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发帖数: 2555 | 1 http://nypost.com/2022/05/06/mac-shop-owner-john-mac-isaac-reveals-night-he-met-hunter-biden/
On a fateful night in April 2019, John Paul Mac Isaac was working at his
store, The Mac Shop in Wilmington, Del., when a customer walked in who would
upend his life. In his forthcoming book, “American Injustice: My Battle to
Expose the Truth,” Isaac will tell his story — and here, in an exclusive
first look, he describes the moment he met Hunter Biden.
It was a Friday night, 10 minutes before the shop’s closing time. I was
checking out a website about CNC machines and woodworking. I had no
intention of working late; I was ready to go out after a long and busy week.
But then bright, cool LED headlights bounced off the counter from the front
window. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. My vision of leaving
the shop quickly faded as the door chime sounded. As was usual for this time
of day, I thought: “What kind of person expects quality service right
before closing time?”
I struggled not to roll my eyes when in stumbled a man clutching three
MacBook Pros. He was about my height, six feet tall, but a little heavier.
He wore casual clothing — dark blue and gray. Alcohol fumes preceded him.
He slid the three laptops onto the bar counter as he fumbled for a seat.
“I’m glad you’re still open,” he said. “I just came from the cigar bar,
and they told me about your shop, but I had to hurry because you close at
seven.”
He looked older than me but had a surprisingly high-pitched voice. An air of
entitlement radiated off him.
“Great,” I thought. “Another one who thinks the world revolves around
them.”
To him I said cordially, “You made it just in time.”
Isaac was helping Biden recover files from his water-damaged laptop when
unsettling information was uncovered.
“I need the data recovered off these, but they all have liquid damage and
won’t turn on,” he said.
“Well, let’s get you checked in and see what’s going on.” One of the
computers had a Beau Biden Foundation sticker covering the Apple logo, but I
wasn’t sure at first whom I was talking to. I opened my customer
relationship management software (CRM) and asked him for his first name.
“Hunter,” he said.
I then asked him for his last name. He paused and looked at me funny, as if
I were from another country and how dare I not know who he was?
“Ah, Biden,” he responded, with a sarcastic edge.
I collected his phone number and email, and fed them into the system. Once
the paperwork was started, I paused and remembered that this guy had lost
his brother, Beau, about two or three years earlier, and I felt a little bad
for him. Maybe the Mac with the sticker belonged to his now-deceased
brother, and it would bring closure to have access to those memories trapped
inside.
Isaac came across a few unsettling photos from Hunter Biden’s laptop.
On any other night, especially a Friday — being that I was very single — I
would have collected the machines and looked at them the next day. For some
reason, maybe misplaced compassion, I decided to check them over then and
there. One at a time, I performed a quick inspection of the machines. The 15
-inch laptop was a complete write-off. It had extensive liquid damage, and
because the drive was soldered to the logic board, data recovery was beyond
my capability. (If a Mac can’t power on, you won’t be able to access the
drive and get to the data.)
The 13-inch 2015 MacBook Pro was in slightly better shape. It could boot up,
but the keyboard was unresponsive. I pulled out an external keyboard and
asked for permission to log in.
Hunter started laughing.
The computer repair shop owner recounts the night he met Hunter Biden.
“My password is f–ked up. Don’t be offended!” he said, before announcing
that it was “analf–k69” or something to that extent. His inebriated
condition made it difficult to understand is speech. My eyes widened a bit,
and I told him that maybe it would be best if he tried to log in himself.
“Hey, you fixed it!” he stated, slurring slightly. I asked if he had an
external keyboard that he could use to get around the failure of his
internal keyboard, and he just looked at me blankly.
“Here, you can borrow this one to perform the recovery yourself,” I told
him. “That way I don’t have to check it in and bill you. Just bring it
back when you’re done.”
It would have been less work for me that way, and again, I felt bad for this
guy.
I pulled the blinds and locked the door to avoid any more interruptions,
then grabbed an Amstel Light from the fridge and planted myself in front of
the recovery Mac.
Here’s where things started to get interesting.
The previous recovered window was open on the left, and I was waiting for
the hundreds of files on the original to populate to the right. Scrolling
down, I started to see files that didn’t align. I started to individually
drag and drop the files to the recovery folder. It took only a few files
before I noticed pornography appearing in the right column.
This is a vocational hazard; I’d gotten rather used to and gave it no mind.
I was a little amazed by the sheer quantity though, and by the boldness of
leaving porn files on one’s desktop. Again, it was nothing I hadn’t seen
before, so I kept dragging and dropping. It generally is well-known what
people do on and with their computers. The industry as a whole tries not to
think about it — it’s gross. But I was hired to do a job, and I was going
to do it.
Hunter Biden in underwear wearing red scarf.
Hunter Biden poses with little to the imagination– and a red scarf.
“Oh s–t,” I thought, pausing. The preview image in the right column was
clearly displaying the customer. He was wrapped in a red scarf and wearing
what looked like a jock strap. I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“How embarrassing!” I thought. “Who on God’s earth would feel
comfortable with this lying around on their desktop?”
But I shook it off and continued down the list of files. It didn’t take
long before another one appeared, and then another. Hunter, with his salt-
and-pepper stubble, stared into the camera attempting to look cool while
taking a naked selfie. Gross.
“How many of these does he have?” I wondered. It wasn’t just him alone
either. Although it looked like he was having a love affair with himself,
there also were photos with women. I decided I’d had enough, that I was no
longer going to preview the data. I would just go by the file name and hope
for the best. And I tried to work out how to keep a straight face when he
returned for the recovery data.
I continued copying files until I got to one titled “income.pdf.” I likely
wouldn’t even have noticed it if it hadn’t been tagged with a purple dot.
On a Mac, you can apply tags, or color codes, to files as an organizational
aid. It seemed odd that someone who clearly had zero organizational skills
would bother tagging this one file purple. It was begging to be clicked open
. So I did.
It was an email from January 16, 2017, saved as a PDF. At the top were the
years 2013, 2014, and 2015. Next to each year was the amount of taxable
income earned: $833,000+ in 2013, $847,000+ amended to $1,247,000+ in 2014,
$2,478,000+ in 2015. I was blown away. All that money and this asshole
couldn’t spring for a backup drive!
I read on. Amounts that I could never even have imagined earning were broken
down by the year. Then I read, “Since you couldn’t have lived on $550,000
a year, you ‘borrowed’ some money from RSB in advance of payments.” I
was speechless. This guy couldn’t live on more than ten times what I earned
every year?
The whole document seemed shady. I saw that a lot of money had exchanged
hands, and it didn’t seem like it had been recorded lawfully. But what did
I know? Plus, it was none of my business. It wasn’t my job to judge — just
to transfer and verify. So I kept transferring data until I hit a rather
large file. The file was about half transferred when the screen went blank.
Dammit, the battery had run out.
I decided to call it a night and go home to rest my eyes. About a hundred
gigabytes were left to go, and I felt confident that I could knock it out
the next day. I let the MacBook charge overnight and went home — but not
before thoroughly washing my hands.
When Hunter Biden didn’t return for the computers for more than a year,
Isaac turned the laptop over to the FBI. Later, a copy was given to The New
York Post. Excerpted with permission from “American Injustice,” coming in
November from publisher Liberatio Protocol. |
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