 Brick by brick audiobooks presents The Last Monument by Michael C. Grumley Red for you by Scott Brick Tugina, for urging me to write this book. Prologue. The explosion was deafening, propelling a barrage of earth and clay chunks in every direction. Five thousand pounds of steel wrecking ball erupted through the cloud of red dust like a beast freed from its cage, eventually slowing and beginning a gradual swing back into the billowing haze. Overhead the top of a white crane rotated backward, pulling the giant ball with it, only to send its swinging back again with another devastating blow. This time demolishing an entire wall of the ancient adobe building, walls that had stood the test of time for well over a century. Walls of the last remaining original structure in the tiny town of Alerta Peru perched just five miles inside the Peruvian-Bolivian border, one of thousands of isolated South American establishments fighting to survive under the relentless advancement of modernization. With tiny Alerta still deeply rooted in a ramshackle existence of tradition and heritage, beneath what seemed like an ever encroaching blanket of poverty. But today was different. Today the destruction of the town's only central building and ancient post office was cause for celebration, after the government had allocated tens of thousands of Peruvian souls to build a new modern administration building in its place, officially delivering the town into an age of relevance within the great Republic of Peru. The fourth blast from the giant pear-shaped wrecking ball destroyed what was left of the north and west walls in one swing. In a shower of chunks the impact caused the scarred white-painted ball to twist slowly as it moved, before again pulling back from the arm of its overhead crane. The last remaining section of wall was left wobbling before it tumbled inward, crashing on to the Rand-Earth Foundation and what was left of the wooden flooring. The ball was promptly dragged backward yet again when one of the nearby workers suddenly held up a hand and peered curiously through the red dust. The crane's arm was halted and two green-vested men climbed forward into the field of rubble, scrambling over piles of broken bricks until one of the men pointed forward and waved off the crane operator. Three hours later André Lopez raised a hand and absently wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead, the consequence of the old squealing air conditioner in the next room, which strained to stave off the summer heat and humidity every time the office's outside door was opened. Puerto Del Maldonado was the capital of... Sample complete. Ready to continue?