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I didn’t so much meet Ernest Condon in 2018 as become besieged by him.
Two and three phone calls a day. Texts, emails, voicemails. Then notes from the security desk that a persistent man had come looking for me. The next day, it might be an envelope with a message. And urgent — it was all so urgent.
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When I finally met him in our parking lot, he insisted we get in his Honda for a little drive. This is how it ends, possibly — he’s taking me hostage.