Brethren of the Elite Order
The Brethren are a select group of executives and leaders in upper echelons of business and politics. Our mission is simple—to recruit pure race executives and leaders like you to assist us as we work to eliminate all impure races and religions and restore the prominence of the white race as the superior and dominant human force on the face of the earth.
Your inclusion as a general in the Brethren will ensure that you are not exposed to the threat of lawsuits or blackmail because of our exclusivity and covert requirements. We also have our own legal and financial teams that support our efforts.
Our silent crusade to restore conservative values and order is conducted under the following strict guidelines:
Keep the generals free of controversy so that they may establish conditions ripe for creating a pure society.
Arm the foot soldiers with weapons for the fight and provide logistical support.
Connect pure pastors and religious leaders with conservative politicians who will push forward the mission of the Brethren.
Avoid the use of racial slurs, swastikas, Confederate flags, KKK symbols, and other images that may be sympathetic to our cause, as our fight is more strategic.
Destroy the fake liberal Jew media by giving them misinformation or avoiding them altogether.
Females in the pure race may be helpful but must be kept in servient roles to ensure they do not become sympathetic to the plights of the enemy.
Infiltrate the enemy races by befriending them, hiring and promoting them in very limited quantities, to avoid arousing curiosity or attention to our cause.
The Brethren are growing in numbers and power. We sit in meetings and boardrooms right beside you. Join us in this important endeavor for the continued purity of our race.
The fight continues.
I went numb. The Brethren? The Elite Order? Max was recruiting for a white supremacy group. And not just any white people. He was seeking business leaders. Men with money and power. The generals.
I typed in “Brethren of the Elite Order.” Nothing popped up. I tried several other iterations of the words, but it only produced a string of event planners and caterers. I typed in “Tri-County Outfitters,” the name from the gun shop flyer. The store, located in the Atlanta suburb of Shelton, sold guns and hunting equipment. Was this place tied to Libertad’s gun-trafficking operation?
My God. I stood from my chair. I thought I was going to be sick, so I sat back down again, still staring at the manifesto. All this time, I’d been played by the likes of Jonathan Everett and Maxwell Lumpkin. Men who had power and money to do extraordinary damage in this country.
Now, it became clear why Michael was killed. He threatened to expose Jonathan’s money-laundering scheme. And he refused Max’s invitation to join a racist hate group and threatened to go to the authorities. What had I gotten myself involved in? Max was against the protesters in front of Houghton. Hell, Max was against me sitting across from him in the boardroom. Did Max kill Sam to get back at me?
What to do now? Think Ellice. Think.
This thumb drive wasn’t privileged or confidential company information. I could turn it over to the police. Should I delete the Littlejohn folder first? Detective Bradford didn’t need to know my secrets, or Vera’s. The officer could piece the breadcrumbs together the best way she could. I was just about to hit the delete key on my laptop when I thought about everything I’d been through in my life, all the things collected on this device.
I had to believe that I was more than my worst mistake. Every one of my secrets had been a painful lesson that I should have been learning from instead of running from. Until I stood up and owned them, they would continue to hold me in this impossible grip of fear.
I pulled up Vera’s mug shot again: her eyes glowering at the camera; her beautiful face etched with a stoic frown; random numbers emblazoned across her chest. She was arrested for serving justice by her own hand against a man who violated her. I had done the same thing, too. Jonathan and Max weren’t the only “bad guys.” Vera and I had our issues too. Each one of us a killer. Each of us capable of doing the unthinkable for reasons we believed were right. But were any one of us less culpable than the other? Was it Vera’s place to determine the justice for her rapist? Was Willie Jay’s life any less valuable than Sam’s or Michael’s? Were my actions any less despicable than Jonathan’s?
Still, the fact remained, in the midst of wrangling with these racists, my brother was murdered. Anger crawled up my spine like a copperhead snake seeking its next meal. How dare they try to blackmail and beat me into submission to commit a crime.