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  • Writer's pictureBren

Book blurb from Restitution

Information is money. In the business world, it’s survival. The saying “too much information is a bad thing” couldn’t be a truer statement. I sit here rem- iniscing about things I got away with in life. I was full of hate, vengeance, and revenge; I couldn’t see straight. Anger had engulfed every feeling in my being, penetrating through my bones. Everything I had was stolen from me. People I trusted turned on me, betrayed me, took from me. They would pay; I made sure of it.

I remember like it was yesterday as I watched them all beg me to stop. Their screams falling on my ears were as beautiful as birds singing on a new spring day. I remember my husband saying how he wanted to burn their house down with his family in it while he watched, helpless. My husband could never bring himself to do it... but me? Now that was a different story.

I trusted them. All of them. I taught them my life’s business practices and strategies. I trained them on how to sell it and do what I had been successful with for over 20 years. They took everything from me. I turned numb, cold, and uncaring. I started plotting my revenge. Plans were detailed and very methodical, and I would execute them to the fullest extent and marvel in their screams. My family and the authorities would never link it to me. Years had passed before the first victim was taken. The first of many.

Koplan sat bound in a heavy chair with arms. He wasn’t going anywhere. As his girls lay sleeping in their upstairs bedrooms with enough sedation drugs put in the family drinks at dinner to keep them sleeping for hours, I started the first of many of my attacks on the people who ruined my life. His wife was a Susie homemaker and oblivious to the fact anyone was watching her. Stalking her family’s every move, memorizing their schedules and daily activities. They lived in the country, and neighbors were few and far between. I bought an old clunker car for a couple hundred bucks and put stolen tags on it, in case the car was ever found. The transaction was all done online, with cash, in the end dropped off by an unsuspecting person. I paid a courier service to deliver the cash and pick up the title. I gave them a fake name and wore a wig and glasses to hide my appearance with the courier service to deliver the cash and pick up the title. The title was then shredded and never changed over. The courier place was a two-man office, no cameras or video. So dropping off and picking up was a piece of cake. It was actually not a car, but an old pick-up truck that I bought. I needed something that I could get a four-wheeler in the back of and park it miles from the house. I spent months on the prowl in search of my prey. Just in case you were wondering how I got the truck, I told the people I bought the vehicle from I worked nights, so if they would just leave the truck in the street with keys under the mat and doors unlocked, I would pick it up one night on my way home. Glasses and disposable phones are a good thing for people trying to commit murder or any crime for that matter. I would park the truck in a field as if I was pulled off the road hunting. I always backed it in so the tag couldn’t be seen. I used my four-wheeler to get to Koplan’s house and walked the remaining distance so the four-wheeler couldn’t be heard. I stood about 5’5 inches in the best shape of my life, physically fit and trained to protect myself. Koplan was in the north field with his girls feeding the horses, and his wife was in the shower. The dinner table was set, and they never saw me slip in and drop the sedative into the homemade sweet tea on the table. It was a family staple at their dinner table, and I knew they would drink it. It was also a Thursday night, and they ate dinner late on Thursdays. The girls went to bed after dinner, as it would be close to 9:00 on a school night. It couldn’t have turned out better...

With the girls already in their rooms, falling fast into a drug induced deep slumber, Koplan and his wife sat on the couch watching a TV program, both yawning and trying to talk to each other. They both eventually fell asleep on the couch. I sneaked upstairs and administered enough sedation through a cloth over each of the two girls’ mouths to ensure they would never hear or see what was coming next. But Koplan would. He would sit in his chair and witness his whole world being taken from him.

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