The next morning, a small entourage came to greet Fred Dorleth after breakfast. The District Attorney was there, along with the judge, the Sheriff and, of course, Dorleth’s attorney. He was the first to speak. “I have some wonderful news, Mr. Dorleth,” he began. The jailor approached and without a word, he opened the cell door that seperated the prisoner from the men in suits. “We now have enough evidence against all the witnesses to disprove their stories. The DA’s office has agreed to throw out the charges,” he said. “It was a misunderstanding. And you were right; the hospital did over charge you.” Dorleth smiled and spoke in a soft, almost preaching tone. “No one can win with lies,” he said. “You’re a free man,” said the Judge. “We’ve already expedited the paper work. And there’s a ride waiting for you outside after you get changed.” “We’d like to apologize,” said the District Attorney. “I’m sure you’ll agree that given the facts we had to work with, we really had no choice…” But Dorleth raised his hand to halt his words. “Please. I understand,” he said. “The important thing is, truth won out.” The men exchanged glances and with that, they completed their pomp and circumstance and drifted away. Attorney Wilkens remained.

“I wanted you to know that Nancy Breean’s son was doing better,” he said with a suspicious look on his face. “But somehow, I have a feeling you already knew that, didn’t you.” “Let’s just say I was very hopeful,” said Dorleth. “I stopped by your house and picked up some clothes,” said Wilkens handing him a bag. “Get out of that prison garb and I’ll meet you at the check out.” “Fine,” said Dorleth. “I’ll see you up front.” As the attorney turned to leave, the jailor approached Wilkens. “You ever do those word jumbles,” he asked. Wilkens was taken aback by the strange question. “Word jumbles, you mean like scrambles, things like that,” said Wilkens. “Yeah. I do them when it’s slow around here. You know, pass the time,” he reasoned. “But I want to show you something a bit odd.” With that, the jailor led Wilken to his desk where a pad was stationed in the middle. On it, there was Dorleth’s name with lines drawn through the various letters. The jailor had been trying to make other words out of the name of his latest prisoner.

“Look at this,” he said pointing to the bottom of the pad. “Thought you might like to see this.” Following his finger to the words on the pad, the attorney’s eyes widened in disbelief. Scrawled on the paper, the jailor had found an acronym for the name Dorleth. It was The Lord.