as humans which also goes for the Guardians which now i will talk about. It`s going to be a bit longer so please bare with me:

Shardik:

The former Bear Guardian decided to take a route in politics and is part of several activists groups, he also found a liking to the democratic party and is an avid fighter for LGBT rights and same sex marriage. This was partly because Shardik was gay himself so he wanted to get a lobby for all those who share the same sentiment as him. He doesn’t remember much of his former life aside of the knowledge that he once had a good friend called Maturin which whom he had a crush on. The specifics of this however are merely a fog for Shardik.

He has a pet turtle called A´tuin. Shardik has short brown hair, a shaggy beard and prefers spaceous clothes.

Owsla:

Owsla decided, after losing his memories as Guardian, to move into the mortal world, following Gan and Bessa’s example. He became a freelance reporter and teamed up with his former Guardian mate Chuchundra. Both life in a shared flat in Toronto, Canada. Owsla is an avid fan of polo and plays it in his free time. He and Chuchundra also share a vlog in which they document their daily lifes and struggles as reporters.

Owsla is big, slim and has blond, slicked back hair and a little goatee and rather prominent front teeth. He also is lactose intolerant

Chuchundra:

Chuchundra or short Chuchu(this is only used by Owsla)is like his former Beam Buddy Owsla a freelance reporter and always on the search for a good story to write about. He loves being out in nature and enjoys camping quite a lot. Chuchundra has a slight lisp and his voice tends to get up higher in pitch when excited. He is witty, fast thinking and always on the edge, exercising daily. Another hobby of Chuchundra is cooking, mostly with cheese, but in favor of Owsla, he also adds greens to his diet.

Chuchundra is quite small and has round slightly protruding ears which earned him a lot of mean nicknames from colleagues. He always wears a bowtie.

Navius:

Navius works as lawyer in his own law firm and is quite secluded in his lifestyle. He operates a vlog on Youtube and gives advice on juristic problems for free(for people who can’t afford a lawyer normally). He is kind, hard working and always on the edge when it comes to laws being broken. His love for order and cleanness is a huge part of his personality which also goes for his home. Immaculate and specless is the best way to describe his apartement in Brooklyn, New York. Hobbies includes hunting and bungee jumping.

He appears as middle aged, rather tall individual with slightly gray hair and a small potbelly. Navius always wear glasses. He also spots a goatee. His clothes are always tight fitting and spotless. Navius is a huge fan of Gan’s novels and has all of them.

Garm:

Garm works as police officer in a small rurual town. He has a deep rooted hate against criminals and politicians, especially for those who are constantly rising their own benefits while others have to suffer. Garm is part of a humanistic organisation that helps local unfortunates with food and water. He is tall, muscular built and is really fast. His hobbies include swimming, hunting and writing(latter is just a hobby though)

He lifes alone in a small house, only accompanied by a stray dog that decided to stay with him. Occasionally he visits bars and clubs in the next bigger city or enjoys a round of gambling in the local casino, he is rather unlucky however and not really has a hand for these kind of things.

Garm has dark brown shaggy hair and an olive colored skin tone. His clothings of choice are baggy.

Garuda:

Garuda works as airforce pilot and has quite the reputation of being firm, without mercy for his enemies. The reality however is different, he cares about others a lot and protects everyone that is in need. In his rare free time, Garuda enjoys a good cup of tea and books, he likes to read a lot when able to. His intellect is sharp and witty. He has his very own gym area in his house which he also uses a lot to keep fit.

Garuda is very proud and easy to rile up when his authority is challenged. He has a deep, rich voice that has a slightly southern drawl. He has a trained build, wide shoulders and is quite tall, around 6ft3. His hair is short, black and has silver streaks in it. He has a scar on his left eye.

Jasconius:

Formerly known as the Fish Guardian, Jasconius now lifes in Atlanta, Georgia,as therapist for troubled adolecents and has her very own practice which runs very successfully. She has a really pleasant personality and is very emotional when it comes to children and animals. Jasconius has high empathy which she uses in her practice. Her reputation of being able to help even the most severe cases made her a small celebrity in her profession. She is often in talkshows and gives advice to parents.

Jasconius always has an open ear for everyone and is an avid fighter for human rights, she engages herself on a voluntary basis in youth facilities and local schools. She has adopted two children and lifes with them in a little house with a beautiful garden. Her hobbies include painting and singing, she also is a member of a gospel choir.

Jasconius is medium built and has gentle green colored eyes. She has long, dark blonde hair which she wears in a bun most of the time.

Rocinante:

Rocinante is a successful athlete and works in a fitness studio as personal trainer. He is free spirited, optimistic and loves silly jokes and riddles. The former Horse Guardian also loves to travel and has been to many places around the world. His hobby is photography. He has a large collection of old antique vases and loves to collect rare items such as stamps or coins. Being a huge casanova, Rocinante loves to flirt with every woman that comes around and had quite a few flings already.

He runs a highly successful social media account and uses fundraisers to support local causes. Rocinante owns a small estate on the outer limits of Atlanta. He once published a book which had a short lifed success however and qiuckly vanished from bestseller lists worldwide.

Rocinante is thoroughly toned and has long legs. He is quite tall as well, sporting a whooping 6ft5. He has mahagony colored hair and sports a man bun.

Camazotz:

Camazotz is a freelance artist. He has a large collection of old paintings and is a fan of Leonardo Da Vinci. Making his hobby to his profession, Camazotz has his own atelier in Houston. He also loves photography, using his pictures as inspiration. Like most artists, Camazotz has a free spirited personality and needs freedom over everything. In the first couple months of his life in the mortal world, Camazotz suffered from mild depression and had to get used to this new world first. After a while however it vanished and he found an inspiring way to remodeling his new life on Keystone Earth.

He lifes in a small apartement in close proximity of his atelier. Camazotz is lean, medium build and wears thick glasses. He has dark black, spiky hair.

Babar:

Babar is the only Guardian that has still contact to Gan and Bessa, all the others kind of developed their own lifes and decided to start fresh. He remembers his old life sometimes in his dreams but as soon he wakes up, all is forgotten. Babar is working as architect in Portland. He likes to eat and to drink, his hobbies include playing chess and gardening. Babar is member of a book club and has a library in his house. Babar sometimes visits Gan in his home, always glad to see both the former God and his wife as well his former Guardian Buddy Maturin. His character is best described as loyal and kind with a tendency towards occult theories. He visits church regulary.

He has a sturdy body, a thick neck and a belly, he appears in his late 50s with balding grayish hair.

Aslan:

Pride and boastful like his animal counterpart, Aslan is often seen in talkshows and newspapers. He has a real estate company under his thumb which has one of the highest rankings in the business. Aslan has a mansion with a pool and has often prominent visitors like stars or politicians on his estate. He likes to keep beneficial relationships for him and his company which could be used down the line if needed. While a business man through and through, Aslan is not greedy as he spends a lot of his money for funds that help the less privileged. He is currently in a relationship with a fellow real estate colleague, they share bed and table. Aslan is proud of his fortune and fame and is not above in showing everyone who is interested, how to achieve what he did.

Aslan is 5ft10,broad built, he has long, unkempt hair and a full beard. He appears in his late 40s.

Maturin:

Out of all the Guardians, Maturin did a completely turn over and stayed with Bessa and Gan as their child, effectively losing his adult self, appearing as kid around the age of eight.

It was a decision that wasn’t easy for the former Guardian, but for the sake of rekindling his relationship with his estranged brother, Maturin agreed that his personality and memories got wiped clean just as former had endured after the crumbling defeat against the Losers to start fresh. He now lifes with Gan and Bessa and Pennywise in a large apartement in Bangor, Maine. Maturin visits a private school and has good grades, he likes science and collects bugs and critters. Ever since their mutual memory wiping, Pennywise and Maturin seem to have developed a healthy relationship. They like each other and spend time playing with each other. While being a good student, Maturin has quite the mischievous streak and likes to play pranks on others.

He appears as child of approximately eight years of age, has dark brown, touseled hair and green eyes.

#the dark tower #maturin #pennywise #still not feeling like rpying on here #human au #but maybe later

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 years ago

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#1yrago America's largest sex-furniture manufacturer pays well, sources locally, and is profitable and fast-growing

I first learned about Liberator sex-furniture from the amazing sex-positive webcomic Oh Joy Sex Toy: the company makes foam wedges, half-spheres, pillows and even loungers that help couples (or more!) comfortably sustain sexual positions that might otherwise be difficult or impossible, whether due to a lack of athleticism or some kind of disability.

What I didn't know was that Liberators are made by Luvu, the largest sex-furniture manufacturer in the USA, based in suburban Atlanta. Luvu is a fast-growing, profitable business that employs its workers full time and pays them three times what it would have to pay in China. Luvu works primarily with immigrants and recent graduates from addiction-recovery programs. They have an extensive in-house training program that gets new workers up to speed on CAD software and sewing technology.

The company is committed to reducing manufacturing waste, and has launched a successful side-business that recycles offcuts of foam into bean bags and pool floats, and that business has grown so fast that it has absorbed all the waste from Luvu's own products, so the company now uses the waste of other furniture manufacturers as well.

The company sources its materials locally, and enjoys a home-town advantage with US customers: shipping bulky items from China is less practical than shipping phones or other compact items. What's more, they have a discerning customer base who recognize the quality of Luvu's products and are willing to pay a premium for that quality.

https://boingboing.net/2018/12/07/made-in-the-usa.html

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outdoor-makeover · 9 months ago

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Looking for one of the best Pool Companies in Atlanta? Discover top-tier pool design and installation with Outdoor Makeover and Living Spaces. Elevate your backyard oasis. Visit our website to turn your vision into reality.

#pool installation #pool contractors #custom pool installation #pool companies #pool designers atlanta #Local Pool Companies Atlanta #Best Pool Companies In Atlanta #luxury swimming pool designs

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tabloidtoc · 4 years ago

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In Touch, June 22

Cover: Meghan Markle destroys Duchess Kate Middleton's world -- Meghan caught planting stories about the royal family and Prince William threatens legal action

Page 1: Contents

Page 2: Who Wore It Best? Katy Perry vs. Emilia Clarke ✅ vs. Erin Doherty

Page 4: Lea Michele is the ultimate mean girl

Page 5: On-Screen Dad of the Week -- J.K. Simmons says his career plan is to play the father of every handsome blue-eyed movie-star stud named Chris after already doing so to Chris Pratt and Chris Evans, Co-Star of the Week -- Jennifer Connelly has never been more paranoid about knowing her lines in Top Gun: Maverick opposite Tom Cruise because he's always so prepared, Number of the Week -- 1682 miles Jason Momoa traveled to support local businesses by eating breakfast at a diner near his hometown in Iowa

Page 6: Crib of the Week -- Steve Harvey's new Atlanta mansion once belonged to Tyler Perry, Makeover of the Week -- Cristiano Ronaldo's longer wavy hairstyle, Winner of the Week -- Camille Schrier will be the first person to hold the Miss America title for two years after the organization postponed this year's competition, Loser of the Week -- a long list of companies will no longer work with YouTube influencer Myka Stauffer who revealed she rehomed her special needs son nearly three years after adopting him

Page 8: Up Close -- Drew Scott and Jonathan Scott riding unicycles (full page)

Page 9: Kim Kardashian sports a skincare mask while modeling the latest loungewear from SKIMS Cozy

Page 10: Demi Lovato and boyfriend Max Ehrich in a sexy shot in a pool (full page)

Page 12: Tyler Cameron taking a shirtless hike on the Hatfield-McCoy Trails (full page)

Page 13: Kate Beckinsale and her cat Clive, Robin Wright on a bike ride, Mischa Barton heads out to grab essentials in the midst of her Hydroxycut transformation

Page 14: Elizabeth Hurley models her own bikini line, Adam Sandler eating while at the beach in Malibu with family and friends

Page 15: Katy Perry performed her song Daisies during YouTube's Dear Class of 2020 virtual commencement (full page)

Page 16: Ben Affleck and Ana de Armas hit the road together for a motorcycle ride (full page)

Page 18: Lady Gaga and boyfriend Michael Polansky step out in L.A., Robert Downey Jr. on a bike ride, Lucy Hale adjusts her mask while on a hike with her dog Elvis

Page 19: Kristen Bell giving blood, Britney Spears' boyfriend Sam Asghari leaving Bristol Farms, Savannah Guthrie wearing a mask in NYC

Page 20: Cover Story -- Meghan Markle vs. Kate Middleton's feud explodes -- Meghan is accused of launching a smear campaign against Duchess Kate and now the future queen is fighting back

Page 24: Justice for Madeleine McCann -- 13 years after Madeleine was abducted on a family vacation police zero in on the possible killer

Page 26: Kim Kardashian and Kanye West living 1000 miles apart -- after 6 years of marriage Kim and Kanye give new meaning to social distancing as she's in L.A. and he's in Wyoming

Page 28: Ryan Seacrest contemplates leaving Live With Kelly and Ryan and a permanent move back to the West Coast

Page 30: Reese Witherspoon is being blasted and called greedy for reportedly raking in $6 million for narrating the documentary series Fierce Queens while Quibi employees are facing major layoffs

Page 31: Wendy Williams was recently hospitalized reportedly because of symptoms of her Graves' disease and production of her at-home version of her talk show has been suspended indefinitely but producers are worried, the COVID-19 pandemic derailed Emma Stone's plans for a huge wedding in March but that didn't stop her and fiance Dave McCary from tying the knot in a small ceremony at home a few weeks later

Page 34: The Big Interview -- Carson Kressley on judging RuPaul's Drag Race, his dream job

Page 36: Gift Guide for Father's Day -- Chris Hemsworth with his kids

Page 38: Shop Now -- brands that are donating to worthy organizations this month in celebration of PRIDE over prejudice -- Kate Hudson

Page 40: Entertainment

Page 41: Home Entertainment -- Dorinda Medley

Page 42: Animal Overload -- My cat looks like Gaten Matarazzo

Page 44: Double Take -- the cast of RuPaul’s Drag Race on Celebrity Family Feud

Page 46: Horoscope -- Gemini KJ Apa turned 23 on June 17

Page 48: Last Laughs

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fuelcut · 4 years ago

Text

Silicon Valley’s imaginary Q2 2020 earnings call

[switch to long version]

CEO, MEGA TECH CORP - Hello everyone. These aren’t normal times. We’re not going to talk about our 10Q on this call. We’re here to talk about the next 10 years. So if you’re here for DAUs, ARR or CPC, you can drop off now.

We’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the race, health and economic crises our country faces. Over the last few weeks, I’ve asked our exec team to leave their homes, their [Zoom alternative] calls and their DoorDash deliveries to join protests and explore our community through new eyes.

What we now see - more clearly than ever - is that our entire company, industry, and Valley - are built on flawed foundations. A flawed social contract.

We can no longer just focus on the magical software bits and hope someone else figures out racial equity, employment, climate and health. This is Joel Spolsky’s Law of Leaky Abstractions on the ultimate scale. The abstractions are failing - and we’re seeing bugs and unintended consequences all around us. And the more we invest to deal with one-off bugs, the more likely we are to calcify change and imprison ourselves inside a failing stack. It’s like we decided to build the world’s notification service on Ruby on Rails - or building an iPhone competitor on Windows CE. Fail Whale everywhere. Unfortunately, America’s democratic institutions are in poor condition. They are struggling to deal with inequality let alone looming environmental disaster. A polarized electorate - particularly at the national level - leads to populism and makes it hard for these institutions to execute meaningful, long-term plans.

We talk a lot about speech, misinformation, fairness of targeted ads etc. But it’s becoming clear that UX, linear algebra/training data and monetization in our products is just the tip of the spear to address polarization. We believe polarization is a product of the underlying conditions of civil rights, education, health and climate debt that affect Americans differentially based on race, wealth, neighborhood and region.

So will today’s peaceful protests for racial justice expand into tomorrow’s revolution(s) for economic freedom? If you don’t think things are bad now, think about what happens when the stimulus checks run out. Take a look at the amount of debt in the public sector, use any imagination about COVID, work out what happens to their tax base / pension returns and consider the impact on public services, public servants and their votes. MMT better be a real thing. Maybe we didn’t start these fires, but that refrain won’t save us when the flames come our way.

We’re done debating why we need to act. It’s clear America needs our help. Let’s talk about how we’re going to rise to the occasion. Our mantra will be “internalize, innovate, institutionalize”.

First, we’re going to internalize our problems. I’m here to tell you that issues of racial and economic justice are not just moral issues but they’re financial issues. Racial debt, education debt, health debt, climate debt will hit us harder and harder each year. (By the way, revolution probably won’t be great for your DCF models.) So we’re going to recognize these off-balance sheet liabilities - which amount to a few hundred billion in the US alone over the next 10 years for a company at our scale. You should assume other CEOs are thinking the same things - even if it takes them a few more quarters or years to say it.

Second, we’re going to innovate against these systemic problems - but our only shot at making progress is if we realign the entire company’s mission to address them. This is not about optics. This is not about philanthropy. This is not another bet. We have no choice but to put all our chips behind one bet - America - at least to start. It's the country that backed us in the first place, it's where most of our people are and most of our profits. The job for our existing products, platforms and cash flows will be to advance four areas: place / race, skilling / manufacturing, health / food and climate / mobility - starting in America. The board will measure me based on job creation and diversity. It should go without saying that we’re pausing dividends and buybacks for the foreseeable future. Every dollar will serve our mission. Every senior leader will need to sign up for our new mission - and those who choose to stay will receive a new, back-end loaded, 10 year vesting schedule. We want them focused on the long-term health of society - not the whims of Robinhood day traders or strengthening the moats of existing products. We will need to invent entirely new ways to operate and ship products. As Joel Spolsky said, “when you need to hire a programmer to do mostly VB programming, it’s not good enough to hire a VB programmer, because they will get completely stuck in tar every time the VB abstraction leaks”. We need engineers, designers and product managers that will look deep into the stack, confront the racial, job access, health and climate debts that our products, our companies and our communities are built on top of. This is not about CYA process to protect cash cows or throwing things over the fence to policy. We will need to innovate across technical, cultural and organizational lines. This requires deep understanding and curiosity. Systems and full-stack, not just pixels. This will bring more scrutiny to our company - not less. Change must not be the burden for only our Black employees or other subsets. Everyone must be on board - so for the next 12 months, we’re giving folks a one-time buyout if they want to leave.

Third, we can’t do any of this by ourselves. The problems are too big. Our role will be to provide enlightened risk capital (from our balance sheet or by re-vectoring operating spend) alongside R&D, product, platform leverage to help leaders and innovators pursue solutions in these areas. We will work with our peers and the public sector wherever possible - buying/R&D consortia, public-private partnerships, trusts, etc. Collaboration is the default, not the exception. But the new era and landscape demands that we explore institutional models beyond global capital/startups, labor unions, NGOs or government. We need models that can more flexibly align people and purpose, that innovate on individualized vs. socialized risk/reward - and that ultimately help build and sustain local, social capital. It’s difficult to say what these will look like - but increasingly figuring this out will be existential for our core business. Right now, it doesn’t matter if you’re designing the best cameras in Cupertino or the best ways to see their snaps in Santa Monica - we’re all just building layers of an attention stack for global capital. Our Beijing competitors have figured this out. ByteDance is already eating our lunch. They’re using the same tech inputs as us - UX, ML and large-scale systems - which are now a commodity - but with vastly lower consequences for the content they show - creating a superior operating / scaling model. They’re not internalizing social or political cost. What we need in this era is the accumulation stack - where each interaction builds social capital. This is not about global likes. This is about local respect. We’ll create competitive advantage when we build products that reach across race / economic lines to harness America’s amazing melting pot and do so in ways that build livelihoods / property rights for creators and stakeholders.

With this operating model in place, we’re committing to fundamental change in four areas:

Place & Race - Over the next 10 years, 100% of our jobs will be in diverse communities that embrace inclusive schooling, policing, housing and transit policies. (Starting tomorrow, we’re putting red lines on our maps around towns with exclusionary zoning.) This is not about privatizing cities or an HQ2-style play to extract concessions. This is about investing our risk capital and our reputation to innovate alongside government. How do we bring world-class education to neighborhoods with concentrated poverty? What is the future of digital/hybrid charter schooling? Unbundled public safety? We’re done with de facto segregation. We’ll embrace “remote-first” with physical centers of gravity as a means to this end. The Bay will become one physical node alongside several others (e.g. Atlanta, DC, LA) creating a strategic network to develop diverse talent across the country. We’re going to coordinate our investment with leading peers - since after all, this isn’t about cost or cherry-picking. It’s about broadening our country’s economic base.

Skilling & Manufacturing - We’re going to 10x the tech talent pool in 10 years - by inventing new apprenticeship models that bring women, minorities and the poor into the workforce. We’ll start with our existing contractor base, convert them to new employment models with expanded benefits and paths for upward mobility. Next, we will invent new productivity tools for all types of workers - from the front office to mobile work to call center - that brings the power of AI and programming to everyone. These will be deeply tied into new platforms for work designed from the bottom-up to build social and financial capital for individual workers and teams. Last, we’re setting a goal to manufacture most of our hardware products - from silicon all the way to systems - entirely in the US in 10 years. This will require massive investment, collaboration and innovation. It may require a revolution in robotics - but we will pursue this in a way that makes the American worker competitive - not a commodity to be automated away. If we’re successful, the dividends of our investment here will have massive spillover benefits to every other sector of manufacturing in the US - autos, etc. - including ones we have yet to dream up.

Health & Food - We’re not going to tolerate a two-class system for healthcare. As we convert our contract workforce to new employment models, we’ll innovate on the fundamental quality/cost paradigm. This may feel like a step down but it will put us (and the rest of society if we’re successful) on a fundamentally better long-term trajectory. Can we use AI to help scale the reach of community health workers? Can we help them create co-operatively owned care delivery orgs that offer new ways to share risk and support behavior change? Local, social capital is critical. Food is part of Health, and we’re going to innovate there too. Free food for employees is not going to come back post-COVID. Instead, we’ll use our food infrastructure to bootstrap cooperatively-owned cloud kitchens. We’ll provide capital to former contractors - mostly Black and Hispanic - to invest and own these. We’ll build platforms to help them sell food to employees (partly subsidized), participate in new “food for health” programs and eventually disrupt the extractive labor practices we see across food, grocery and delivery.

Climate & Mobility - Lastly, we’ll be imposing a carbon tax on all aspects of our own operations - which we’ll use to “fund” innovation in this space - with a primary focus on job creation. This is an area where we’re going to be looking far beyond our four walls from the beginning. As a first step, we’re teaming up with Elon and Gavin Newsom to buy PG&E out of bankruptcy and restructure it as a 21st century “decentralized” network of community utilities. It will accelerate the electrification of mobility - financing networked batteries for buses, cars and bikes along with charging infrastructure - and lead a massive job creation program focused on energy efficiency. It will use its rights of way to provide Gigabit ethernet + 5G to everyone - which will help people and help fund some of this. Speaking of mobility, private buses aren’t coming back after COVID. Instead, we’re teaming up with all of our peers to create a Bay-wide network of electric buses (with bundled e-bikes) that will service folks of all walks of life - including our own employee base. Oh and one more thing - we’re bringing together the world’s most advanced privacy/identity architecture and computational video/audio to bake public health infrastructure directly into the buses. For COVID and beyond. None of this is a substitute for competent, democratically accountable regional authorities. This is us investing risk capital on behalf of society - with the goal of empowering these authorities.

Open technology for global progress - While we have to prioritize America given the scale of problems, the intent is not to abandon the rest of the world or hold back it’s progress. We feel the opposite - that over the coming decades each country’s technology sectors will thrive. To get there, we will continue to invest patiently - hiring, training, partnering, investing and innovating - but with a clear north star to help each country develop local leaders in new areas. Long-term, we’ll continue to contribute open technology that others can build upon.

America should be the proverbial city on a hill for everyone - not a metaverse for the rich with the poor dying in the streets. We don’t have much time so we’re getting to work now. See you next quarter.

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