John Williamson wasn't the type to wait around and hope. On a cold winter night in 1870, he took action and helped, and he paid with his life. And had it not been for a single spelling alteration, I might never have found him at all.
The end of Eugene Fisher's story remained elusive until I went back to the foundation of it all. And by rebuilding the beginning, I found the ending.
Eugene Clairmont Fisher's future contained nothing but time. Fourteen years of hard time in San Quentin prison, to be exact. Finally, justice was served, and... ...oh, wait. You didn't think it actually happened that way, did you?