Jacob Deckard & Co.








Special Agent Jeff Armstrong now sat across an old red oak wooded table looking dead into the greyish hue eyes of Miles Jacob. The digital clock on the wall ticked off numbers that just seemed to blend in like crashing waves. Miles Jacob, mathematically knew it had been three hours and nineteen minutes - one two, three, four and now five seconds previously to when Special Agent Armstrong placed him into cuffs that had possibly cost him his freedom for the rest of his life. It was the second Friday in January; in fact, it was Friday the thirteenth. Friday the thirteenth and the clock on the wall read three nineteen – Miles heard Special Agent Armstrong somewhere in the back of his mind, something about three hundred and nineteen months. Somewhere in his mind, he calculated that three hundred and nineteen months was a little more than twenty-six and a half years. Special Agent Armstrong’s voice sounded something like a Charlie Brown dialogue from one of his many typical schoolhouse scene…, “blah, blah, blah or wah-wok, wah-wok, wah-wok …” the noise you always heard when Charlie Brown held a conversation with his teacher. Miles was now facing life in prison, three hundred and nineteen months was just the minimum. Sitting in the home office of the Federal Bureau of Investigations in downtown Washington, D.C., Miles’ life was about to take a tremendous turn around.