John Paul Mac Isaac was working at The Mac Shop in Wilmington, Delaware, on a fateful night in April 2019 when a customer walked in who would change his life. As he tells his story in his forthcoming book, “American Injustice: My Battle to Expose the Truth,” Isaac reveals the story behind Hunter Biden laptop, and this is an exclusive first look.
It was 10 minutes before the store’s closing time on a Friday night. On a website about CNC machines and woodworking, I was looking around. Having had a long and hectic week, I had no intention of staying up late to finish my work. Then, from the front window, cool, bright LED headlights reflected off the counter. In my chair, I sat back and shut my eyes. As soon as the door chimes sounded, my vision of leaving the shop quickly faded. My initial reaction was: “Who the hell expects quality service right before closing time?” It was typical for this time of day.
When a man with three MacBook Pros walked into the room, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. In height, he was about six feet tall, but he was slightly heavier than I am. He dressed down in dark blue and gray t-shirts and khakis. When I saw him, I could smell the smell of alcohol on his breath. As he scoured the bar for a place to sit, he placed the three laptops on the counter.
“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.”
Although he appeared to be older than me, he spoke with an unusually high pitch. He exuded a sense of entitlement.
“Great,” I exclaimed. In other words, “Another one who thinks the world revolves around them.”
I thanked him warmly, “You made it just in time.”
They all have liquid damage and won’t turn on, he said. “I need the data recovered from these.”
“Well, let’s get you checked in and see what’s going on.” The Apple logo on one of the computers was obscured by a Beau Biden Foundation sticker, but I wasn’t sure who I was talking to at first. For his first name, I asked him to enter it into my customer relationship management system (CRM).
Hunter,” he replied. My next question was, “What’s your last name?” His gaze was amused as if I were an alien from another planet, and how could I possibly not know who he was?
He responded, “Ah, Biden,” with a sarcastic grin.
I obtained his contact information, including his phone number and email address, and entered it into the system. I took a breather once the paperwork was underway because I had a soft spot in my heart for this man because he had recently lost his brother, Beau. The Mac with the sticker may have belonged to his deceased brother, and having access to the memories it contains would be comforting for him now that he is gone.
The machines would have been collected and examined the following day if it weren’t for the fact that I was single at the time. I decided to check them out right there and then, perhaps out of misplaced compassion. The machines were inspected one at a time, and I made a quick inspection. I threw away the 15-inch laptop because it was completely useless. Because the hard drive was soldered to the logic board, I was unable to recover any data from it. It is impossible to get to the data on a Mac that won’t turn on if the hard drive isn’t accessible.
A slightly better condition was found on the 13-inch 2015 MacBook Pro. An unresponsive keyboard prevented this from working. Logging in with an external keyboard was granted after I asked for permission.
In response to Hunter’s chuckle. Then he announced that it was “analf–k69” or something to that effect. “Don’t be offended!” he said. It was difficult to understand him because of his alcoholism. My eyes widened, and I suggested that he try to log in on his own if all else failed.
He slurred his words as he exclaimed, “Hey, you fixed it!” To get around the failure of his internal keyboard, I inquired about using an external keyboard, and he looked at me blankly.
“I’ll lend you this one so that you can do the recovery yourself,” I said. You don’t have to worry about me having to bill you for it.” When you’re done, just bring it back.” I would have saved myself a lot of time if I had done it that way, and I was sorry for the guy.
So I shut the door and closed the blinds, poured myself an Amstel Light from the fridge, and sat down in front of the recovery Mac to finish my work.
It was at this point that things really began to heat up.
Waiting for hundreds of files to populate in the right-hand pane of the previous window was tedious. I began to notice files that didn’t line up as I scrolled down the page. I began dragging and dropping the files into the recovery folder one by one. It only took a few files before the right-hand column began to feature explicit material.
In the course of my work, I’d become accustomed to this, so I didn’t give it much thought. Even so, I was a little surprised to see such a large collection and the audacity of putting porn files on one’s desktop. I kept dragging and dropping because it was nothing new. People’s activities on and with computers are generally well-known. In order to avoid thinking about it, the industry as a whole tries not to. But I had been hired to do a job, and I was going to complete it.
I took a breath and thought, “Oh sh–t.” The customer was clearly visible in the right-hand column preview image. A red scarf and jockstraps were visible on his body. Laughter erupted in my mouth.
“What a shame!” I had this thought in my head. How on earth could anyone be comfortable having this on their desktop?
However, I brushed it off and proceeded to the next file on the list. As soon as one appeared, more followed, and so on. Trying to look cool while taking a naked selfie, Hunter stared into the camera with his salt and pepper stubble. Gross.
Inquiringly, “How many of these does he own?” My mind was boggled. And it wasn’t just him. Despite the fact that it appeared that he was in a relationship with himself, there were also photographs of him with women. I’d had enough and decided to stop previewing the data. My only recourse would be to rely on the file name. When he returned with the recovery data, I struggled to keep a straight face.
It wasn’t until I reached “income.pdf” that I realized what I was doing. If it hadn’t been marked with a purple dot, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it. You can use color codes or tags to organize files on a Mac. Because this person clearly lacks organizational skills, tagging this one file purple seemed a little out of character to me. I couldn’t resist the temptation to click on the button. So that’s what I did.
It was a PDF file of an email sent on January 16, 2017. The years 2013, 2014, and 2015 took the top three spots. The amount of taxable income earned for each year is listed next to the year: $833,000+ in 2013, $847,000+ amended to $1,247,000+ in 2014, $2,478,000+ amended in 2015. I was awestruck by the sheer magnitude of it all. This scumbag couldn’t even afford a backup drive after spending so much money!
I continued reading. In a way that I could never have imagined, I was able to see how much money I had made over the course of the year. In the following paragraphs, I discovered that “you ‘borrowed’ some money from RSB in advance of payments because you couldn’t have lived on $550,000 a year.” My mouth was agape. Why couldn’t this guy live on ten times what I earned in a year?
Throughout the entire document, there was an air of uncertainty. In my investigation, I discovered that a large sum of money had been exchanged, and none of the transactions appeared to be properly documented. Besides, what do I know about this? Then again, it wasn’t even my business. Neither transfer nor verification was my responsibility, only judgment. Because of this, I kept transferring data until I came across a rather large file. When the screen went blank, the file had only been transferred about half of the way. Unfortunately, the battery was dead.
I decided to call it a night and head back to my house for some rest. Only a few hundred gigabytes remained, and I figured I could finish it the following day. As soon as the MacBook had finished charging, I went to bed, but not before washing my hands thoroughly.
Eventually, after waiting over a year, Isaac turned the laptop into the FBI on behalf of Hunter Biden. The New York Post was later provided with a copy. Extract taken from “American Injustice,” published by Liberatio Protocol in November.