Subjects of Interest
Myron Grace
Screenworks Entertainment
In 2019, Myron Grace presented himself as a media mogul, film producer, ad executive, and financial visionary, depending on the day and the post. From investment offers that promised $100 million payouts to vague claims of connections with major Hollywood studios and top publishers, Grace built an online trail of contradictions, emotional manipulation, and implausible promises. His posts often relied on urgency, capital letters, and a familiar call to action: send money now.
This article isn’t about private opinions or personal attacks. It’s a documented breakdown of public Facebook posts made by Myron Grace on his account throughout 2019. Every claim cited here comes directly from his words.
This report is part of an ongoing investigative series created to help authors, musicians, and other creative professionals recognize warning signs in too-good-to-be-true offers. The goal is to provide clear, factual information so others can make informed decisions when approached by individuals or companies making similar claims. This is the first installment in a year-by-year examination of the evolving business persona Myron Grace built under the name Screenworks Entertainment—what he calls a company, and what many would call a scam.
September 16, 2019 – A $5 Billion Delusion Wrapped in Bad Grammar
Myron Grace’s Facebook post from September 16, 2019, reads like the digital equivalent of someone shouting through a megaphone about gold buried in their backyard. Only louder, sloppier, and even less believable. The message, written entirely in all caps like a late-night infomercial, opens with a promise to “MAKE $1,000,000 DOLLARS” and spirals from there into a web of inflated claims, bad math, and worse grammar, all from someone who claims to have a master’s and a bachelor’s degree, and a prestigious journalism award. He claims he’s looking for 50 people to help him make $500 million on Wall Street. In return, each of them will supposedly receive “up to $100 million” on opening day, plus a share of 20 percent of his company’s future income. He calls this company “Screenworks Entertainment.”
Let’s pause there and do some basic arithmetic. Something Grace apparently didn’t. If 50 people are each getting $100 million, that's a $5 billion payout. But the total project goal is $500 million. That’s not an oversight. That’s delusion or deception. Take your pick. Even the supposed investment required, just $55 a month for 12 months, or $660 total, doesn’t come close to supporting the scale of claims being made. For that sum, Grace promises not just equity, but nationwide radio ads, logo placement, and regular interviews on an Atlanta radio station. It’s like offering a cardboard box and calling it beachfront property.
Structurally, the post is a grammatical trainwreck, especially from someone who has a wall full of college degrees and awards. Key subjects are repeated needlessly. “Each person will be. Each person will be.” That’s not persuasion. It’s stuttering in text form. The sentence dependencies pile up without resolution, leaving the reader drowning in vague modifiers and tangled clauses. Even simple typing errors like “PLACEMENTON” remain uncorrected, which tells you how little care was given to clarity or presentation. Every line is bloated with repetition and empty hype.
What makes this worse is how Grace tried to spread it. He didn’t just post it quietly on his timeline. He tagged others, dragging them into a pitch they never asked for. One of those people responded with a clear and public rejection: “NO SOLICITATIONS ON MY PAGE EVER! PERIOD!” That response says everything. The problem wasn’t just the message, it was the method. This wasn’t targeted outreach. It was a tag-spam blitz. Shameless, uninvited, and disruptive.
Legally, this kind of solicitation tiptoes right up to the line. Promising profit-sharing, equity, and advertising services in exchange for money qualifies as an investment pitch. Here in the United States, that usually requires regulatory compliance. That includes SEC filings, financial disclosures, and formal contracts. Grace provides none of that. There’s no link to a website. No mention of a business license. No terms and conditions. No real contact information. It’s all smoke, mirrors, and overpromises.
In short, this post fails at every level. The numbers make no sense. The language is sloppy. The claims are ridiculous. The delivery is disrespectful. Whether Grace is trying to fool others or just fooling himself, it’s a disaster in plain sight. And while it might not be illegal on its face, it’s the kind of thing any reasonable person should run from. Fast.
October 18, 2019 – $55 In, $45,000 Out: Grace’s Imaginary Math, Round Two
Myron Grace didn’t stop with one post. A month later, he returned with another version of his pitch, same nonsense, new numbers. This time, he promised that a $55 investment could return “as much as $45,000.” That’s not just unrealistic. That’s absurd. An 82,000 percent return on a one-time payment? This isn't an investment plan. It's financial science fiction. He frames it as purchasing an “Advertising Package,” whatever that means, then says the more you buy, the more you get back. The post is filled with random capitalizations, broken grammar, and no explanation of how any of this would work. He throws in a Yahoo email address, an inaccessible website (which may have been active at the time), and a phone number like it’s supposed to make it look official. But nothing about this pitch holds water. Not the numbers, not the language, and definitely not the logic. It's just a louder echo of the same false promises from before, dressed up to look like urgency. “TODAY ONLY!” it says—because when you’re offering imaginary returns, why not throw in a fake deadline too?
October 20, 2019 – $45,000 Returns Didn’t Work, So Now He’s Begging for $48
Just two days after promising a $45,000 return on a $55 investment, Grace changed gears. On October 20, 2019, he posted a new message, ditching the equity and investment language in favor of a frantic sales pitch for “professional level advertising.” The tone is all over the place. It starts with a self-righteous declaration: “Real men can speak the Truth and not be ashamed,” and quickly devolves into a barrage of rhetorical questions, sudden capitalization, and awkward repetition. “Good afternoon... Good morning...” “Here is your chance today only...” “Blow Out! Advertising!” It’s less a business offer and more a typed panic attack.
He offers three different price points for advertising packages: $48, $73, and $98, with no clarity on what separates them. The rest is a copy-paste list of grand claims: email blasts to “500 to 1,000 entertainment industry professionals,” “30 radio commercials,” “285,000 listeners daily,” and even a “30-minute live radio interview.” These numbers have been repeated across his posts with zero verification, no contracts, no proof of airtime, and no independent confirmation that any of these services exist beyond his pitch.
More telling is the emotional pivot. This isn’t a confident business proposal. It reads like someone trying to salvage credibility by begging for work under the guise of empowerment. “Would you hire me to do work for you?” is not how a professional markets a service. It’s how someone tries to reframe failure as misunderstood ambition.
The quick shift from massive investment offers to discount ad packages suggests that even Grace knew the earlier pitch was falling flat. But instead of tightening the message, he bloats it further with clumsy syntax and inflated claims. The result isn’t more convincing, it’s more desperate.
November 20, 2019 – Grace’s $1,200 Shortcut to Universal Pictures
By November 2019, Myron Grace had entered a new phase of Screenworks inflation. This time, he shifted from selling ad packages to selling dreams. In a new pitch, he offered authors the chance to turn their books into short films, if they were willing to invest $1,200. In return, he claimed he would personally invest up to $10,000 to handle everything from filming to editing to marketing, legal fees, and even distribution. But it doesn't stop there. He casually mentions that he’ll seek deals with Lionsgate, Sony Pictures, and Universal Pictures, as if those studios are just waiting around for someone named Myron Grace to call them about a self-funded short film based on a self-published book.
There’s no business plan, no timeline, no qualifications, no explanation of how a $1,200 payment from an author turns into a greenlit film project with major Hollywood studios. There’s not even a mention of where the supposed $10,000 from Grace would come from, given that a month prior he was offering “professional level advertising” for $48. It's all smoke, mirrors, and fantasy phrased like a Craigslist post with delusions of grandeur.
The pitch tries to sound like a serious opportunity but ends up reading like someone who watched a movie about the entertainment industry and then tried to write one. The contact info is the same Yahoo email and the same website. There's no legal contract, no agent, no production team. Just more promises with a dollar amount attached. He wants the author to invest real money into a likely imaginary pipeline that starts with Myron Grace and ends, somehow, with Universal Pictures.
At this point, the pattern is clear. The tactics shift, but the core is always the same. Grand offers. No proof. Zero follow-through. All roads lead back to one man typing into Facebook and hoping someone takes the bait.
November 21, 2019 – Grace’s Biggest Promise Yet: $2 Million for Everyone
If the $1,200 short film pitch wasn’t bold enough, Myron Grace came back the very next day with something even more unhinged. On November 21, 2019, he posted what might be the crown jewel of the Screenworks saga: a $2 million production offer for 50 authors. Yes, $2 million per author. All you had to do was submit the first 25 pages of your book and pay him a one-time fee of $87. In return, he claimed your project would be "guaranteed to be sent to a Major Film Company" for consideration as either a movie or a TV series. If that company liked your submission, Grace said, you’d receive a $2 million production budget and work “directly with a Major Motion Picture Company.”
This isn’t a pitch. It’s fantasy. There’s no mention of which production companies are involved, what the selection process looks like, or how any of this money is being raised or distributed. Just a made-up pipeline where $87 and 25 pages get you a shot at a multi-million dollar budget and direct access to the Hollywood elite. And just in case the empty promise wasn’t convincing enough, he tagged 30 people and added a location pin—Hollywood, CA—as if proximity to Vine Street gives the post more weight.
By this point, Myron Grace had drifted entirely out of reality. His posts had evolved from sloppy to theatrical, from desperate to delusional. Each one raises the stakes. Each one repeats the same tropes: inflated numbers, celebrity-level promises, and a recurring plea for just a little money upfront. Every time, it’s the same ingredients—big rewards, vague details, and a personal email ending in @yahoo.com.
There's no evidence that a single author ever received a short film, a radio commercial, or a $2 million deal. But Grace kept pitching. Because for him, credibility didn’t seem to matter. Volume did. Visibility did. All caps did.
November 24, 2019 – $250 for a Piece of Nothing
By November 24, Myron Grace was back to recycling old parts of the fantasy, this time pitching ownership in a digital radio station he calls “Hot Atlanta Mix 106.” According to him, the station reaches more than 285,000 listeners a month. The buy-in starts at $250. In return, investors are promised either a 30 percent short-term return or a “long term 100 percent or more,” which he generously calls “guaranteed.” If the station is sold during the investment period, he says, investors will split the sale, up to $50,000. No explanation of how the valuation works. No evidence that the station exists. Just more numbers pulled from thin air and served with the same Yahoo email address.
This isn’t a business pitch. It’s a vending machine of promises where every button dispenses a different version of the same dream. Radio station? Sure. Movie deal? Why not. Wall Street fortune? Absolutely. The details shift, but the script never does. Grace offers high returns on minimal input, always throws in a contact email, always claims everything is “guaranteed,” and always pretends there’s a real infrastructure behind it. But at no point does he provide proof that any of these ventures, a radio station, a film studio, or an advertising agency, exists beyond the borders of his Facebook feed.
This post, like the others, relies on fantasy numbers and fabricated urgency. And just like before, it’s missing the core ingredients of a real opportunity: licensing, registration, financials, legal terms, third-party verification.
November 26, 2019 – Grace Guarantees Everything Except Results
Then came the collapse. On November 26, Myron Grace made yet another Screenworks promise, this time claiming he would spend up to $25,000 on “book movie and production services” for any author who would invest $1,200 into themselves.” He used the word guaranteed twice, all caps, just to drive home how serious he supposedly was. The rest of the post is a string of disconnected claims: “Five Star Rating,” “20 Years Business,” “Worldwide Digital Stream,” and even a name drop of ASCAP, as if these phrases alone prove legitimacy. But there’s no evidence, no business filings, no portfolio.
Then came the next day.
November 27, 2019 – From $25,000 Producer to Penniless Overnight
On November 27, Myron Grace dropped the pitch entirely and replaced it with a personal plea for money. He said he was a "wounded veteran" with “respiratory and muscular issues (critical),” that he had been abandoned by the government and the military, and that he needed funds to buy medicine and survive the holidays. He claimed he had no family, that Facebook was his only support system, and that the government didn’t care if he lived or died. The post ends with a request for donations via PayPal.
This one-two punch is stunning. In less than 24 hours, Grace went from claiming he had $25,000 to throw at book adaptations to begging strangers for financial help. There's no attempt to reconcile the contradiction. No acknowledgment that less than a day earlier, he was pitching himself as a media mogul with money to burn. It’s the digital equivalent of putting on a designer suit for a job interview, then standing in the lobby asking for spare change.
It would be one thing if this were a single lapse in judgment or a cry for help. But in context, after weeks of exaggerated claims, unverified credentials, and investment offers that defy logic, it becomes part of a larger pattern. Grace's posts shift tone depending on what he thinks will bring in money that day. If bold promises don’t work, personal tragedy will. If investors don’t bite, perhaps donors will.
No matter the pitch, the ask never changes: send money.
November 30, 2019 – Send $75, Get $500: Grace’s Fastest Flip Yet
You’d think after asking strangers to help him survive the holidays, Grace might take a step back. Instead, he came back with one of his most brazen pitches yet. On November 30, 2019, he posted a one-night offer: send him $75 and he would guarantee a $500 return. No explanation, no process, no product, just PayPal him the money with the subject line “$500 Guaranteed Return,” and somehow, Screenworks Entertainment would multiply it overnight. “No joke,” he wrote. “Each person is Guaranteed.”
At this point, the mask isn’t slipping, it’s off. There’s no attempt at polish, professionalism, or plausibility. The message is written like a late-night Facebook dare, but it’s framed as a business opportunity. And just like the others, it ends with the same Yahoo email, the same disconnected website, and the same unreachable promises.
What makes this one so shameless is the timing. Just days earlier, Grace said he was fighting for his life, unable to afford medicine, left behind by the country he served (likely for less than 6 months). Now he’s back in the role of financial savior, ready to hand out $500 payments to anyone who sends him cash.
This isn’t entrepreneurship. It’s a carousel of contradictions where every ride ends with someone else footing the bill. Whether he’s playing executive producer or wounded veteran, the goal stays the same: collect money through any story that works. If tomorrow's story needs a new hook, he'll find one.
Myron Grace didn't just bounce back, he rebooted the same pitch with higher stakes, shorter timelines, and fewer explanations. The more his stories collapsed, the faster he recycled them. And still, every post ended with the same three things: a dollar amount, a guarantee, and an inbox.
December 4, 2019 – Grace Lectures the Black Community, Then Asks for Money
Just when it seemed like the narrative couldn’t get more unhinged, Grace posted a self-authored article titled “Overcoming the Slave Mentality – Screenworks Entertainment.” It begins with a claim that it's not intended to offend anyone. What follows is a lecture aimed almost entirely at Black readers, accusing them of being the reason his business isn't working. He says that African Americans have “a negative response when asked to learn Technology,” and that they “would rather spend some money with a White Person” than support a Black-owned company. The post frames these sweeping generalizations as opinion, but it reads more like a scorched-earth rant toward the very community he claims to serve.
According to Myron Grace, people think he’s a scammer or Illuminati because he’s Black and educated. He says that when African Americans don’t buy from him, it's not because they see red flags in his business or behavior, but because they have “trouble following business protocol.” He goes on to mock people for hiring cheap promoters, for wanting free support, and for not understanding how money works. He ends by claiming that African Americans spend their money on “Drinking, Strip Clubs, Cars, Shoes, Purses, Dining Out, Concerts,” and everything else except rent, food, child support, or supporting his business.
At no point does Grace consider that the skepticism he receives might be rooted in his own actions, like offering $500 returns for $75, asking for holiday donations days after claiming he had $25,000 to spend, or tagging dozens of people in unsolicited pitches riddled with bad math. Instead, he leans into one of the ugliest forms of misdirection: blaming the audience for not buying what he's selling, and then publicly shaming them for it.
If you're not supporting Screenworks, the problem is you. And just like all his other posts, it ends with a phone number, a Yahoo email, and a link to a company that doesn’t appear to exist beyond his feed.
December 9, 2019 – Broke Last Week, Funding Films This Week
And then, just like that, Myron Grace was flush with cash again. On December 9, 2019, he announced that he would cover all production costs, editing, filming, legal fees, marketing, and distribution, for authors wanting to turn their books into movies. All they had to do was pay him $1,000. In return, he promised to spend “up to $10,000 guaranteed.” The production, he said, would begin in January 2020 under the direction of Screenworks Entertainment.
There's no mention of where the money is coming from, how these projects will be staffed, where the work will take place, or who will handle legal rights. It's the same recycled fantasy that’s been repackaged for weeks now: Grace offers authors Hollywood results in exchange for just enough cash to keep the illusion going. The numbers change, the pitch rotates, but the structure is always the same. He dangles an oversized carrot and asks for money up front.
What's most striking is the timing. A week before this post, Grace was blaming the Black community for not supporting his company. Days before that, he was asking for donations because he said he was sick and broke. And now, suddenly, he’s offering guaranteed investments and claiming he’ll personally fund film projects with five-figure budgets. The cycle resets. Desperation, outrage, promise, repeat.
By now, the question isn’t whether Myron Grace’s offers are real. The question is how many times he can recycle the same pitch before someone new falls for it. Because while his stories shift, the ending is always the same: you send money, he makes promises, and likely nothing materializes beyond another post.
December 15, 2019 – Another Attack on African Americans Disguised as a Business Pitch
If there were any doubts left about how far Grace would go to get attention, his December 15 post should put them to rest. Titled “Black People Sucker Day Friday! And The Biggest Lie Ever Told 'Christmas'!” the post frames itself as a wake-up call but quickly slides into another blame-laced diatribe. Grace accuses Black Americans of being “programmed like cattle” to spend their money on White-owned businesses, stripping their own communities of generational wealth. He claims Christmas was invented to take another 15 percent of Black Americans’ money, adding up to 25 percent of total annual wealth lost between Black Friday and December 25.
He includes a wildly inaccurate calendar theory, suggesting that “October” used to be the tenth month, so Jesus must have been born then, therefore, Christmas is a scam. He repeats that Black people have been “fooled,” “disfranchised,” and “robbed,” and urges readers to “WAKE UP” and “SUPPORT SCREENWORKS ENTERTAINMENT!” He ends the post by yelling in all caps about wealth theft and holiday manipulation, with his usual contact information and Yahoo email address tacked on like a footnote to revolution.
This post isn’t about education or empowerment. It’s about redirecting anger. Grace weaponizes outrage against consumer habits, organized religion, and holiday traditions, not to inspire change, but to funnel it back toward his own business pitch. He doesn’t offer resources, plans, or partnerships. He offers himself. Again. Always.
The final irony? He ends the post by yelling “STOP TAKING WEALTH OUT OF YOUR OWN COMMUNITIES,” just days after asking people to send him money with vague promises of investment returns. If wealth is leaving the community, it’s walking straight into his PayPal account.
December 24, 2019 – Grace Claims Lionsgate, Penguin, and Death Row Records Are Clients
By December 24, Myron Grace had completed another full cycle. After blaming Christmas for economic brainwashing and demanding a cultural uprising, he pivoted again, this time with a fresh coat of optimism and a recycled $55 investment scheme. Titled “Millionaire State of Mind,” the post makes the now-familiar claim: invest $55 into Screenworks Entertainment and change your financial future forever. He compares it to investing in Facebook early, suggesting that a small risk could bring generational wealth. “Just $55,” he says, “to change your outcome or possibly the outcome of your next generation.”
This time, Myron Grace leans heavily into name-dropping. He claims Screenworks has worked with more than 3,600 clients in 20 years, including industry giants like Lionsgate, AT&T, Universal Records, Interscope, Death Row Records, VH1, MTV, Penguin Publishing, and Random House. No proof, no testimonials, no verifiable track record. Just a list of recognizable names stitched together to make the company sound legitimate.
He then offers vague benefits: “two weeks or more promotions services” and “a optional voice on a phone conference once a month.” That’s it. No deliverables, no financial disclosures, no proof of incorporation, no roadmap, just a weak menu of buzzwords served under the illusion of opportunity. It’s the same $55 scheme from September.
But underneath the new paint, nothing has changed. The same Yahoo email address. The same company. The same unrealistic promise. Grace wants investors to believe he’s a tech and media mogul with thousands of clients, but just days earlier he was warning readers not to fall for consumer traps during the holidays. The contradictions are no longer subtle, they’re structural. One post condemns capitalism. The next one begs to be its beneficiary.
December 25, 2019 – From Holiday Begging to Holiday Promises
If anyone still had doubts about Grace’s strategy, his Christmas Day post should clear things up. After a week of emotional whiplash and financial fantasy, Grace made one more pitch: he was looking for an author to turn a book into a major TV network pilot. No project details. No network named. Just the promise that he would “cover 70% of expenses,” including production and legal. It reads like a last-ditch blast sent out to catch one more believer before the holiday ends. There’s no new information, just the same structure: big promise, vague numbers, capital letters, and his ever-present Yahoo email.
By this point, the timeline is unmistakable. Myron Grace wasn’t just making inconsistent claims. He was building a house of contradictions. One day he’s broke and dying. The next, he’s financing films and covering legal fees. One day he’s accusing the black community of economic betrayal. The next, he’s asking them to invest in his miracle company with “3600 clients” and “20 years of proven success.” But the deeper you go, the more obvious it becomes: there's no company here. There’s just Myron Grace and a series of Facebook posts strung together by bold claims, imaginary budgets, and a PayPal address.
December 30, 2019 – From Mogul to Literary Agent in One Last Ask for Cash
To close out 2019, Myron Grace made one final pivot. On December 30, he posted a “resolution” to help authors get signed to major publishing companies. Not just any publishers, he claimed he had “three of the top five publishing companies in the world.” He promised global bookstore distribution, physical placement, and contracts with major houses. There were no names, no submission guidelines, and no proof. Just one day to act. One inbox to contact. And a vague mention that he’d charge authors “based on your income.” This wasn’t a call for representation. It was a sales pitch with urgency baked in and accountability left out.
After months of financial promises, emotional appeals, blame-laced rants, and imaginary deals, this final post says everything. Grace didn’t just chase attention, he manufactured credibility by name-dropping industries, inflating his experience, and offering life-changing results in exchange for fast cash. Whether he was claiming to produce movies, fund TV pilots, sell radio stations, or pitch manuscripts to Random House, the structure was always the same. The offer was vague. The reward was massive. And the only thing real was the ask for money.
By the end of 2019, Myron Grace had promised investors million-dollar returns, authors direct access to top publishers, and aspiring filmmakers fully funded productions backed by Sony, Lionsgate, or Universal. He had also claimed to be a wounded veteran in need of emergency donations, accused the Black community of sabotaging his success, and begged for help paying for medicine. The posts came fast, and the pivots came faster.
What remained consistent was the structure: bold claims, vague details, and a payment link. Whether Grace believed in his own pitches or just hoped someone else would is unclear. But the trail he left behind speaks for itself. It's loud, erratic, and full of contradictions—built on urgency, desperation, and a steady stream of empty promises.
This was year 2019. There’s more to come.
Disclaimer: This journal entry isn't intended to disgrace Mr. Grace. It's meant to inform potential future clients: authors, musicians, and other creative professionals about Mr. Grace’s long history of unverifiable credentials, frequent legal threats, unsubstantiated marketing claims, and repeated use of public legal filings that raise serious questions about his business practices. Readers are encouraged to review all publicly available records and make their own informed decisions.
Click the links below for more detailed breakdowns of Myron Grace’s public claims, promotional tactics, and professional history. Each entry covers a specific year or topic and includes documented patterns, contradictions, and red flags.
Why did you create Misleading by Design?
As a writer, I’ve experienced the joy of creating stories but also the frustration of navigating the publishing world. Behind the scenes, the process of marketing a book is filled with scams, schemes, and people looking to take advantage of authors. With over 30 years of experience in intelligence and investigations, I realized I could use those skills along with my writing background to help expose the bad actors in our industry and beyond. Misleading by Design is my way of fighting back.
Your projects seem all over the place. Why not just stick to one subject or theme?
At first glance, my projects might seem scattered. I write about ghost stories, spiritual preservation, investigative reporting, and even political analysis. But they all serve one purpose. Each one invites readers to interpret what they see based on their own beliefs, experiences, and instincts. That's the heart of Branching Plot Books. Whether it's a scroll sealed with a forgotten soul, a book that can be read multiple ways, or a report that exposes something hidden in plain sight, the goal is the same. I want readers to take an active role, to question the surface, and decide what they believe is real. The stories may differ, but the purpose is always connected.
What is Misleading by Design’s Briefing Room?
It’s an investigative blog that exposes political bias, fraud, scams, and manipulation in institutions that claim to educate or protect the public. That includes universities, publishing platforms, corporate programs, and anything else hiding an agenda behind a professional front.
Who runs this blog?
I do. Arthur Mills. I’m a retired U.S. Army Chief Warrant Officer 3 and former All-Source Intelligence Technician with 31 years of experience in intelligence and investigations. I’ve tracked extremist threats, exposed political corruption, and led intelligence operations. I’ve seen what real indoctrination looks like, and I’m calling it out when I see it again. This time in classrooms and consumer markets.
Are you affiliated with any political group?
No. I don’t work for any party, PAC, campaign, or media outlet. I’m not here to push an agenda or play politics. I’m here to expose whoever’s lying, misrepresenting, or manipulating others, regardless of which side they’re on.
When I worked in the private sector, I conducted opposition research and tracked domestic extremist groups from across the political spectrum. I’ve investigated threats from both the left and the right. I don’t excuse violence, bias, or propaganda just because it aligns with one side’s agenda. If you're hiding your motives behind credentials, credentials behind ideology, or ideology behind fake neutrality, you're part of the problem. And you’ll show up here.
Why are you investigating food? What does this have to do with Branching Plot Books?
Because it’s the most common scam nobody talks about. Fast food chains show thick burgers and crisp fries in their ads, then hand you a flattened mess in a greasy bag. Grocery stores use packaging that promises quality but delivers bland, shriveled, or half-empty products. It’s manipulation through presentation. They sell the illusion, not the item.
And that’s the same trick used in education, politics, publishing, and everywhere else. If they can sell you a lie in a sandwich, they can sell it anywhere.
Misleading by Design fits the larger mission of Branching Plot Books by turning real-world scams into something the reader has to question, interpret, and investigate. Like my other projects, it doesn’t hand you answers. It gives you evidence, patterns, and contradictions, then dares you to put the pieces together. Whether it’s testimonies from the lost souls, curriculum bias, staged food ads, or publishing cons, the goal is the same: to make you rethink what you’ve been told and see how easily truth gets packaged, sold, and distorted.
What made you investigate American Military University?
Because it claims to train intelligence and homeland security professionals. What it’s actually doing is grooming students to think one way, speak one way, and ignore anything that doesn’t fit the school's left-wing agenda. That isn’t education. That's political indoctrination.
When I was tracking domestic extremist groups, I kept asking the same question. Where does this hate come from? What feeds it? I suspected the root was in their education. What they were taught. What they were not taught. That includes schools and universities.
After retiring from the military, I decided to get the formal education to match my experience. I chose a degree in Counter-Terrorism from American Military University. It promotes itself as a leader in intelligence, counter-terrorism, and homeland defense. It’s one of the largest programs of its kind. On paper, it looked like the right fit.
It wasn’t.
Course after course, it became clear that AMU wasn’t teaching students how to counter terrorism. It was teaching them how to adopt one worldview. How to view one side as the enemy. How to justify violence and extremism from the other. This wasn’t counter-terrorism. It was a curriculum on how to become a left-wing extremist.
I document everything. The entire report is published on The Briefing Room, in serialized form. I sent it to professors and top university officials. They ignored it. They didn’t defend their curriculum. They didn’t ask for clarification. They ignored me. They know I’m on to them.
That's why I’m staying in the program. I’m not there for the degree anymore. I don’t need it. I’m there to finish the investigation. American Military University has built a propaganda machine. And I plan to expose every part of it.
Do you accept tips or leads?
Yes. If you’ve seen something worth investigating, send it through my contact page. I check everything personally.
This includes curriculum bias at any level, from elementary schools to universities. If you’ve seen political agendas being pushed in grade school lesson plans, high school classrooms, college syllabi, or university programs, I want to hear about it. If you’ve dealt with fake credentials, unethical hiring, publishing fraud, corporate indoctrination, or institutional censorship, send it in. I follow evidence, not agendas.
If something feels off and you think no one else will touch it, send it anyway. I’ll look into it.
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