“They’ll never serve me!” Miscavige cackled to the two staff members at the college. With this, he took a knapsack full of cash, a case of Macallan scotch, and a picnic hamper full of A5 Olive Wagyu steak sandwiches.
A short takeoff down Vermont Boulevard and COB was aloft. The wog process server looked on in begrudging admiration; no one had ever escaped being served so brashly or creatively.
Mr. Miscavige was last seen headed east towards the heavily-fortified CST Maginot Line in the San Gabriel mountains.