Page 110 of False Flag

She was enjoying this interview way too much and had to stifle a laugh at his ridiculous certainty that he was always the smartest person in the room.

He’d begun the interview by saying, “I’m something of an expert in this area.” How many overconfident white dudes had she heard say that phrase about something they were light years from being an expert in?

Casper Osborne was just a mansplainer with a bigger bank account. The difference between him and internet trolls was money and sycophants who shielded him from being called out on his conceit and fabrications.

It wasn’t like he was rich due to exceptional intelligence, no matter what he claimed. His wealth had been inherited, then he’d invested—cybersecurity, web services infrastructure, and several cobalt and other precious metal mines in the Democratic Republic of the Congo—making him one of the ten richest men in the world.

He thought that made him special. Extra smart. Extra important. Extra worthy. But he wasn’t even extra ordinary, let alone extraordinary, as he claimed.

An extraordinary man would use his wealth to feed people. Improve health care. Pay taxes to fund education and infrastructure.

But no. Casper Osborne was like all the others. All he wanted was more. Money. Power. Land. He even wanted to change the past to make himself more important.

His curiosity stopped at I want to know if it has gold on it.

“Quoting Nazi archaeologists isn’t a good look,” Staci said.

“But they’re the ones who’ve done the relevant work,” he replied.

“Relevant? You mean Himmler and the Ahnenerbe research institute? A group that twisted history on purpose to support Hitler’s white supremacist views?” She frowned and shook her head in disappointment. “I thought this was going to be a good-faith effort to prove Gerard’s theories, but you’re seeking to validate Himmler and Hitler. There’s a story you can find online about this. If a bar allows one Nazi to hang out, eventually, more will come, and before you know it, it’s a Nazi bar. I don’t drink with Nazis.”

“Looking at Nazi research does not make someone a Nazi,” Casper said. “Otherwise, all World War II historians would be Nazis by association.”

This was his attempt at a logical argument? What a dumbass.

“I’ll speak slowly and use small words. Historians who’ve examined and shared information found in the Ahnenerbe papers aren’t seeking to justify Himmler’s torture and murder of gay men. And the so-called research doesn’t remain in archives due to some kind of obscene scientific merit. No, the documents are preserved as proof of the horrific crimes against humanity committed by the Nazis. The holocaust was documented from every angle contemporaneously and by historians. It happened. It cannot be denied, no matter how hard you try.”

“Well, actually⁠—”

“Your pet plagiarism machine can’t rewrite history. The truth is in the ground. In archives. Libraries. And oral histories of the veterans who liberated the camps and were not prepared for what they witnessed. You’d need more than just a fire to wipe out all the world’s data. I won’t debate this with you. I will not use Nazi torture and lies as the foundational starting point for Gerard’s research design. This is nonnegotiable. Without a valid research design, you won’t have valid findings, which is the whole point of me being here.

“My contract clearly states that I have final say over the research questions and design and can refuse to implement any study that’s based in racism, antisemitism, sexism, is homophobic, transphobic, ableist, or promotes eugenics.” She gave him a wide grin. “I’m more than just a pretty face, and I understand the power of having a good attorney.”

She wondered if the camera had adequately captured his glare or if it wouldn’t translate well without his menacing physical presence.

“I think,” Gerard said, “we should stop and finish later.” He tapped a button, and the red recording light turned off.

As if there would be anything salvageable from this interview.

“Are we still doing fake fieldwork tomorrow?” she asked.

“The fieldwork will be real enough,” Gerard said.

“If shovels are involved, I’d better see a permit.”

“No shovels.”

“Fine. I need research questions and the location.”

“I’ll email you. We’ll be in the forest, here on Letora.”

“The so-called site where the dubious toxin was found?”

Osborne answered this time. “The toxin is real. So is the site.”

She rolled her eyes. “Can’t wait.”

“I pay your salary.” Osborne’s tone was sharp as he got to his feet.