Aaron Calvin has been revealed as the journalist behind the Des Moines Register article in which they dug up a tweet from Carson King, when he was just 16; a man famous for raising money at the University of Iowa Children’s Hospital.
Shortly after Aaaron’s Twitter history has been revealed to have much worse than anything Carson King has ever referred to as a joke from a Comedy Central show, Tosh.0.
Take a look at Aaron’s Past tweet’s below, he’s since locked his account and the Des Moines Register has said they’re “investigating”:
When Billy “Will” Frazier IV filed his first federal RICO lawsuit, it wasn’t about water. It was about retaliation, housing games, and courts more focused on procedure than protection.
But during that fight, something bigger came to the surface — signs of long-term contamination that no one had warned his household about. As Will pushed forward, the city continued insisting the water was “safe,” even as his filings documented problems that couldn’t be ignored.
Then, almost unbelievably, Cedar Rapids was celebrated on TV for having “the best tasting tap water in Iowa,” courtesy of the Iowa Section of the national American Water Works Association (AWWA).
At the same time, Will was filing lead-exposure emergencies, identifying galvanized lead service lines, and uncovering chemical hazards inside the very homes tied to his housing case.
This is how a retaliation lawsuit became the foundation for Watch the Water in Cedar Rapids.
1. “Two hours to fill the tub”
In a phone call recorded for this story, Will starts at the beginning:
“I moved in in 2017, discovered that something’s wrong with the pipes because the water was taking so long to come out of the tub. It’d take two hours to fill enough water to bathe my baby. So I had to pre-plan every night to bathe my baby… for three years.”
From 2017 to 2020, he says he raised the issue repeatedly:
To the landlords
To housing authorities and Section 8
To the city
But “nobody did anything about it.”
Finally, he decided to fix it himself.
2. Cutting open the floor
“Eventually in 2020, I decided, let me figure out how to do plumbing… I cut the floor up and the drywall and replace a four-foot galvanized lead pipe that was so corroded you could tell why the water wouldn’t come through.”
The inside of the pipe, he says, had narrowed from roughly half an inch in diameter down to a fraction of that — choked by corrosion and buildup. Once he replaced it, the water pressure normalized.
No inspection. No follow-up. No curiosity from the people who were supposed to keep low-income families safe.
“Nobody did anything about it, didn’t care. My water was running good. I was happy. I didn’t say anything else.”
For a while, the story could have ended there.
It didn’t.
3. Street work, a broken washer, and metal in the valves
Two or three years later, Will says, the city came back—this time outside.
“The city decides to disguise and install sidewalks in front of my house so they could tear out their portion of galvanized pipe to cover up what was going on… They couldn’t fix it knowingly because I wasn’t supposed to be in the house on Section 8 if they weren’t providing clean drinking water.”
Shortly after that work wrapped up, he says, the main water line in the street burst right in front of the house.
“When that happens, the water inlet valves to my washer clog up. So it breaks my washer… I took out the water valves, where the water lines come into the back of the washer, and there’s all type of metal contaminants and sediment inside the valves from the city disturbing the galvanized lead pipes.”
According to Will, the landlords were never forced to replace their side of the galvanized lines. The disturbance sent whatever was sitting in those pipes straight into his appliances—and his family’s water.
4. From RICO to lis pendens — and then the lead letters
By 2025, the legal war had escalated.
Will had already filed a federal RICO case and a separate housing suit. In the housing case, he recorded retaliation, discrimination, and attempts to evict him while he was raising health and disability concerns for his family.
He then filed lis pendens (notices/liens) on the rental property and a neighboring property owned by the same landlords—putting buyers and banks on notice that the homes were tied up in litigation.
“After I do that, the city sends out mass notices of lead—possibly lead, GRR—to everybody’s residences that have lead in their pipes. Mine and my neighbor’s was one of them.”
Those notices are at the heart of his filings. In a supplemental federal notice, Will and co-plaintiff Jean Goodfellow tell the court their residence contains galvanized lead service lines, confirmed through public documentation, city notices, and media reports. They also state a disabled child with an IEP and an infant have been consuming this water for years.
To Will, the timing was no coincidence.
5. GRR vs “possibly lead”: alleged misclassification
Under federal rules, homes with galvanized lines that were ever downstream of lead can be classified as GRR – “galvanized replacement required.”
“The federal law says they’re supposed to label my house and Jean’s house as GRR, galvanized replacement required. They hid it and disguised it as ‘possibly lead unknown’ to try to throw me and her off, because we’re in a lawsuit we could just amend and change to a water lead-contamination lawsuit too.”
In other words, Will alleges the city:
Knew these homes should be tagged as requiring replacement
Instead used a softer “possibly lead / unknown” classification
All while he and his neighbor were active plaintiffs in housing litigation
In his filings, he frames this as concealment, misclassification, and failure to warn, contributing to what he calls a “life-threatening lead-exposure emergency” for disabled tenants and children.
6. The Media Split-Screen: What the Public Was Told vs. What Was Really Happening — And the Numbers No One Mentioned
While Will was living through years of low pressure, metal debris in appliances, corroded galvanized pipes, and documented lead hazards, the public was being shown a very different story about Cedar Rapids’ drinking water — one built on selective reporting, reassuring headlines, and an award from a national water association that did not account for safety at all.
To understand the disconnect, it helps to look at the numbers.
Across Iowa, a 2025 statewide survey found that only about 4% of known service lines were confirmed as lead. Nationally, the EPA estimates roughly 9.2 million lead service lines remain in use, with many utilities still uncertain about the full extent of their inventories.
But Cedar Rapids was not in the average range. A city analysis showed that up to 17% of Cedar Rapids water service lines could contain lead — more than four times the state average and significantly higher than typical national city-level estimates.
That alone should have resulted in aggressive transparency and immediate public notification. Instead, residents got something else entirely.
In November 2024, KCRG aired a statewide story saying thousands of Iowans were receiving lead notifications. The broadcast even displayed a graphic stating:
“In Cedar Rapids: approx. 7,800 homes received a letter.”
Yet Will never received one. His neighbor never received one. The families now documented in federal filings — with ADA-protected children consuming contaminated water — received nothing in 2024.
Which raises a simple question: If 7,800 homes received letters, why were the ones with the clearest hazards left out?
Months later, in June 2025, The Gazette reassured the public that Cedar Rapids’ water was “safe” during nitrate spikes in the Cedar River. This came at the same time Will was recording metal sediment in his washer valves, documenting corroded galvanized service lines, and filing federal emergency notices describing a “life-threatening lead exposure” hazard inside the home.
None of that made it into the Gazette’s reassurance narrative.
Then in October 2025, KCRG ran a polished feature celebrating Cedar Rapids for winning the “Best Tasting Tap Water in Iowa” award. The honor came from the Iowa Section of the American Water Works Association (AWWA) — which is the Iowa chapter of the national AWWA, the same organization currently suing the EPA to block mandatory nationwide lead-pipe replacement rules.
The public was never told that the “best tasting water” award had nothing to do with safety, nothing to do with lead, and nothing to do with nitrate contamination. AWWA’s taste tests are based on appearance, odor, aftertaste, and mouthfeel — not the presence of neurotoxic metals.
Meanwhile, Cedar Rapids had up to 17% lead-suspect service lines, and Will documented physical evidence of contamination in court.
And then, in November 2025, when KCRG did report on lead-pipe concerns again, it centered the story entirely on Iowa City, despite Cedar Rapids issuing its own belated lead notices only weeks earlier — and despite Cedar Rapids being the city where contamination was part of an active courtroom record.
The message presented to the public was simple and reassuring. The message residents like Will received was silence.
This selective coverage, contradictory messaging, and award-driven optics created the split-screen that defined Cedar Rapids’ water narrative. It’s why Will said during the recorded call:
“It’s just optics. Fraud to trick the public.”
And he wasn’t wrong. Cedar Rapids’ lead burden was significantly higher than the state average. The city celebrated a taste award the same month residents were filing emergency lead-exposure notices. And media coverage consistently directed attention away from where the crisis was actually unfolding.
This gap between lived reality and public narrative is what transformed Will’s housing retaliation case into something much larger — the seed that grew into Watch the Water in Cedar Rapids.
7. Fighting eviction while escalating to federal courts
While all of this was unfolding, Will says, the landlords pushed a forcible entry and detainer (eviction) case, even as his housing suit contained pending restraining orders, injunctions, and protective orders related to disability status and environmental hazards.
On the call, he describes a mix of legal maneuvering and survival:
Filing emergency supplements describing lead-exposure as a federal life-threatening emergency
Documenting alleged retaliation, yellow-tagged meter access, and city entry
Tracking broken appliances and corrosion as physical evidence
Watching landlords change lawyers mid-case and “jump ship”
Catching procedural defects and deadlines in the eviction attempt
In late November 2025, he escalated the evidence to the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals, tying the water issues into his broader RICO narrative.
“My 8th Circuit Court of Appeals paperwork has been delivered. It’s in the mailroom… Because my filings hit the court today, I’m now protected under 18 U.S. Code 1512 and 1513. Any retaliation, court manipulation from anybody legally becomes federal witness retaliation. I am a federal whistleblower that’s protected now.”
Whether a court will ultimately agree with every legal interpretation remains to be seen. But the paper trail is undeniable: federal filings, emergency notices, ADA enforcement references, and documented exhibits placing Cedar Rapids’ water issues directly into the judicial record.
8. “I’m 18–24 months ahead”
“No pro se litigant in any of the lead litigation history has ever filed this fast, has ever cross-connected this many cases, ADA notices, sworn affidavits, and federal escalations before eviction even reaches a hearing. We’re 18 to 24 months ahead of the typical timeline.”
Whether that timeline comparison proves accurate or not, it captures where Will stands:
Not just a tenant
Not just a housing defendant
But a documented whistleblower who connected housing retaliation, disability protection, and water contamination in the same record—before the public narrative caught up.
9. Why this matters beyond one family
In the notice titled “Notice of Federal Intervention & Supplemental Evidence,” Will and Jean frame their case as more than a local dispute. They identify:
Public-health danger – lead/metal contamination affecting children and tenants
Infrastructure failure – galvanized line breaks, corrosion, city notices
Conflicting public statements – “safe water” and “best tasting tap water” vs. physical evidence
Retaliation and intimidation – eviction attempts and procedural interference while these issues are under review
They explicitly ask the court to take judicial notice of media exhibits (The Gazette and KCRG water stories) and to recognize a pattern of misrepresentation, concealment, and negligence.
Separate filings classify the situation as a “life-threatening lead-exposure emergency” affecting ADA-protected individuals and minors, invoking the EPA Safe Drinking Water Act and HUD lead-safe housing rules.
Whether judges move quickly or slowly, whether special masters are eventually brought in or not, one thing is already true:
Cedar Rapids’ water issues are now permanently embedded in multiple court records.
Linn County, Iowa — In a case that has already raised red flags for judicial conduct, DHS contradictions, and violations of federal sibling-preservation laws, one mother is now taking her fight far beyond the courtroom.
For Kristin Mitchell, the system that once separated her from her siblings as a child is now repeating the same trauma with her son WG, who was adopted through Iowa DHS, later removed from that adoptive home after abuse, and is now facing yet another rushed adoption while Mitchell appeals at multiple levels.
“I experienced harm in foster care as a child — and now my own child is living the same trauma,” she said.
Her intervention hearing in Linn County left her with more questions than answers. DHS issued her a Family Notice legally recognizing her as a qualifying relative. But in court, the agency reversed itself, and the judge denied her motion to intervene.
Not a single safety concern was presented about her home. The State called just one witness — the same DHS worker who separated Mitchell from her siblings decades ago.
“Nobody named a single safety concern. Not one reason why my home would not be good for WG.”
When evidence later surfaced showing the presiding judge and DHS workers viewed Mitchell’s private Facebook stories during deliberation — and the judge’s account disappeared shortly after — her concerns about impartiality only grew.
So Mitchell did something few parents in child welfare cases ever do.
She took the fight to Washington, D.C.
A Journey From Linn County to Capitol Hill
During the trip, Senator Mark Finchem conducted a full sit-down interview with activist and FJAA author Francesca Amato at the B&B where the team stayed. Kristin and her son were present throughout the discussion, had the chance to ask their own questions, and captured photos with the Senator during the extended conversation.
Mitchell traveled with a coalition led by Francesca Amato, author of the Family Justice and Accountability Act (FJAA). Their goal: secure bipartisan support for sweeping national reform.
“We came with purpose,” Mitchell said. “Our team met with 10 senators or congressmembers — some meetings went over two hours.”
She visited offices across Capitol Hill. Her youngest son made popcorn and played with tractors in Senator Joni Ernst’s office. She took photos with Arizona Senator Mark Finchem. Congressional staff, she said, treated her evidence with seriousness and gravity.
“They listened closely. They took notes. They understood that what is happening in Iowa is part of a national pattern.”
Mitchell wasn’t just representing her own experience. She brought with her 27 credible stories from Linn County families, many describing similar systemic violations: retaliation, ADA discrimination, sibling separations, and rushed removals.
“The gap between federal foster-care standards and what’s happening in Linn County is enormous,” she said.
The same week Mitchell walked the halls of Congress advocating for reform, Donald Trump and Melania Trump signed a foster-care–related federal law.
“When I learned they signed that law while I was in D.C., I honestly felt it was no coincidence,” she said.
“It was incredibly validating. It gave me hope.”
She believes the synchronization signals something larger: “Our voices are finally reaching national leaders.”
The Push for Accountability
Mitchell delivered a clear message to federal officials: the Family Justice and Accountability Act is not about creating new rights — it is about enforcing rights the system already violates.
“I told them the FJAA is about accountability,” she said. “About enforcing constitutional rights, civil rights, human rights, and ADA protections.”
She also stressed the urgency of stopping rushed adoptions.
“I have appeals at multiple levels. And yet WG is being pushed toward another adoption before my appeals are decided. That is why this cannot wait.”
Her personal history magnified her purpose.
“I lived through sibling separation as a child. I know what it does to you. No child should live that twice — and that’s what’s happening to WG.”
Washington Responds
Multiple policymakers expressed interest in reviewing her documentation, obtaining evidence, and potentially examining Iowa DHS practices.
“I want to give them the space to conduct their reviews responsibly,” she said. “But yes — interest was real.”
Even the judge in her own case acknowledged she had “strong experience to speak to legislative reform,” a comment Mitchell found telling given the legal barriers she still faces in WG’s case.
The New Federal Law Sends a Message to Iowa
Mitchell believes the new foster-care law sends a direct warning to states like Iowa:
“Pretending to comply with federal mandates is no longer enough.”
She said, “Iowa has repeatedly violated the Fostering Connections Act. My case proves it. DHS recognized me as a relative in writing — then told the court I wasn’t one.”
The new law, she argues, makes one thing clear: “The era of unaccountable child-welfare agencies is ending.”
A Call to Other Iowa Families
As she continues her appeals — including exploring whether to overturn the original termination of rights, which the court stated was “not strictly necessary” — Mitchell is turning outward and calling on other survivors to come forward.
“If you’re in Iowa and you’ve been harmed by DHS, I want you to contact me.”
She emphasized that many families remain isolated or silenced, and she wants them to know there are safe channels and advocates ready to support them.
What Comes Next
Mitchell is now working with local lawmakers to bring Iowa into full compliance with federal law. The FJAA author is also preparing portions of the bill for a potential executive order, which could activate protections more quickly nationwide.
“Our movement is gaining momentum,” Mitchell said.
“And we’re not stopping until every child is protected from the trauma the system has allowed for far too long.”
From the courtrooms of Linn County to the halls of Congress, Mitchell’s fight now sits at the center of a growing national reckoning over child welfare, accountability, and the long-overlooked rights of siblings.
In the rolling farmlands of central Iowa, where community trust is the glue holding small towns together, a routine financial review has exposed a web of overpayments and oversight lapses that cost taxpayers nearly $90,000. On Thursday, November 6, Iowa State Auditor Rob Sand released a scathing special investigation into the City of Baxter, revealing improper disbursements tied to three former officials—including William Daggett, who resigned that same morning as Mitchellville’s police chief. What began as whispers of padded timesheets in a town of just 1,000 residents has rippled outward, forcing a leadership vacuum in neighboring Mitchellville and igniting debates on accountability in rural governance.
Daggett’s swift exit—submitted hours after the report dropped—underscores the fragility of public service in Iowa’s heartland. Hired by Mitchellville in March 2024 after leaving Baxter amid internal scrutiny, the 20-year law enforcement veteran now faces not just reputational ruin but potential criminal probes. As Jasper County authorities and the Iowa Attorney General’s Office review the findings, this scandal serves as a cautionary tale: In places where officials wear multiple hats, the line between diligence and deceit can blur with devastating consequences.
The Unraveling in Baxter: A New Council’s Wake-Up Call
It was a crisp January morning in 2024 when Baxter’s freshly elected city council, buoyed by a wave of local change, cracked open the ledgers of their modest municipal operation. The town, nestled in Jasper County with its single stoplight and volunteer fire department, had long operated on faith in its core team: Police Chief William Daggett, who juggled patrols with a side gig in Van Meter; City Clerk Katie Wilson, the gatekeeper of the books; and EMS Coordinator Randi Gliem, coordinating life-saving responses. But as the new officials pored over payroll stubs and credit card statements, the numbers didn’t add up—timesheets bloated with hours unverified by dispatch logs, vacation payouts exceeding earned balances, and Visa charges for items that vanished from city inventories.
By early February, an internal probe had escalated into a full-blown crisis. Gliem resigned on the 5th, citing personal reasons but skipping a pivotal review meeting. Ten days later, Wilson and Daggett followed, their departures leaving Baxter’s public safety apparatus in disarray. The council, acting on mounting suspicions, fired off a “qualifying request” to Sand’s office—a taxpayer-funded mechanism designed to unearth fiscal foul play. What they uncovered wasn’t just sloppy bookkeeping; it was a pattern of excess that drained public coffers, from overlapping shifts that let Daggett collect dual paychecks to undocumented swipes at big-box stores. As one anonymous council member told local reporters, “We trusted them to protect us, not pick our pockets.”
Daggett’s Quick Pivot: Hope in Mitchellville Turns Sour
Undeterred by the Baxter fallout, Daggett polished his resume and landed the chief’s role in Mitchellville by March 4—a town of 2,300 with ambitions to bolster its force amid growing suburban sprawl from Des Moines. Elected officials there saw a seasoned operator: Daggett’s bio touted decades on the beat, from traffic stops to crisis negotiations. Yet red flags lingered. Mitchellville’s human resources team, spotting echoes of Baxter’s payroll puzzles in Daggett’s timesheets, quietly requested their own state audit in the spring. “We hire for integrity,” Mayor Scott Meeker said in a statement Friday, “and when questions arise, we act decisively.”
The move proved prescient. As Sand’s team dug into Baxter’s records—cross-referencing timesheets against Jasper County Sheriff’s call-in logs and employment overlaps—the discrepancies piled up. Daggett’s claimed full shifts often coincided with zero check-ins, suggesting ghost hours billed while he worked elsewhere. By summer, whispers in Mitchellville’s city hall grew louder, with staffers trading notes on unapproved comp time accruals. The audit’s release on Thursday morning hit like a siren: Daggett’s resignation letter arrived before noon, accepted provisionally by Meeker pending a council vote next week. In its wake, the department’s 12 officers are left leaderless, with a veteran sergeant stepping in as interim chief.
Audit Deep Dive: The Numbers That Don’t Lie
Sand’s 40-page report, spanning July 2021 to February 2024, paints a damning portrait of lax controls in Baxter’s $1.2 million annual budget. At the epicenter: $51,275.62 in overpayments to Daggett alone, broken down into excess wages ($41,944.77 from 36 unverified pay periods), comp time payouts ($6,667.33 for 161 ineligible hours), and duplicate billing ($2,663.52 for 65 hours claimed across two full-time jobs). Wilson netted $3,509.55 in improper comp time, inflated by mathematical errors and leave-period earnings, while Gliem pocketed $1,461.09 via overtime misclassifications and phantom EMS shifts. Add $1,776.99 in volunteer payroll irregularities, and payroll alone siphoned $58,023 from the till.
Beyond wages, the probe flagged $11,294.57 in unsupported expenditures—credit card splurges at Amazon and Target without receipts, totaling $5,932.32, plus vendor checks for groceries and gear that never reached city shelves. Another $15,035.90 went to questionable vendors, including $4,050 overpaid to a uncertified water operator. Late fees tacked on $129.81, and utility bungles left $3,814.88 uncollected in penalties and deposits. “These weren’t isolated slips,” Sand said at a Des Moines presser. “They point to systemic failures—no reviews, no segregation of duties, just trust without verification.” The auditor referred the file to prosecutors, hinting at theft or forgery charges under Iowa Code.
Legal Implications for the Individuals Involved
By Billy D. Frazier IV – Senior Judicial Legal Analyst (Iowa / National)
Auditor’s Findings and Context (Opinion): The Baxter audit exposes a breach of fiduciary duty—officials mishandled public funds by failing to verify hours and purchases. Under Iowa Code § 721.2(5), that could amount to “Misconduct in Office.” It shows how trust alone cannot replace documented accountability in small-town government. Layman’s terms: They were supposed to take care of taxpayers’ money, but they didn’t double-check what was being spent. That’s not just sloppy—it could be a crime when public cash is handled carelessly.
The Numbers That Don’t Lie (Opinion): With $51,275.62 in overpayments to one officer, the losses exceed felony thresholds under Iowa theft statutes if intent is proven. Citizens are owed restitution and deterrence; repayment alone cannot close the case. Layman’s terms: That’s a lot of money—enough to count as a felony if he meant to do it. Paying it back isn’t the same as facing justice; taxpayers deserve both accountability and prevention.
Fallout and Voices: Resignation, Reckoning, and Repercussions
The shockwaves reached Mitchellville’s council chambers by evening, where members huddled to appoint an interim and launch a national search for Daggett’s replacement. “This is a blow, but we’re committed to transparency,” Meeker told KCCI, emphasizing the city’s parallel audit request as proactive governance. Daggett, reached briefly outside his home, declined comment, but sources close to him say he’s cooperating fully and disputes the audit’s characterizations as “overreach on incomplete logs.”
Sand, a Democrat wrapping up his term amid re-election buzz, used the podium to rally local watchdogs. “Audits like this happen because someone speaks up,” he urged, noting the report’s reliance on the council’s tip. “Public trust is the real currency here—lose it, and reputations follow.” Indeed, the scandal has locals buzzing: Baxter’s Facebook groups brim with calls for repayment plans, while Mitchellville residents petition for ethics training. No charges have landed yet, but the shadow looms large over the ex-officials’ futures.
Lessons for Iowa’s Heartland: Beyond Baxter’s Borders
This isn’t Baxter’s anomaly; it’s a symptom of strains in Iowa’s 900-plus municipalities, where budgets scrape by on property taxes and part-time clerks double as bookkeepers. The report lambasts absent safeguards—no monthly bank reviews, no council sign-offs on payroll—echoing audits in Eldora and Correctionville that flushed out similar grift. Statewide, Sand’s office fields 50 such requests yearly, up 20% since 2020, as post-pandemic hiring booms expose weak spots.
Yet hope flickers in reform pushes: Bills in the Iowa Legislature aim to mandate annual internal audits for towns under 5,000 residents, with whistleblower bounties for tips leading to recoveries. “It’s about empowering the everyday Iowan,” says Sen. Rob Hogg, a Cedar Rapids Democrat sponsoring one measure. For now, Baxter’s council is overhauling policies—segregating duties, digitizing receipts—while Mitchellville eyes body cams for fiscal accountability, a cheeky nod to policing its own books.
Broader Judicial and National Perspectives
By Billy D. Frazier IV – Senior Judicial Legal Analyst (Iowa / National)
Daggett’s Resignation and Broader Impact (Opinion): Resigning the same day the audit dropped looks like consciousness of guilt—a signal he knew trouble was coming. Mitchellville may face exposure for negligent hiring if it ignored Baxter’s red flags, since public employers must vet applicants who handle taxpayer funds. Layman’s terms: Quitting right after the report makes it look like he knew he’d been caught. The next town that hired him might get in trouble too for not checking his background first.
Audit Corroboration and Resignation (Opinion): Cross-checking Baxter payrolls with Sheriff dispatch logs proved dual-employment conflicts and potential conversion of public funds. Daggett’s resignation before termination could be viewed as an attempt to preserve benefits or limit accountability. Layman’s terms: The audit showed he was clocked in two places at once—getting double-paid. Stepping down early might help him keep his pension, but it doesn’t erase what happened.
Outlook: Rebuilding Trust, One Ledger at a Time
As November’s chill settles over Iowa’s prairies, Baxter and Mitchellville stand at a crossroads. The cities could recoup some losses—Daggett already repaid $123.44 for minor items—but full restitution hinges on prosecutors’ grit. For Daggett, a return to private security seems likely; for Wilson and Gliem, quieter paths await. Sand’s report ends with a clarion call: “Fiduciary duty isn’t optional—it’s the oath of office.”
In the end, this saga reminds us that in America’s small towns, the badge of public service weighs heaviest when balanced against the ledger. As Baxter’s new clerk logs her first unblemished payroll, and Mitchellville’s interim chief radios in for duty, one truth endures: Accountability isn’t just good policy—it’s the patrol car keeping watch over us all.
*Disclaimer: The views expressed by Billy D. Frazier IV, Senior Judicial Legal Analyst (Pro Se), are for educational and public advocacy purposes only and do not constitute legal advice or attorney services. Mr. Frazier is not a licensed attorney and acts solely as a pro se litigant and public legal educator.*
