Henry Gant . . . this episode: Blockchain conspiracy theory

It was the look in her eyes . . . stress. Something was very wrong . . .
wrong enough that she sought me at the cafe, and was now sitting at my table. My head rolled to one side, as it usually does when questions need answers.

"Everything OK at work, Janet?" I asked.

Her eyes wandered off, looking for the right sentence to enter back into reality.

Finally, "What do you know about Bitcoin?" she asked.

"Aww, cryptocurrency . . . blockchain . . . change the world kind of stuff." I answered.

I wasn't playing this time . . . I became deadly serious. This was going to be an iceberg from the Icelady.

"Why do you ask?" I had to say.

Her eyes reminded me of Kingman-Turquoise; they were sky blue, cut with cobalt black and highlighted by silver.
She had blonde hair with fire highlights, a slim athletic figure. It was her cobra personality that kept me at a distance.

She said, "I work for a company, we are contractors -for better words - the letter agencies . . . do you understand?"

"Yeah, of course," I answered.

She looked at me and said, "This is what I know: I have to tell someone I trust. I have to get this to the papers. If something goes wrong I need you to let the world know."

Again, I looked at her with my head askew, signifying my bewilderment.

"I correct punctuation and grammar," Janet said, her body deflating with the words.
"Over the years . . . parts of E-mails, fragments really, come to my computer and I insert the correct spelling: An apostrophe, a colon, I rearrange sentences to make sense." She went on, "I never get the entire message, or whatever it is . . . I am not supposed to know what I'm working on . . . it's compartmentalized."

I nodded, listening intently.

She pulled up her bag and threw two stacks of papers at me.
"Do you know what that is?" Janet asked.

The first began, " Bitcoin: A Peer-to-Peer Electronic Cash System"

"Yeah, this is the Bitcoin 'whitepaper' written by Satoshi Nakamoto." I said.

Janet leaned close. "No, it isn't . . . that is the bitcoin whitepaper . . . as written by me."
Janet continued, "Satoshi was supposed to mangle the English language . . . I fixed it." Janet pause a second; then added, "No one was to guess he was part of the system . . . No one in the agency snapped that a contractor was fixing the punctuation and spelling."

"I'm not following you here, Janet." I said.

"I got bits and pieces of this . . . I sent them on."
"I got more bits and pieces . . . I sent them on."
"I got more bits and pieces . . . I started putting them together."

Janet sat back . . . and looked at me. "This is nothing . . . I put together twenty years of fragments before the Bitcoin whitepaper ever appeared, and with cryptocurrencies it became clear."

I sat up shifting my head to the other side. "What's clear?!" I asked.

"They are taking over America!" said Janet, "It's a plan . . . there is a document, secret, a whitepaper, the outline, I corrected it over the years. I put it together!!"
She added, "Just fragments . . . you have to put it together . . . you have to see before it's too late." She tapped on the second pile of papers.

Then, Janet started to spew words . . . phases, parts of sentences, things which she was still working on: "World money, gold window closing . . . violent gaming . . . mass shootings, gun control . . . blockchain registration of implants, mind control . . ." She went on.

I had to stop her.

I grabbed her hands and she quit talking, she just shook.

"It started . . . over fifty years ago." Janet Stammered. "It's planned."

Janet stood up and just started walking. . . . Lost. Somewhere in her mind she was putting together the fragments of E-mails, messages, memos, all sent to her computer for grammatic correction.

She had put it together, the whitepaper for the overthrow of the American way of life:
Systematic, insidious, unrelenting.

And she had the document congealing in her mind.

I straightened my head.
I don't need to make a phone call, I know what I have to do, my job is to protect the whitepaper . . .

from people like Janet.

Que the scary music.

H. G.