I am the seventeenth president, once hailed as a builder of nations, now remembered as an architect of deficits. My ambitions began with promises of prosperity and renewal, yet somewhere between concrete dreams and flowing rivers, only my own fortune seemed to flourish. History has since placed me among its cautionary tales, though I prefer to think of myself as a misunderstood innovator.
In this new life among the stars, I no longer govern people but debris. The factories I once envisioned now produce wrecks, and the institutions I founded are little more than drifting husks. Still, even wreckage tells a story. Each shattered hull speaks of opportunity seized, each frozen capsuleer a reminder that legacy can be written in more than monuments.
I remain, of course, a man of culture. Support for my "creative projects" is always welcome, whether through direct contributions or by admiring the artistry of my outcomes on the battlefield. Those who assist may consider themselves patrons of a unique school of economics, one where balance sheets are written in wrecks and the occasional corpse.
As for the many MBs you might encounter across Jita, pay them no mind. Impostors multiply where fame lingers. There is only one true face of greed refined into legend, and you are reading his words now. Nations may forgive, but the void, in its infinite memory, never does.