Dominic answered, \u201cSoon. I need him to do something violent first.\u201d
\nI took the earpiece out and looked at the ceiling.
\nThey wanted a monster.
\nThey had no idea they were dealing with a ghost.
\n### Part 4
\nI waited until dawn to make the call.
\nAmelia was still asleep, one hand tucked under her cheek like a child. Morning light slipped through the curtains and painted soft stripes across her face. For one stupid second, I saw the woman I married.
\nThen I remembered her voice on the recording.
\nWhen do we finish it?
\nI dressed in jeans, boots, and an old Navy sweatshirt with the logo faded nearly white. In the garage, I pulled the burner phone from the black case and walked out behind the shed where the wind through the dry grass would cover my voice.
\nThe number came from memory.
\nIt rang twice.
\nA man answered, \u201cThis line is secure. Identify.\u201d
\n\u201cViper Two Actual,\u201d I said. \u201cLogan.\u201d
\nSilence.
\nThen the voice changed.
\n\u201cLogan Reed, you stubborn ghost. I thought you were dead, divorced, or raising goats in Wyoming.\u201d
\n\u201cGood morning to you too, Preston.\u201d
\nEli Preston had once been the calmest man I knew under fire and the most irritating one in peace. After the teams, he went to law school and turned into the kind of attorney rich criminals feared because he understood both paperwork and pressure points.
\nHis tone sharpened. \u201cWhy are you calling from a burner?\u201d
\n\u201cLocal law enforcement is hostile.\u201d
\n\u201cHow hostile?\u201d
\n\u201cThe sheriff is sleeping with my wife and trying to frame me so they can take my house and savings.\u201d
\nAnother silence.
\nThen Preston exhaled. \u201cThat\u2019s not a domestic problem. That\u2019s a war.\u201d
\n\u201cI know.\u201d
\n\u201cTell me everything.\u201d
\nI did.
\nThe diner. The nod. The phone call. The traffic stop. The recordings. I kept my voice even because emotion wastes oxygen when facts will do.
\nPreston listened without interrupting.
\nWhen I finished, he said, \u201cDo not confront either of them. Do not threaten anyone. Do not put your hands on that sheriff even if he begs you to.\u201d
\n\u201cI know the rules.\u201d
\n\u201cNo, brother. You know combat rules. This is court. Different battlefield. Same stakes.\u201d
\nA crow landed on the fence post and watched me with black, curious eyes.
\n\u201cI need financials,\u201d I said. \u201cDominic Vance. His relatives. Contractors. LLCs. Property. Anything that smells rotten.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019ll start now.\u201d
\n\u201cI also need you here.\u201d
\n\u201cI can be there by night.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes briefly. I had not realized how much I needed to hear that.
\n\u201cThere\u2019s more,\u201d I said. \u201cDominic mentioned roads getting dangerous for men who don\u2019t know their place. The deputy ticket felt staged.\u201d
\n\u201cThey\u2019re building probable cause history.\u201d
\n\u201cExactly.\u201d
\nPreston\u2019s voice went colder. \u201cThen he\u2019s not just trying to scare you. He\u2019s preparing a file.\u201d
\nBehind me, inside the house, a door shut.
\n\u201cI have to go.\u201d
\n\u201cLogan.\u201d
\n\u201cYeah?\u201d
\n\u201cDo not become useful to their story.\u201d
\nI looked toward the kitchen window. Amelia stood there, holding a coffee mug, watching the backyard.
\n\u201cI won\u2019t.\u201d
\nI ended the call, snapped the SIM card, and buried the pieces beneath loose soil near the shed.
\nWhen I walked inside, Amelia was at the counter. Her robe hung off one shoulder. The smell of coffee filled the kitchen, dark and bitter.
\n\u201cYou were outside early,\u201d she said.
\n\u201cCouldn\u2019t sleep.\u201d
\n\u201cThat happens a lot lately.\u201d
\n\u201cYeah.\u201d
\nShe poured coffee into a second mug and slid it toward me. Wife behavior. Normal behavior. A performance with cream and sugar.
\nI took the mug.
\nHer eyes stayed on me. \u201cYou okay?\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019ve been thinking.\u201d
\n\u201cThat sounds dangerous.\u201d
\nI gave a small, tired smile. \u201cMaybe you were right.\u201d
\nHer fingers tightened around her mug.
\n\u201cAbout what?\u201d
\n\u201cDominic. Maybe I should apologize. Clear the air.\u201d
\nFor the first time in days, she looked alive.
\n\u201cReally?\u201d
\n\u201cMaybe I need to stop making things harder.\u201d
\nShe stepped closer, touching my arm. \u201cThat would be good, Logan. For us.\u201d
\nFor us.
\nThe words tasted like rust.
\n\u201cI\u2019ll go by the station later,\u201d I said. \u201cMan to man.\u201d
\nHer smile came slowly, like sunrise over poisoned water.
\n\u201cI\u2019m proud of you,\u201d she whispered.
\nThat was the moment I understood how deep her betrayal went.
\nShe did not just want me gone.
\nShe wanted me broken first.
\nAt the sheriff\u2019s station that afternoon, the receptionist would not meet my eyes. She pointed down the hall before I said a word.
\n\u201cHe\u2019s expecting you.\u201d
\nOf course he was.
\nAmelia had already told him I was coming.
\n### Part 5
\nSheriff Dominic Vance\u2019s office smelled like stale coffee, gun oil, and old power.
\nThe room was too small for his desk, too small for his ego, too small for the walls covered in framed handshakes with men who smiled like they owed him favors. A hunting rifle hung above the filing cabinet. A county map was pinned behind his chair with red dots scattered across it like old wounds.
\nDominic sat with his boots on the desk, polishing a chrome revolver he probably thought made him look dangerous.
\nReal dangerous men rarely cared how danger looked.
\n\u201cWell,\u201d he said without standing, \u201ctrash learned to knock?\u201d
\n\u201cI didn\u2019t knock.\u201d
\nHis mouth curled.
\n\u201cNo, I guess you didn\u2019t.\u201d
\nI stepped inside and left the door open behind me. Always leave yourself an exit unless the goal is to trap someone else.
\nDominic noticed.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou scared of closed doors, Logan?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m careful around unstable men with weapons.\u201d<\/p>\n
His smile vanished for half a heartbeat. Then it returned wider.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat mouth is why people don\u2019t like you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI came to ask what it takes to end this.\u201d<\/p>\n
He set the cloth down carefully. \u201cEnd what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe stops. The public scenes. Whatever this is.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dominic leaned back. His chair creaked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou really don\u2019t get it, do you?\u201d he said. \u201cThis town runs on respect.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFear isn\u2019t respect.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is when it works.\u201d<\/p>\n
A radio crackled in the outer office. Somewhere down the hall, a deputy laughed. The sound died quickly.<\/p>\n
Dominic rose and came around the desk. He was a big man, heavy through the chest, soft through the middle, built like someone who had once been strong and never stopped telling himself he still was.<\/p>\n
He stopped close enough for me to smell cigar on his breath.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour problem,\u201d he said, \u201cis that you walk around like you don\u2019t owe anybody anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou owe me peace in my town.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour town?\u201d<\/p>\n
His eyes hardened. \u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d<\/p>\n
There it was. The crown beneath the badge.<\/p>\n
I lowered my voice. \u201cAnd Amelia?\u201d<\/p>\n
The name hit him like a match near gasoline.<\/p>\n
His smile turned slow.<\/p>\n
\u201cAmelia is tired, Logan.\u201d<\/p>\n
I said nothing.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s tired of living with a dead man. Tired of waiting for you to feel something. Tired of being married to a shadow.\u201d<\/p>\n
Every word was designed to provoke. Every word told me she had been feeding him private things, twisted versions of late-night conversations I once thought were safe.<\/p>\n
Dominic stepped closer.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe needs a man who knows how to take what he wants.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf that were true,\u201d I said, \u201cwhy are you hiding?\u201d<\/p>\n
His face flushed.<\/p>\n
For a second, the old instinct moved through my body like electricity. Distance. Angle. Throat. Knee. Wrist. Desk edge.<\/p>\n
I let it pass.<\/p>\n
Dominic wanted fists.<\/p>\n
I brought patience.<\/p>\n
His voice dropped. \u201cHere\u2019s what happens next. You leave. You sign the papers when she gives them to you. You give her the house because it\u2019s the decent thing to do. You disappear before people start finding things in your truck, in your garage, maybe in that sad little workshop you love so much.\u201d<\/p>\n
I held his gaze.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat kind of things?\u201d<\/p>\n
He smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cThings that put lonely veterans in prison.\u201d<\/p>\n
The office felt very still.<\/p>\n
Outside the open door, I saw a shadow shift. Someone was listening.<\/p>\n
Good.<\/p>\n
I made my voice just a little smaller. \u201cAre you threatening me, Sheriff?\u201d<\/p>\n
Dominic chuckled. \u201cNo. I\u2019m explaining weather. Storms come. Trees fall. Roads close. Accidents happen.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded once.<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
He leaned in. \u201cNo, Logan. You don\u2019t. But you will.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned and walked out.<\/p>\n
He called after me, \u201cRun home and cry to your wife.\u201d<\/p>\n
I kept walking.<\/p>\n
In the parking lot, sunlight bounced off windshields. My truck sat alone near the edge of the gravel, dusty and honest and mine. I got in, shut the door, and let my breathing stay slow.<\/p>\n
Then I pulled the small recorder from my shirt pocket.<\/p>\n
Red light on.<\/p>\n
Every word captured.<\/p>\n
I drove past my house without stopping and headed toward the edge of town, where an old motel blinked its dying vacancy sign beside the highway.<\/p>\n
A black sedan waited behind room twelve.<\/p>\n
Preston stepped out wearing a charcoal suit and a grin sharp enough to cut rope.<\/p>\n
\u201cNice town,\u201d he said. \u201cFeels like a place secrets go to breed.\u201d<\/p>\n
I handed him the recorder.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen let\u2019s sterilize it.\u201d<\/p>\n
He listened to the first minute.<\/p>\n
By the time Dominic\u2019s threat played through the speaker, Preston was no longer smiling.<\/p>\n
\u201cLogan,\u201d he said, \u201cthis is bigger than your marriage.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
He opened his laptop on the motel bed.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you need to see what I found.\u201d<\/p>\n
### Part 6<\/p>\n
The motel room smelled like bleach, old carpet, and rain trapped in the walls.<\/p>\n
Preston sat at the small table beneath a flickering lamp, laptop open, files spread around him in neat stacks. He worked the way he had moved through buildings overseas: controlled, quiet, never touching anything twice unless he meant to.<\/p>\n
I stood by the window and watched the parking lot through a gap in the curtains.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re pacing,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m thinking.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou pace when you\u2019re trying not to break furniture.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stopped.<\/p>\n
He turned the laptop toward me. \u201cDominic Vance makes sixty-five thousand a year. Modest savings. Public salary. Nothing impressive.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThree months ago, a lake property one county over was purchased for cash through a shell company.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust under four hundred thousand.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at him.<\/p>\n
Preston nodded. \u201cExactly.\u201d<\/p>\n
On the screen was a web of names, companies, transfers, signatures. I saw Vance & Sons Construction. I saw county road contracts. School roofing repairs. Courthouse drainage work. All approved. All overpriced. All connected.<\/p>\n
\u201cHis cousin?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cCarl Vance. Licensed contractor. Terrible reviews. Excellent political access.\u201d<\/p>\n
Preston tapped one line with his pen.<\/p>\n
\u201cEvery major municipal project in the last five years went through Carl. Money leaves the county, gets washed through subcontractors, then portions come back through consulting fees, hunting leases, private security payments, and one very lazy charitable foundation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDominic\u2019s?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHis mother\u2019s on paper. His in practice.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at the screen, feeling the shape of the battlefield widen.<\/p>\n
This was not just an affair.<\/p>\n
This was a machine.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Amelia?\u201d<\/p>\n
Preston\u2019s expression changed.<\/p>\n
Not pity.<\/p>\n
Worse.<\/p>\n
Caution.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
He clicked another file.<\/p>\n
A bank statement appeared.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s an account opened under Amelia\u2019s maiden name two weeks ago. Joint access with Dominic.\u201d<\/p>\n
My throat tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFifty thousand.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a moment, the room lost sound.<\/p>\n
The old motel air conditioner rattled. A truck passed outside. Somewhere upstairs, a faucet dripped.<\/p>\n
Fifty thousand.<\/p>\n
Our savings.<\/p>\n
The money I thought was sitting safe for the trip Amelia wanted to take through the Pacific Northwest. She had shown me cabins near mountain lakes. She had circled dates on a calendar. She had kissed my shoulder one night and said maybe fresh air would make us feel new again.<\/p>\n
She had already been planning my burial.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe emptied our account,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cLegally complicated,\u201d Preston replied. \u201cMorally simple.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress sagged beneath me.<\/p>\n
There are different kinds of pain. Sudden pain shocks the body. Betrayal is slower. It enters through the memories first, poisoning them one by one.<\/p>\n
The first dance at our wedding.<\/p>\n
Her hand in mine at the VA hospital.<\/p>\n
Her laughing in the kitchen with flour on her nose.<\/p>\n
All of it changed shape.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do we bury them?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
Preston leaned back. \u201cCarefully. We have corruption. We have threats. We have financial patterns. But Dominic owns this county. Local judges, deputies, maybe the prosecutor. We go too early, he buries evidence and turns you into the story.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s going to plant something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProbably.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said my truck.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen stop driving your truck.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
Preston\u2019s eyes narrowed. \u201cI know that tone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe wants to find evidence in my truck,\u201d I said. \u201cSo we give him evidence.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is a terrible sentence.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPowdered sugar.\u201d<\/p>\n
Preston stared at me.<\/p>\n
I explained it.<\/p>\n
A fake package. Hidden poorly. Enough to look damning at a glance. No actual illegal substance. Dominic\u2019s ego would do the rest. He would arrest me, celebrate too early, skip proper testing, and create the false imprisonment case himself.<\/p>\n
Preston stood. \u201cYou are gambling your freedom on the assumption that he is stupid.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m gambling on the fact that he is arrogant.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not better.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s more reliable.\u201d<\/p>\n
He paced now.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhile he has you in custody, what am I doing?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLake house. Office. Safe. Men like Dominic keep records because they trust nobody completely.\u201d<\/p>\n
Preston looked at the financial files.<\/p>\n
\u201cA ledger.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSomething like it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd if I find nothing?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen I spend a night in jail for powdered sugar.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd if his deputies decide to make that night rough?\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at him.<\/p>\n
Preston cursed under his breath.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou always were calmest right before doing something insane.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not insane if it works.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is exactly what insane people say.\u201d<\/p>\n
But he was already taking notes.<\/p>\n
When I got home that evening, Amelia was cooking roast chicken. The kitchen smelled of rosemary, butter, and betrayal wearing an apron.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow did it go?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
I let my shoulders slump.<\/p>\n
\u201cI apologized.\u201d<\/p>\n
She turned, eyes bright. \u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said he\u2019d think about leaving us alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her smile was soft and poisonous.<\/p>\n
\u201cSee?\u201d she said, kissing my cheek. \u201cSometimes you just have to know your place.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the woman who had stolen my money and sold my name.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m learning.\u201d<\/p>\n
In the garage, beneath the spare tire, five taped bricks of powdered sugar waited like sleeping wolves.<\/p>\n
By Monday morning, the trap was ready.<\/p>\n
### Part 7<\/p>\n
Monday came in gray and wet.<\/p>\n
The sky hung low over the town, pressing the roofs and fields into silence. Rain tapped against the kitchen window while Amelia stirred her coffee with a silver spoon, slow circles, eyes on her phone.<\/p>\n
I stood at the counter and tied my boot.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m heading into the city today,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Her spoon stopped.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBack appointment. Specialist had a cancellation.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked up. \u201cYou didn\u2019t mention that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cForgot.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve been forgetting a lot lately.\u201d<\/p>\n
I gave her the tired smile she expected. \u201cYeah. I guess I have.\u201d<\/p>\n
She studied me, trying to decide whether I was broken enough to be predictable.<\/p>\n
Finally, she nodded. \u201cDrive safe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI will.\u201d<\/p>\n
I walked outside with my keys in my hand.<\/p>\n
The rain had stopped, but the air still smelled metallic. My truck sat in the driveway with mud on the tires and a secret under the spare. I opened the door, paused, and looked back at the house.<\/p>\n
Amelia stood in the window.<\/p>\n
Phone in hand.<\/p>\n
Good.<\/p>\n
I drove slowly through town. Past the Rusty Spoon. Past the hardware store. Past the sheriff\u2019s station where two cruisers sat angled like dogs waiting for a command.<\/p>\n
I did not speed.<\/p>\n
I used my signals.<\/p>\n
I kept both hands visible.<\/p>\n
Five miles beyond town, the road narrowed between pine woods. The rain had left the asphalt black and shining. In my rearview mirror, a black SUV appeared.<\/p>\n
No lights at first.<\/p>\n
Just presence.<\/p>\n
Then the blue strobes flashed.<\/p>\n
I pulled onto the gravel shoulder and parked.<\/p>\n
My breathing stayed slow.<\/p>\n
Dominic got out of the SUV.<\/p>\n
Two cruisers pulled in behind him.<\/p>\n
Three officers for one man going to a doctor.<\/p>\n
He walked up to my window, hat low, smile lower.<\/p>\n
\u201cStep out of the vehicle.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s the reason for the stop?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe received an anonymous tip.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA vehicle matching this description transporting illegal materials.\u201d<\/p>\n
I let a flicker of fear cross my face. Not too much. Just enough to feed him.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s ridiculous.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOut.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stepped out.<\/p>\n
He turned me hard against the truck and cuffed my hands behind my back. The metal bit deep. He wanted pain. He wanted witnesses. He wanted me to twist, curse, shove back.<\/p>\n
I rested my cheek against wet steel.<\/p>\n
\u201cSearch it,\u201d Dominic ordered. \u201cEvery inch.\u201d<\/p>\n
The deputies tore through my truck with theatrical violence. Floor mats tossed into mud. Glove box emptied. Tool roll dumped. Registration papers trampled beneath boots.<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing inside,\u201d one deputy called.<\/p>\n
Dominic\u2019s jaw tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cCheck the bed.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rainwater dripped from the brim of his hat.<\/p>\n
A deputy climbed into the back, lifted the spare, and froze exactly the way I needed him to.<\/p>\n
\u201cSheriff.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dominic turned.<\/p>\n
\u201cI got something.\u201d<\/p>\n
The deputy held up one duct-taped brick wrapped in plastic.<\/p>\n
For a moment, Dominic looked like a man seeing God.<\/p>\n
Then he looked at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, well,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat were you planning, Logan? Starting a little side business?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not mine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know what that is.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, I believe that.\u201d He leaned close, voice soft. \u201cMen like you never know how the evidence got there.\u201d<\/p>\n
He lifted the brick high enough for his deputies to see. High enough for the body camera on one cruiser to catch. High enough for his pride to stand beside him.<\/p>\n
\u201cLogan Reed, you are under arrest for possession with intent to distribute illegal substances.\u201d<\/p>\n
He shoved me into the back seat of his SUV.<\/p>\n
As we pulled away, I watched through the rain-speckled window while Dominic held the package like a trophy\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026<\/p>\n
Dominic answered, \u201cSoon. I need him to do something violent first.\u201d I took the earpiece out and looked at the ceiling. They wanted a monster. They had no idea they … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2616,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2607","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2607","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2607"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2607\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2626,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2607\/revisions\/2626"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/2616"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2607"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2607"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2607"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}