June 15, 1948
June 15, 1948Dean was sitting in his living room with his wife, a glass of whisky in his hand, when suddenly the peacefulness of the night was disrupted by the sound of breaking glass. A large brick with a note wrapped around it landed a few inches from his feet.
“Dean!” his wife gasped in shock.
“It’s okay. Go sit with the boys, just in case the noise woke them up.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Probably nothing. I’ll take a look outside but I’m guessing I won’t see anyone.” He waited until she had left the sitting room and then he unwrapped the brick, inwardly wincing at the blatant threat contained therein. It was one thing to receive death threats at his office, which was a fairly standard occurrence.
But this was different. This was his home. The place where his wif
