Enemies of Peace

Copyright © 2017 by Mary K. Williams

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The use of any of my works in AI learning or NFT is prohibited.

Why Brownlee Left by Paul Muldoon. Originally printed 1980 by Wake Forest University Press & Faber and Faber

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2017

Cover and Interior Design: Formatted Books

Publisher: MK Williams Publishing, LLC

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017915014

ISBN

978-1-952084-32-4 (eBook)

978-1-952084-33-1 (Paperback)

978-1-952084-34-8 (Hardcover)

Second Edition, 2024

1mkwilliamsauthor@gmail.com

1mkwilliams.com

All Persons Fictitious Disclaimer:

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental. Any names used that happen to match the name of a real person is either coincidental or intended as a compliment.

Works by M.K. Williams

Fiction

The Project Collusion Series

Nailbiters

Architects

The Feminina Series

The Infinite-Infinite

The Alpha-Nina

Other Fiction

The Games You Cannot Win

Escaping Avila Chase

Interview with a #Vanlifer

Non-Fiction

Self-Publishing for the First-Time Author

Book Marketing for the First-Time Author

How to Write Your First Novel: A Guide for Aspiring Fiction Authors

Going Wide: Self-Publishing Your Books Outside The Amazon Ecosystem

Author Your Ambition: The Complete Self-Publishing Workbook for First-Time Authors

Dedicated to Thomas F. Bissonette

CONTENTS

Foreword

Part 1 – Avarice

Part 2 – Ambition

Part 3 – Envy

Part 4 – Anger

Part 5 – Pride

About the Author

FOREWORD

I met Enemies of Peace before I met M.K. Williams. It’s my favorite novel about financial independence. It may be one of the first novels on the topic!

In January 2018, I attended my first weekend of CampFI. I’ve written about personal finance and FI for over two decades, and I love talking with small groups of people who share my interests. (If we haven’t met yet, please look me up.) I’d already been to financial conferences and a couple of Camp Mustache meetups, and I was happy to help spread the knowledge with a new meetup.

In what’s become a CampFI tradition, the check-in table held piles of donated books about financial independence. I’d already read the others, but the title of M.K.’s book caught my eye. A novel instead of yet another how-to money manual? Strangely interesting.

Much later that evening (well past my usual bedtime) I made my excuses to the other campers and headed for my room. I was still buzzing a little with first-day excitement, so I decided to relax by reading a few pages before going to sleep.

Two hours later I was buzzing with exhaustion and had to force myself to save the rest of her story for later. By Sunday I was sneaking away for a few minutes with her characters whenever CampFI took a break. I was pretty sure I knew where the plot was going, but I enjoyed the scenery during the entire ride.

No spoilers, but I never saw it coming. The karma backlash is epic.

I spoke at both weekends of that CampFI, and on the second weekend I was stoked to meet M.K. in person. Since then, I’ve caught up with all of her books (novels and non-fiction) and I tremendously enjoy nerding out with her about writing & publishing.

Enemies is the perfect introduction to financial independence for people who want a better life. Instead of yet another book pontificating about boring details of budgeting, saving, and investing, M.K. shares both sides of the stories. We’ve all dealt with consumerism and debt, but she shows how we can be tripped up by our emotions and by poor financial literacy. We appreciate that her main characters have the best of intentions, and they really want to change, but their self-inflicted slippery slope is far more vicious than an overdrawn checking account. Meanwhile their neighbors seem a little unusual and might even be hiding a surprising secret. Cue the ominous soundtrack and the screeching violins…

If you’re tired of being lectured by the financial media, take a break to read this book. Better yet, if you know someone who desperately needs to turn around their financial life, share this entertaining novel with them. When they finish it and they’re ready to learn more, you’ll be ready to help them.

And if your loved ones are skeptical about your FI ambitions, M.K. can help them understand your surprising secrets.

Doug Nordman

The Military Guide and Raising Your Money-Savvy Family

Oahu, September 2023

Five enemies of peace inhabit with us - avarice, ambition, envy, anger,

and pride; if these were to be banished, we should

infallibly enjoy perpetual peace.

- Petrarch

Give me your dreams, your diamonds, your swine

Sell me your freedom, forfeit your time

For you desire what you think is inside

But within walls and sheetrock – your hopes will never hide

Until you see through the haze and the smoke

Keep buying into me, bleed red until you’re broke

You may escape me, but you’re only ever out on bond

Beware all who desire to reside at the House on Hurley Pond

PART 1

Avarice

O.M.G! O.M.G!

The blurred and scrambled video was quickly righted and focused very closely on the face of a teenage girl with jagged bangs, acne, and braces.

O.M.G. That was so scary, she spoke into the camera. A gust of wind whipped against the speaker overpowering the sound with a thick and harsh block of noise.

That house is just- a voice off screen, panting for breath between each word.

That was just, the girl holding the camera began to try to elaborate.

Keep running! Come on! the voice off screen was insistent on continuing to run away from whatever it was that the girls had just witnessed.

Then a loud explosion, off camera. Not a pop in the distance, but a belching, roaring blast. The girl with the camera turned to capture the last of the orange and black balloon of flame as it deflated back to the source of the explosion. Both girls screamed.

O.M.G. and the running continued. The video became more jumbled until it finally cut out.

It was a scrambled image, but it was nevertheless posted online. And even though there wasn’t any substantive reporting of the explosion, it had received a record number of views and was then picked up by the local news. From there it was picked up by the national news.

chapter 1

HOT COFFEE. THE centuries old commodity that seemed to never go out of fashion, the ubiquitous and only socially acceptable addiction left in the modern world; his day revolved around that hot coffee. Loitering by the back door off of the kitchen with the pristine view of the wooden deck that had been installed the previous summer and the murky pond that seemed to glimmer in the unrelenting Florida sun, he took a slow sip from his favorite mug. It was bright white with an imperial mustache stamped in black across the front. A gift from a friend with an online Etsy shop, he had reduced his once vast but unremarkable collection of mugs down to just this one. His wife kept the matching mug with bright pi nk lips.

Sunday mornings were sacred in their household, a quiet time to relax before the errands began and the preparations for the workweek would be made. But first, coffee. Savoring the next sip, he heard his wife coming down the stairs.

It’s live! she intoned brightly as she crossed over to the kitchen counter to begin preparing breakfast.

Thank you, he said, still staring out at the view. Hope there wasn’t too much to edit.

Not at all. She pushed down two pieces of whole wheat bread into the toaster. I think it is one of your best pieces yet.

Finally turning to greet her with a smile, Really? Thanks! She still adored his slightly self-conscious mannerisms, how he questioned whether what he wrote would be good enough. She recalled that when he finished his first marathon, he quickly began to scrutinize his splits, not letting the thrill of his achievement sink in for a week.

Of course, I can feel us working up to the big announcement. She poured herself a mug of coffee and joined her husband at the glass door to look out on their beautiful property. I think the keywords you were able to drop in were excellent too.

You’re the expert with that stuff. I didn’t even know I was using any.

Oh yeah. You had ‘consumerism’, ‘western culture’, ‘revolution’, ‘action steps’, ‘ways to get involved’, and ‘how to change the world’ multiple times. In addition, you used the standard ones like ‘fire’, ‘hacking’, and a few others that are picked up easily. Those all play well with the search engines.

Hmm, cool, he raised his mug in a mock toast to his wife.

Yeah, when we look at the traffic this evening, I’ll show you some of the metrics on the dashboard. We’re getting a lot more international traffic too, which is great. She rattled off these phrases as though they were part of a second, secret language.

No one who knew them really knew what they were up to; they did their best to keep their online profile anonymous, but anyone who really wanted to could have found them with a few simple clicks. They referenced their first names and city enough times that it could be riddled out. And their online handle was eponymous, some of their associates in their web community knew their full names, address, and their motivations for bringing their message to the world. The idea of going global was a dream, a mirage, leading others like them ever forward in a vast desert of online attention. Somehow, they had managed to rise above the rest of the blog chatter and spark an idea within many of their faithful followers. They had the attention of thousands who were happy to follow their example. If they could really drive up their global audience, there was no telling just how far their words would be carried.

Bringing the message worldwide, huh? He wrapped his arm around his wife, giving her a sweet embrace as they savored that moment.

You betcha, she let her head fall easily onto his shoulder, her long, delicate hair cascading across his arm.

But will they actually follow what we’re asking them to do? The weight of his philosophical question pulled on her thoughts, forcing her to pause.

We can’t control that. If they decide to take action, great. If they reach out to us for insight and advice, amazing. But if all we ever do is what we are planning, then that has to be enough. She reached out for his hand.

He accepted. He knew that she was right; they could only hope that those who were reading their words would actually follow through on the action steps that they were outlining.

They could only dream of starting a real revolution, but he still wanted it. He could be perfectly fine just knowing that they were about to put their plan into action, but he hoped, he very naively wished, that others would follow their example. For their own prosperity, and for a realistic chance to save society.

A loud popping sound went off, catching them both by surprise.

Toast is ready! she intoned, pretending that she hadn’t just been startled by the toaster. The loud sound shouldn’t have scared her at all. But she was on edge. With the big day coming up she was feeling tense, her to-do lists had multiplied and failed to contain all that she knew had to be done.

Excellent! he finished the last of his coffee and reached for the ripe avocado that was on the counter. He began to cut into it as his wife grabbed the plates.

I think I saw a ‘FOR SALE’ sign go up next door, she threw out this information as though it were the expiration date on a carton of milk.

Huh, he barely contained his ire. Well, that didn’t take long.

Nope, she rolled her eyes and passed the salt and pepper over to her husband. He let out a sigh.

We can’t control this; we will move forward and hope that it won’t impact our plan. She patted his arm as he stood, keeping his arm still until he regained his calm. He accepted her advice and continued until the avocado was in two halves. He mashed it onto the toast and ate a peaceful breakfast with his wife. He hoped that the closing would go quickly and that the new neighbors would move in and settle down in record time. This was indeed a significant wrinkle in their plan, the one that had been years in the making. He knew that they needed this to go smoothly. He needed that house filled and a lively, attractive, young couple to live there.

chapter 2

IT WAS A Sunday much like the rest for the young and ill -f ated Lawsons. With venti Starbucks lattes in hand, they were prepared to look at a few houses, one of which they hoped would be their new home. This weekend was different, this day more important. Rather than viewing homes on HGTV, they would be squired about town. A realtor would take them to look into houses, walk on their floors, and scrutinize their superficial details. A year into their young marriage, Timothy and Cynthia Lawson were ready to move out of their cramped apartment and take on the next big step in life: owning a home.

Cynthia dressed in her nicest casual outfit to look the part of the moderately affluent wife. She modeled her style after all of the picky wives she had seen on countless hours of television programming around the house-buying process. They say that you should dress for the job that you want, not the one that you have. Well, Cynthia was mimicking that advice in her personal life; she wanted her and Timothy to be a well-off young couple that had the clear visual cues of success. Her deep, chocolatey brown hair was always perfectly coiffed; her expensive haircut usually necessitated a regimen of styling, drying, curling, and a cocktail of serums and sprays. Cynthia’s naturally olive-toned skin, an inheritance from her Southern-European ancestors, was tanned and lotioned. While her forearms were smooth and soft, her neck was starting to show the first signs of age. Those thin little lines were forming on the skin in front of the hyoid bone, threatening to make themselves visible through the bronzer that she had delicately applied earlier that morning.

Of course, she was wearing heels, even though Timothy had strongly urged her to wear comfortable shoes.

We’ll be on our feet all day looking at different houses, most of them empty so they won’t have any place for you to rest when they start to hurt, he admonished her as they left their apartment.

Cynthia waved his comment off and maintained her selected footwear. She was only five feet and two inches. In spite of her dogged confidence in her looks, she refused to be seen in public at her natural height. Even her sneakers had extra padding on the bottom of them so that she could look taller when she worked out.

Timothy shook his head as they waited for the realtor to meet them; he was just counting down the seconds until his wife first complained about a pain in her toes. Together, they had come to an unspoken agreement that they would buy a home after they were married. As the one-year anniversary date loomed closer, Timothy noticed Cynthia’s comments and unsubtle hints that it was time to make the move. After the top tier of their wedding cake was consumed and their anniversary dinner photographed and sent out to all of their closest friends and vaguest acquaintances on social media, he could no longer postpone.

Timothy asked around for a recommendation on a trusted realtor and that is why, on that particular Sunday morning, they were up bright and early with a full dossier of homes to visit.

He let his mind wander as they waited, not wanting to stir up any excitement or discontent about the process before it began. He was nervous that Cynthia would love every house, locking them in a state of indecision. He was equally worried that she might hate every house, and as he thought about that prospect, he realized that he could have the same reaction. Timothy didn’t want to let Cynthia see him get worried over that thought. He focused on not letting his white-blonde and nearly invisible eyebrows furrow and keeping the muscles in his forehead from contracting. His ivory white skin was still blanched and burned from their previous weekend on the water with his uncle who happened to own a boat. Timothy’s arms were gently folded for this reason as the burn was just starting to ease.

It would be the last sunburn he would ever experience, but he didn’t know that.

His head of curly white-blond hair was covered by a red baseball cap to prevent any further scalp burn. Cynthia was not happy that Timothy was dressed like a man about to go to a sporting event for this auspicious day. He looked like a man who could only afford to rent, she thought that they should both project that they would be able to afford a house within their stated price range. She eyed him and subtly, almost imperceptibly, shook her head. As Timothy inspected his hands for signs of the burn starting to peel, a large SUV pulled up nearby.

They were instructed to meet in the parking lot of the local grocery store. It was a location convenient to the Lawson’s current residence. This spot also happened to be the go-to meeting place for their realtor who did not lease any office space for his real-estate business.

The Lawsons were in the market for a new home, new to them, but preferably never lived in. Cynthia Lawson was adamant on this point. She wanted to work with an established development company and design their first home together. And by designing their home, she would actually be selecting from a pre-arranged list of options, each variation already likely to be in existence. Cynthia elected to gloss over that note in her mind as she daydreamed of getting her dream home. But, Timothy had insisted that they start their search by looking at homes that were currently on the market.

Timothy Lawson was looking for a nice home, one that would make his wife happy and satisfy their tastes. And by their tastes, he knew it was really hers. And by her taste, it was really just the things she had seen over and over again on television. Open floor plans, stainless steel kitchen appliances, hardwood flooring, stone pavers on the front walkway laid out in an inviting design. Mr. Lawson wasn’t opposed to living in a house that had already been owned, or perhaps that might require some work. He wanted an opportunity to try out his tool collection, which was gathering dust and sorely neglected in their off-site storage unit across town.

The apartment was small and unsophisticated according to Cynthia. For months, she had been pushing for the opportunity to seek bank pre-approval on a mortgage.

"I’m ready to start living like a real married couple, Tim! With a house and eventually children!" She had patronized him only a few times. After the many hard-won battles they had experienced while arranging their wedding, Mr. Timothy Lawson had learned to yield early to his wife’s desires rather than risk a fiery argument. She was rather like a toddler when things did not go her way, she would pout and stomp her right foot decisively. In the beginning, Timothy found that cute, now it was a tired routine.

Of course, Cynthia didn’t think that what she did was childish, she needed to convey her emotions and make her husband understand that her vision of forever included a ‘starter’ home of McMansion proportions. Shouldn’t he want to give her all of the things she desired? Shouldn’t he want to spoil her and make her the happiest woman on Earth?

Nevertheless, with their seasonal lattes in hand, they had waited patiently in the nearly empty parking lot to meet with their realtor: Handel Smoot. Handel was a bit older and had a pronounced donut of a gut that would always pull at the fabric of his button-down shirts. He had previously been in construction