299 Days: The Preparation Part 4

That someone else was often Lisa, whose time was also valuable. Naturally, over time, she began to resent her role as the only one doing house repairs. She couldn't believe that her former logging town husband was so worthless around the house. It p.i.s.sed her off. A lot.

When things broke, it led to an argument. Grant would respond by noting how many important things he had to do for work right then. Lisa would respond with something like, "Oh, I guess saving people's lives isn't as important as what you do." Things became very unpleasant in the house, which gave Grant yet another reason to be at work. It was a vicious cycle.

When Grant later looked back on the "Docker years," the one thing he was ashamed of was squandering all the skills he had in Forks and becoming a dependent, soft, fat, typical suburban American. He became what would later be known as a "sheeple" (a combination of a "sheep" ignorantly grazing without thought and "people").

Grant, who worked very hard, was a sheeple. As a sheeple, he fit in just perfectly in the Cedars subdivision where they lived. The Cedars was an upper end place. The houses weren't mansions, but they were upper end. Almost everyone who lived there was a state employee; many were a.s.sistant directors of state agencies. People were nice ... well, Grant a.s.sumed they were. He never actually got to know most of them.

One exception was the Spencer family two houses away. They were not government employees. They were friendly and their kids played with the Matson kids. They were Mormon, but didn't meet all the stereotypes about a male-dominated household that tried to convert everyone. They were just regular people who, as Mormons, did slightly "weird" things like have a year's worth of food stored. And they didn't drink. The Spencers were the only other "conservatives" Grant knew of in the neighborhood.

The rest of the people in the neighborhood were unknowns. It was weird. Grant knew which agencies his neighbors worked for but didn't know much else about them. They would wave when they drove by, but Grant didn't know their names. In fact, Halloween was the only time he would see them when he took the kids out trick or treating. By the time Halloween rolled around the next year, he had already forgotten what his neighbors looked like and what their names were. Why even learn their names? He only talked to them at Halloween, which was fine with Grant. They were mostly liberals or, as Grant called them, "libs." They all put up Democrat yard signs during election season. Putting up those yard signs was like a display of loyalty to the great and wonderful G.o.d of government.

Grant hated all the Democrat yard signs in his neighborhood, so he put up his own yard signs for Republicans and even an occasional Libertarian. Once those signs went up the first time, some people in the neighborhood stopped being (fake) polite to him. They were a little cold toward him. Most still waved, but a couple of them were downright hostile.

Grant was actually proud that these people didn't like him. They were the ones using their government jobs to ha.s.sle the little people and take everyone's money to waste on their stupid utopian dreams. They were the kind of people who had plumbers charged with crimes for installing water heaters.

Chapter 9.

The "A" Word Grant's son, Cole, was two years old now. He wasn't talking much. Grant was a little worried, but he didn't want to bring it up.

Manda, as they called Amanda, was the perkiest and most outgoing child on the planet. She had red hair and was the center of attention in any setting.

Lisa was her compet.i.tive self. A person has to be compet.i.tive to make it through medical school but she was a little too compet.i.tive sometimes. She had to master everything she set her mind to. She knew what was best because she had looked into it and her worthless husband just worked and then collapsed on the couch to watch football. "If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself," was, unfortunately, becoming her motto. Even more unfortunately, it was true, given her workaholic and overweight husband.

But, all the comforts of the suburbs made things fine. Nice house, nice cars, nice furniture, all that. They weren't in debt but they had lots of stuff.

Lisa was also concerned about Cole not talking. She took him, without telling Grant, to a pediatric specialist. "Autism."

That's what was wrong with Cole.

"Autism." What a terrifying word. It meant never talking, having to live in an inst.i.tution. Lisa cried all the way home from the doctor's office.

Grant cried when Lisa told him of the diagnosis after the appointment. Their "perfect" life wasn't so perfect now. One of their kids wasn't going to be a doctor or a lawyer. He would probably have to live in an inst.i.tution. It was devastating.

But the diagnosis explained a lot. As they would later find out, Cole had a normal IQ, but had extreme difficulty communicating. He could not understand many words and he couldn't speak them. Later, at age seven, he could speak and understand words at a two year-old level.

Amazingly, Cole could read years ahead of his age. He didn't always understand what was written, but he did pretty well. He had a photographic memory. He could recall a license plate he had seen two years earlier. He could tell extremely slight differences in detail between things. He could understand mechanics and figure out devices instantly. He was an absolute whiz on the computer. Basically, his extreme lack of verbal communication was made up for by his extreme understanding of visual things.

It was very frustrating for the little guy. Cole would be tired and want to sleep but he couldn't say it. He knew what to say but the words wouldn't form. None of the grownups could understand what he wanted. He would try to talk and they would ask, "Are you hungry? Do you need to go potty?" No, I'm tired, he would try to say. I want to go to bed now. Then he would cry. He cried a lot.

Lisa, the compet.i.tive one and the doctor, went to work learning everything about autism. She bought dozens of books on the topic. She crafted a very detailed plan to teach Cole to talk. It centered on visual things. She made index cards with words on them, like "eat." She would show a card to Cole and he would know it was time to eat. He understood that because it was written down, it wasn't words someone was saying to him. Cole soon progressed to showing Lisa or Grant the "eat" card, which meant he wanted to eat. It was like sign language, but with index cards.

Cole began using the cards less and less and began using simple words. The words were still fewer and more basic than kids his age, but he was learning. It was like he was stuck in France and everyone spoke French except him. He had to figure out how to get things done with simple words and hand motions like one would if they were surrounded by people speaking only French.

Kindergarten was the first big test. Lisa worried that the teachers wouldn't accept Cole; Grant was ready to sue them. But, the teachers in Olympia were great. They made educating Cole a top priority. The kids were also great to him; they took him under their wings. For all the bad things Grant thought about government, he had to admit that the Olympia schools were excellent. They were taking care of his little Cole and that was all that mattered.

Cole got better and better. By his later years of elementary school, he could string sentences together. It was still very hard for him to understand people he wasn't used to. People like his family had gotten used to how to talk to him, but others didn't know.

Manda took amazingly good care of her little brother. She spent a lot of her free time helping him talk and asking him questions to get him to talk. It was heartwarming. Cole came to depend on his big sister. When she was gone, Cole would ask, "Where is Sissy?" He could handle her being gone, but he was much more comfortable with her around.

Grant had a nontraditional father/son relationship with Cole.

They were very close and Grant spent all the time he could with Cole. But not being able to communicate well put a crimp in the formation of the relationship. Grant learned that hanging out with Cole meant just being in the same room with him; it didn't mean talking. Cole got more and more comfortable with Grant just being there and not trying to talk to him all the time. Once the comfort was there, then Cole would let Grant talk to him.

Even when Cole was in middle school, Grant felt like he had a young boy instead of a middle school student. Grant would notice other dads talking to their sons like Grant talked to Cole, and then realize that the other boys were three or four years old. It was very hard on Grant. He loved Cole, and Cole was doing so much better than a kid with a full case of autism, but Grant still struggled.

Cole was on a little league team. They gave him a few breaks like pitching him soft b.a.l.l.s. At first he didn't get the part about running to first base but once someone showed him, he did fine. He even hit a homerun one time and ran the bases. He would be OK. Different, but OK.

Cole's autism had a big effect on Grant. He realized that the "perfect" suburban life-a nice house, lots of stuff, vacations-wasn't so perfect. Family was what mattered. Grant felt this urge to disregard the expectations of being a "normal" suburban family and became fixated on ensuring that his family could make it through whatever bad things came their way. Grant was the man in the family, and this was what men did. He started working more reasonable hours and stopped letting his mind be occupied with how to climb the resume ladder.

Grant became a Christian. One night he just said, "G.o.d, I can't do this on my own. I need You." Right as he said that, he had the overpowering sensation that everything would ultimately be alright, but after lots of misery and sacrifice. It was more than just optimism; it was a certainty that amazing things were ahead of him. It was the path again: He couldn't see into the future, but he knew-with absolute certainty-the general direction things would go. He started to see that people put into his life would be part of the coming amazing things and that he and they had been placed in this place at this time for a reason. He didn't want people to think he was crazy so he didn't talk about it. He essentially became a secret Christian.

During this time, Grant kept thinking about how he was the man and it was his job to get his family through whatever came in the future. He thought about how dependent they were on society. They relied on many other people for things like food, fixing things, personal protection. These were all the things that he used to know how to do in Forks but had lost. It was just a little thought at this point. He didn't actually do anything to act on the little thought. But he thought it. Over and over again. It was like someone was trying to tell him something.

Chapter 10.

Other People's Money Grant's work at WAB was going great, but it was coming at price. The part he loved the most was working for WAB to help its members who were getting screwed by government. It was extremely satisfying to have people like Big Sam break down in tears of grat.i.tude. Grant thrived on that.

There was a price to it, though. Grant fought people all day, every day. Suing the government is not easy. They fight dirty. They would constantly pull tricks and underhanded stunts. They would lie and Grant would lose cases where his client was right but unwilling to lie to counter their lies. The bureaucrats on the other side would try to set Grant up. They filed a complaint against him with the Bar a.s.sociation, which had the power to take away his law license. He was completely innocent, so he won, but it was incredibly stressful. This stress began taking its toll. His blood pressure was starting to go up.

He would come home from work-the "fist fight" as he called it-and would snap at his wife and kids. He would apologize but he couldn't just go from a fight to the calm of his home in an instant.

One time, Grant was driving home after a junior government attorney he was winning against had falsely accused him of trying to physically threaten her. Even as he was nearing his house, he was still frothing mad that this lawyer would accuse him of that and that she might call the police and then he'd have to prove his innocence. Grant pulled in the driveway and hit the garage door b.u.t.ton. He knew that when he hit that b.u.t.ton he had to put all the anger and fighting away. He owed that to Lisa; it wasn't fair for him to come home and be furious for hours. But, Grant couldn't stand it. Someone had falsely accused him of a crime. Yet he had to just be calm and tell his wife he had a good day at the office. Grant stopped in the driveway. He just stopped.

Then it hit him. He was a fighter. Grant fought people all day long. Not with guns or fists, but with law and politics. But it was fighting just the same. He was learning how to fight; how to not fear his opponent, and how to channel the anger into an advantage while controlling his outward emotions. Grant didn't want to fight, but he was always found himself in a position where he had to do so to help innocent people. He realized that ever since he punched his dad in the face that he had been placed on a path of fighting and winning. He felt like these obstacles were being placed in front of him to teach him how to fight.

You are being taught to fight. You will need this fighting spirit even more for what's next.

What was that? It was like an outside thought, as if someone was talking to him, but not with words he could hear. It was... an outside thought. But it was loud and clear.

Grant was stunned. He just sat in the driveway for a while. Did that just happen? Was an outside thought talking to him? That was crazy. But there was no mistaking it. An outside thought had spoken to him.

The kids came out of the house because they heard the garage door go up but hadn't seen their dad come in. As they were coming up to him, Grant was in a trance realizing that all these fights he was forced to take on had a bigger purpose. The outside thought had said so. It was crystal clear.

Grant rebelled. He didn't want to listen to the outside thought.

He screamed at the steering wheel, "I don't want to fight! I want to be normal. Why do I have to do this?"

The windows were up so the kids didn't hear him. He snapped out of the trance and saw his two fabulous kids. They were so happy to see him; smiling and waving. How could he be in a bad mood when they were so happy to see him?

A few days later, back at the office, Grant got a call from a WAB member named Ed Oleo. His case was unusually egregious but it ill.u.s.trated what was going on in the larger sense of things.

Ed was a real estate agent who owned a small real estate agency. He was a nice guy. He caught the head of the Board of Real Estate Licensing, a corrupt man named Bart Sellarman, underdisciplining an agent for a large real estate agency. The underdisciplined realtor had stolen almost a million dollars from clients but, because he had connections, got a $1,000 fine. Ed was outraged and started talking to other real estate agents about how Sellarman was giving sweetheart deals to some realtors. Word got back to Sellarman that Ed was accusing him of corruption.

Ed had to have a real estate license to be in business, and having a real estate license meant that the Board had the power to inspect every aspect of Ed's business. Lo and behold, Ed was selected for a "random" audit by Sellarman. Ed wasn't concerned; he had always been honest so they could look at whatever they wanted.

Sellarman found that Ed had improperly allowed "unlicensed" realtors to work at this company. Ed was puzzled because all of his agents were fully licensed. It turned out that a law mandating that an agent from another state had to take the Washington real estate exam before selling real estate had been repealed about two years ago. The new law said there was a grace period, and that the out-of-state realtor could take up to one year to get his or her Washington license. Sellarman found that one of Ed's agents had only had an Oregon license for eight months but then got a Washington one. But, Ed explained, this was legal now.

"That's not my interpretation," Sellarman told Ed. Sellarman told Ed that the new law, pa.s.sed by the Legislature, did not apply until the Board wrote regulations enacting it. Yes, but the law says what it says, Ed argued, and it was pa.s.sed by the Legislature. No "interpretation" in Board regulations is necessary. Besides, Ed thought, no state agency could write mere regulations overturning a statute pa.s.sed by the Legislature.

Grant backed Ed and explained to Sellarman that the statute is the law; it doesn't take Board regulations to make a law of the State of Washington effective. This was not good enough for Sellarman. He revoked Ed's license for violating a repealed law. Then Sellarman revoked the real estate licenses of all of Ed's employees for working at an "unlicensed" real estate company. Sellarman didn't care about all these innocent people; he was vicious, vindictive, and, thanks to how much power the good people of Washington State had handed to their "public servants," had the unlimited power to do this.

Of course, the law didn't allow taking away the licenses of people based on repealed laws. But it would take a "hearing" in front of the Board of Real Estate Licensing which was presided over by Sellarman. Ed and his employees could appeal to the county court in Olympia that heard all the appeals of state agency decisions. The judges on the court were very pro-agency. Olympia was a company town and making sure government worked smoothly-that is, got its way-was the job of most people there, including the "impartial" judges. Ed and the employees could appeal to the court of appeals, and then the state Supreme Court.

Each one of these three or four steps would cost Ed about $50,000 and take nearly a year, while he had no license to be in business and couldn't make any money. So he had "due process" appeal rights, but they cost more money than anyone had, and took longer than anyone could take. This was big government's approach to Const.i.tutional rights: they still exist, but we've created a system where no one can actually use them. You have appeal rights; good luck exercising them. Now do what we say.

Ed got physically ill over this. Besides nausea and vomiting, he had a host of other ailments. The ordeal was devastating. Long- standing clients were leaving in droves. Ed's wife was furious at him for "making a big deal" out of Sellarman's corruption and thereby costing them money. She threatened divorce and made him move out for a while. He was a wreck. He had spent hundreds of thousands on his attorney, who was getting beaten repeatedly in court. The judges kept deciding that the Board had "discretion" to carry out its important regulations. After all, the Board had to have "discretion" to protect the public from all those evil companies.

Out of money and totally desperate, Ed called WAB. Grant took the case.

About this time, a new junior lawyer came to WAB to help Grant with all the cases he was getting. Eric Benson was a smart guy who was fresh out of law school. He was really devoted to the cause; even more conservative than Grant. He was a libertarian, actually. Eric shared Grant's hatred of government and actually hated it more. Eric would stay up at night thinking of ways to defeat bureaucrats. Eric was Grant on steroids.

Eric started working with Grant on Ed Oleo's case night and day. Eric had dug up some interesting information out about Sellarman and his finances. (Grant was afraid to ask how Eric got the information.) It seems that Sellarman, who earned a relatively modest state salary, had all kinds of a.s.sets like boats, a race horse, and a condo in Mexico. It was obvious Sellarman was taking bribes to let people off if they paid him. By the time Grant and Eric were done with Sellarman, the Board of Real Estate Licensing agreed to drop all the charges against Ed and his partners and settled the retaliation claims for $200,000. Sellarman was not fired, of course.

On the day he had to hand over the check for the $200,000 of tax payer money, Sellarman confidently told Grant and Eric, "So what? It's just other people's money. We've got more. Much more. See you in round two."

WAB's attempts to get the Governor's Office to fire Sellarman were laughed at. Sellarman, it was explained, was "protecting consumers." Government was not protecting people-it was terrorizing them.

No one outside of WAB seemed to care. Grant wanted to scream to them to forget all that c.r.a.p they learned in school and on the news about fair government employees protecting the public by using reasonable regulations. That might have been true forty years ago, but now government had so much more power. Ed's business was in the hands of a guy like Sellarman who could shut him down just to get some quick bribes or to get even. The courts were letting it happen. It took something unusual like finding out about Sellarman's corruption to stop it.

Ed's view of how government worked was forever shattered. "I'm a Democrat," Ed told Grant and Eric at their celebratory dinner after winning. "h.e.l.l, I even donated money to the Governor's last campaign and she's the one who just told us that Sellarman is a faithful public servant doing his job." He was stunned by all of this.

"I thought," Ed continued, "that all these agencies were here to help people and be the one fair referee in the system." Ed looked like he was now embarra.s.sed to be saying it. "Everyone I know thinks like I used to. My friends think I'm making all this up until they see the check Sellarman had to write me. They all think like I used to. How can everyone be so wrong?"

"I know, man," Grant said. "I deal with this all the time." That's all Grant could say.

"They're evil b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," Eric said. "Evil. That's the answer."

The majority of regulators were not like Sellarman but it only took a few like him to make the system corrupt. Grant started to feel like there were two universes. One universe was where normal people just went about their business not caring about what was happening, and another world where Sellarmans were out destroying people. The universes existed simultaneously. Why didn't people care? Why?

Ed, Grant, and Eric were silent for a while, trying to figure out the answer. It was beginning to ruin the celebratory mood of the dinner. Then Ed looked Grant and Eric in the eye and said something that was obviously hard for him to say.

"When are people going to stand up and fight back?" he asked.

"When are we going to put a stop to this?"

"Soon," Eric said with a smile. He looked like he would enjoy that day.

Grant thought and answered. "The problem, Ed, is that only a small percentage of the population ever gets screwed like you did. Most people just live off the system and don't care. But the number of Ed Oleos out there is growing and growing. The government is getting more bold and brazen each year. They're drunk with power. No one can really stop them. They're creating more Ed Oleos. That's how it will stop."

Grant paused. "I hope."

Chapter 11.

A Country Boy Can Survive The phone rang in the middle of the night. Grant knew that was never a good sign.

"h.e.l.lo?" He mumbled.

"Grant, it's mom." He hadn't heard her voice in several years.

Grant had not had any desire to go back to Forks for a visit, and his mom and dad never invited him. Things were always so tense on the few occasions when they were together. Larry was jealous of Grant's success and interpreted all the good things in Grant's life as a slam on Larry. And Larry hated Lisa. She was the "stuck up" one who made Grant leave the wonderful life he could have had in Forks. Grant and his parents were living totally separate lives.

"Your father died," Grant's mom said. She started crying uncontrollably. She had devoted her whole life to that piece of s.h.i.t. Now he was dead and she didn't know what to do with herself.

Grant didn't feel any emotion at all. What kind of person doesn't break down in tears when they find out their father is dead? Me, Grant thought. That's who.

Sometimes, Grant amazed himself at how unemotional he could be, especially when bad things were happening to bad people. Instead of sympathy for them, Grant would mentally shrug.

Grant was nice to his mom and told her he would be out to Forks in a few hours. Lisa had awakened. She really hated Larry for all the mean things he had done to Grant (although Grant never told her all the things). Grant didn't even think to ask her to come to Forks for the funeral. He just left.

The drive to Forks was a time of reflection. Grant realized during the drive how much he had changed since he lived there. College, marriage, law school, law jobs, kids, successes in his profession- he was a totally different person. It was hard to put into words.

As Grant got closer and closer to Forks, he came upon landmarks that reminded him of growing up. Memories came flooding back.

The place hadn't changed much. Now that he had been living in suburbia, the place seemed like more of a dump than he had remembered it. Was he getting too good for Forks? That thought scared Grant.

The sun was coming up and he could see all the signs that people lived differently in Forks. They had gardens, fishing boats, and wood piles; signs of self-sufficiency. The pickups had gun racks. It was apparent that they could get by much better in hard times than in beautiful neighborhoods like the Cedars.

Grant started ruminating again about how dependent he and his family were on society functioning flawlessly. A man needs to take care of his family; you can't do it when you're dependent on all the comforts you're living in now. He'd thought this a thousand times recently.

All the things Grant saw in Forks that early morning reminded him of a skill he'd lost. He didn't garden; Lisa would laugh at him for suggesting they put some potatoes in their immaculately landscaped yard. He hadn't fished in years. He hadn't split wood either, and probably couldn't fall a tree like he could back then. Guns. He hadn't shot in years.

Grant went to his old house. It was more of a rundown shack than he had remembered. There was a strange newer pickup in the driveway.

Grant parked his Acura, which looked absurdly out of place at the shack.

He knocked on the door and his mom answered. She was in terrible shape. Steve was there. It was great to see him, all grown up. Grant a.s.sumed the pickup was his.

The occasion didn't lend itself to idle chitchat. Grant comforted his mom; he owed her that. He got down to business, planning the funeral and making arrangements. Larry had died of a heart attack.

Grant's sister, Carol, arrived a few hours later. He had kept in touch with her, on and off over the years. She was a professor at the University of Washington teaching literature or something. She seemed to be doing well.