The Rust Belt Trial
The phone call came at 7:43 PM on a Tuesday. Ray McCullough was eating cold beans from a can, sitting on the edge of his mattress, watching the crack in his apartment ceiling widen by what seemed like a millimeter each day. The voice on the phone was male, calm, matter-of-fact. We have a job for you. Simple. Three days. Five thousand dollars upfront, five thousand when you're done. You in? Ray...
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