By mid-1985, in the Cold War’s final decade, Dawson’s passion for writing seemed doomed. Actually, not so much his passion, but his chance to tell the world - through his twenty unpublished novels - exactly what he thought of it. No surprise to Dawson that children of the privileged had whatever they wrote published because of inherited entitlement. Yet what Dawson could not digest was the notion of criminals making it into the world of literature. But never could he have imagined that two notorious killers would change his life for the better, sending him on a path of his own despicable deceptions and twisted plots that would whisk him away from his dead-end job in the San Fernando Valley to a life of glitter in Aspen, Colorado, then into a secret place and a jury trial like no other, where he would be found guilty of murdering the only celebrity he admired and had gone to breathtaking extremes to meet and befriend: Alexei Tolstoi, heir to both Czar Peter the Great, and the legendary Russian author, Leo Tolstoi. Having brought the planet to the brink of World War Three, his was not the easiest way. It was Dawson’s way.