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An unsettling incident recently disrupted the peace of my home when my 17-year-old stepdaughter, visibly shaken, entered our room to play a voicemail. The message featured a man's eerie laughter, culminating in a drawn-out "Oooh Yeah." The bizarre nature of the voicemail left us perplexed and unsure of how to react.

Shortly after, my phone lit up with a "No caller ID" notification. Upon answering, the call abruptly ended without a word. A second call followed, which I allowed to go to voicemail, capturing the strange message:

Listening to the recording, a wave of recognition washed over me. The voice belonged to a former client from a year ago, someone who had unexpectedly contested a payment. After the bank resolved the dispute in my favor, it seemed to have sparked a vengeful streak in the caller.

This wasn't my first encounter with the caller's fury. Throughout the two months of our professional relationship, I had come to know him quite well. His name was Casey Conway, a 48-year-old man who had experienced a solitary upbringing and endured a challenging time at a 3HO cult boarding school in India. His recent diagnosis of borderline personality disorder was attributed to the trauma from those formative years.

During our time working together, it felt as though Casey was reliving his childhood, despite being well into adulthood. The years between his past and present seemed to have vanished, leaving him perpetually trapped in his early experiences.

When Casey realized he wouldn't be refunded for the services rendered, he lashed out with threats of violence, stating he would "put me in the hospital."

Further investigation revealed that this pattern of aggressive behavior wasn't isolated to our interactions. Casey had exhibited similar outbursts on LinkedIn and with a former landlord in New Mexico. It appeared that his defensive mechanisms were akin to a pufferfish's, inflating his presence to cope with perceived threats.

After leaving Albuquerque, Casey settled in Lake Tahoe, bolstered by a significant settlement from the 3HO cult. He launched a new venture, "Handy and Helpful," on Facebook, but it failed to gain traction. His subsequent project, "Tahoe Marketing," aimed to provide marketing support to gym owners and personal trainers, yet it too failed to attract clients.

Ultimately, Casey took a position as a "setter" for Loral Langemeier, who is embroiled in a recent SEC investigation, preparing potential customers for high-ticket sales—a role often found in questionable Nevada boiler room operations.

The saga continued with unexpected "gifts" arriving in the mail from Casey:

These bizarre tokens were sometimes accompanied by messages that unnervingly indicated his knowledge of my residence.