Felt Jr. had been arrested, taken into federal custody. Now all that was left was his daughter Mindy Felt, named after her mother, and who was too confused to be trusted. Worse yet his reputation had taken on a titanic hit with all this media coverage. His plans to run for a higher office had also been foiled. The one positive was that a campaign for the office nobody cared about was still on the cards, with Felt running for selectman of Loony, Maine. For years he had been buying up all the salt swamps on the edge of town in order to complete building “Felt nature preserve: no hunting, no dogs, no cats, no camping, no motors, no clamming, no swimming and no fires! Under constant video surveillance”. He had many allies in town hall except for the one selectman that was his enemy Steven Barnacle. A man who tried to block his every path to building a better ecosystem, and who would soon be disposed of with Felts political advertising cash.

Unfortunately, outside the town area in the salt swamps, Felt had no friends. The family living in the area wouldn’t cooperate. They had ugly many-colored traps stashed all over their yards, tons of other trash, and wouldn't properly trim their grass. The other locals, the ones living next to his island lair under construction, had been trolling him for years. The Bosswoods drove their ATVS all over the property, tearing it to pieces. Felt had once traveled down to the area to shoot a quick video of him at the edge of one property under his Maine apple trees eating apples by the beach. Out of the underbrush the Bosswood clan ran fully mooning him, then more of them speeding out naked on quad bikes as Felts' whole experience was ruined.

Felt heard the phone ring connecting him to the other side. An old crow was on the other end.

“Hello darling,” she said.

“Ah Jazzmine, always a pleasure” said Felt blushing.

“Yes, I'm sure, anyway I'm currently attending a big party in Loony and I thought t you know we really should have a sit down at the fairgrounds when that comes to town. Now dear I'll be giving fortunes to come, just see me at my tent and I'll show you all of my lands I see selling to you in your future” Jazzmine blabbered on.

“The fairgrounds?” asked Felt.

“Yes my dear, come 6 o'clock in September” said the crow in response.

Felt sat alone in his mansion in Tennessee, playing piano. After his wife had died, he had nobody that would take care of him. His children had been too spoiled, and only saw him when they wanted things. “So, Sad.” he thought, playing away at his ivory keys in D minor key. All he could do was make sure he kept doing good things for charity, sending underprivileged kids away to college, and buying up properties to keep things natural. Maybe if he did enough good, somebody would miss him when he died.

Jazzmine had invited him to the tarot card reading she did every year. Baiting him into the function by teasing fresh property on a stick for him to lap up at the event. Even if it was going to be very pricey he would have to suck it up and go. This was also the last ditch at riving social invitations, and local prestige. Perhaps if he paid way over price, the old crow would talk him up real good in her circle. She would charge a pretty penny on the land compared to any local, and was the biggest owner of property in town. In addition, his suspicion that he had been uninvited from most parties thanks to his son's actions had seemingly been confirmed. Now he was further isolated day by day. It was going to be a long way back to the top of the socialites.

The sound of a lawnmower could be heard starting outside. Felt got up quickly and headed for the back exit. He had kept the same groundskeeper on this property for years, a man of few words who shared Felt’s same family values; however, a big crisis had appeared when the man's son came out to help in maintaining the property as his father aged. In talking to the young man, Felt had figured out that he had chosen a soy filled lifestyle it was obvious he talked and acted. Felt could not be on the property at the same time as his grass was cut, until he figured out a way to dispose of both of them quietly without any more lawsuits or slander on his good name. He loudly growled in rage before opening the door to the garage, and to his car, sneaking out in order to avoid an interaction that would have completely ruined his day. The only thing positive about his wife's death was that his money was no longer going to any charities connected to these people.