Dr. French called up his caretaker and the police on February 2nd. He had purchased all his Maine property on a recommendation from another doctor 20 years ago. It was a steal compared to today's prices and now his best destination for retirement. The place that kept him going back to run the hospital every day at his important job.

He had a vivid imagination and filled it with plans for summer parties, nothing-fancy wine and cigars by the ocean, day trips to the marina, and the newly modernized golf course that still managed to be nothing-fancy. The fresh lobster he would be putting in his mouth moments after it had taken a dip in a bowl of hot butter. Now, things are becoming fancy.

He needed to make sure everything was under control. He had four years left to go, and he wasn't about to let his grand old nest egg be jeopardized. The caretaker had become too decrepit for his job, and so he was demoted into doing whatever unnecessary small tasks he felt like taking on around the property as a reward for years of service.

The new caretaker was an ex United States Navy Seal. A man who had become too damaged from combat to be able to form close relationships with others. He would live alone in the guest house. Fully disciplined in the art of living off the land in any tundra, he would chop the wood for the big stone fireplace, hunt game year-round, grow food in the gardens, and fish a five-trap license out of Dr. French's small boat. Now the Dr. had full time access to fresh fancy lobsters.

"I hope you've found my estate sufficiently accommodating," French said over video chat.

"Yes Sir" said his henchman as he stood behind a fresh pile of chopped spruce tossed in a pile next to the guest outhouse.