There was a criminal who supposedly died in a New York jail under circumstances so theatrical they insult logic. I won’t name him—names anchor things too tightly. But let’s just call him Jeffrey.
Death like that creates administrative errors in the universe.
While on a smaller planet—mostly water, a few legal structures—I learned that unfinished narratives are often relocated, not ended. There’s an island in the Andaman Sea that doesn’t appear on most maps because it functions as a pause button.
He isn’t hiding. He’s being stored.
This isn’t a conspiracy; it’s waste management. History doesn’t like loose ends.