Forty-eight hours. You’re already wasting time.
When the sun came up, I called Patrick Hail, my lawyer. I didn’t tell him everything, just that I thought someone might be trying to blackmail me over the winnings.
He got quiet for a few seconds, then said, “They contacted me, too.”
My stomach dropped.
He said he’d received an email overnight. No name, just a demand. They wanted him to confirm the trust’s payout schedule, verify where the funds were being held. They even attached a photo of me at the original storage unit, like proof they knew.
Patrick said he deleted the message immediately and called the state lottery office to report it as a scam, but he sounded shaken. He told me to stay somewhere safe, preferably a hotel under a different name, until we could figure out who was behind it.
I thanked him, hung up, and drove straight to a cheap roadside motel near Lincoln City on the Oregon coast. Paid cash, no ID.
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