The studio lights hadn’t even cooled from the last massacre when John Neely Kennedy strode back in, slower this time, almost gentle, like a preacher carrying a coffin.
He set a 912-page midnight-black binder labeled
“OBAMA FOUNDATION – CLASSIFIED FRAUD LEDGER & SEALED PERSONAL DEPRAVITY”
on the desk so softly the microphones still picked up the thud like a heartbeat.
Then he looked straight into 289 million viewers in the eye and spoke in that slow, swamp-water drawl that makes grown men wet themselves:
“Barack and Michelle, y’all still watchin’?
Tonight I’m only openin’ the money chapter.
$2.9 billion in ‘charity’ donations, gone.
Vanished into 47 Cayman shells, Dubai trusts, and a little vineyard in Tuscany nobody’s ever heard of.
Every receipt, every wire, every forged signature from your own pen, right here in this book.
Netflix deal money? Laundered.
Spotify cash? Laundered.
Speaking fees from foreign banks while you were still president? Triple-laundered.
I could read the account numbers out loud right now and crash half the world’s banking system before the commercial break.
But I won’t.
Because the money is just the warm-up act.
I’ve also got the other files, the ones locked in the fireproof safe behind me and Jesus keep between us.
Childish.
Twisted.
Things that happened behind closed doors at Sidwell Friends, in Chicago basements, on certain islands.
Stuff so dark and juvenile it would make the devil himself blush and change the subject.
I ain’t ready to open that envelope tonight.
Not yet.
I’m givin’ you one last quiet weekend to pray, to confess, to maybe disappear into whatever hole billionaires crawl into when the gators come callin’.
Come Monday, if these ledgers ain’t on the Attorney General’s desk with a full confession attached…
I’ll open the second binder.
And trust me, darlin’,
the world ain’t ready for what’s in it.”
He closed the black binder with two fingers, almost tender.
“Sleep tight, Barack.
The bayou’s patient…
but she always collects.”
Feed cut to dead silence.
Hannity didn’t speak for 42 seconds; longest pause in Fox history.
Obama’s Chicago office: phones ripped out of walls.
Kennedy’s only X post tonight: a single black-and-white photo of the sealed second binder, wax still dripping, captioned
“Monday’s comin’.”
The gators’s in the water.
And he just surfaced.
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