Sword and Scale Nightmares - One Percent

Episode Date: January 14, 2026

62-year-old Kathy Hughes Anderson spent her career tending to trees, preserving beauty and order across the towns she served. In retirement, she brought that same quiet dedication to her life at home - until one December evening when a stranger walked through her front door. Kathy had no idea who he was. But Francis Wolke had been convinced he needed to kill to join the one percent.Get commercial free access to over a decade of Sword and Scale's true crime podcasts at http://swordandscale.com

It's the night of December 12th, 2018, when a 911 call comes into the Menlo Park Police Department. The operator can barely make sense of the man on the other end. He's screaming, panicked, incoherent. Then finally, a full sentence cuts through the chaos. There's a lot of blood. Deputies are immediately dispatched and start tearing through the other. upscale neighborhoods, past gated homes on their way to Valparaiso Avenue. Moments later, the tires of multiple cruisers screech as they pull up to the curb outside

a well-manicured lawn. As they rush to the front porch with weapons drawn, the shrill screams from inside the home become louder. Deputies find two men standing in the hallway. One is in his late 50s and holding a large knife to the throat of the house. the other, who looks to be in his late twenties. He's barefoot, rail thin, shirtless and drenched in blood. The deputies start shouting commands, drop the knife, put your hands in the air.

The man covered in blood steps forward as the old man stumbles back, hitting a countertop and dropping the knife on the floor. When the deputy reaches for the suspect, his hands slide off his wrists, slick from the blood running past his elbows. Finally, the cuffs snap into place. As the deputy guides him to the cruiser, he notices blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. His pulse quickens. What did you do, you sick fuck?

The deputy demands. He doesn't answer. Instead, he slowly lifts his head and flashes an eerie smile, revealing his jagged, decayed teeth stained from the burgundy. liquid pooled inside his mouth. Finally, he speaks. I'm sorry, but I had to. I had to join the 1%. To sword and scale nightmares. True crime for bedtime. When nightmare begins now. Before we get back into this story, I want to take a moment, because for a lot of us, the only real piece we get, is at the end of the day, when everything finally goes quiet. That's why I want to tell you

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drops when he hears him say. She's in the basement. I have a mental problem, and I very seriously killed that woman. Outside the home, flashing lights of emergency vehicles bathe the sidewalk. Neighbors gather while paramedics wheel out a stretcher covered by a white sheet. The old man, the one with the knife, is gently let out of the home into the back of an unmarked car. The next several moments are a blur. One minute, he's holding a man at knife point. The next he's inside a cold interrogation room being grilled by a group of detectives. Authorities spared him the grief of asking what happened to his friend. They already knew.

Instead, they asked about his relationship with the victim. I'm her boyfriend. Well, I was. He says, with tears in his eyes. Kathy, he says quietly. Her name was Kathleen Anderson. To most, she was a 62-year-old woman living in Menlo Park. To him, she was something more.

She was my best friend, he says. and the kindest person I've known. He tells them about her garden, the way every spring it would come alive like something out of a painting. Before her retirement, Kathy was a professional arborist. People in the neighborhood still called her for advice on soil, roots, weather cycles.

She knew what to plant, where to plant it, and how to keep it alive. She loved nature, he says. She understood it better than most people, understand other people. That day, something felt off. She hadn't brought in her trash bins. He decided to check on her that night. The front door was unlocked and he walked inside, completely unaware of the nightmare waiting. Let's talk about something most people don't think about until it's too late. If you drink, even occasionally, you already know how unpredictable the next

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A young man named Daniel Gershovich. Daniel doesn't know Kathy or her boyfriend. Their lives were completely separate until just now. He's in his mid-20s, an up-and-coming tech mine in Silicon Valley. At the start of this interview, detectives share a photo. Did you know this man? Daniel looks at the photo, his eyes don't flinch. Yeah, he says.

That's Gabriel. Gabriel Liddell. The room shifts. The detectives exchange confused glances. Stop lying, one of them says. We know you know who this is. is. Daniel is equally confused. He doesn't know what the hell is going on. After some contentious back and forth, investigators tell him the truth. The man in the photo, the man Daniel said he

once lived with, isn't Gabriel Liddell. It's Francis woke. Daniel stares down at the image, and then slowly the color drains from his face. There is no Gabriel. His His former roommate, who slept on his floor for six months, had given him a fake name. The shock settles in. It was like he'd just seen a ghost. He told him where it all started back in 2014. Roughly four years back, Daniel attended a cryptocurrency conference in the Valley. That's when he bumped into Francis, who introduced himself as Gabriel.

The two got to chatting and instantly clicked. They talked for hours about the future of modern innovation and their plans to make a difference in the world. At one point, Francis also mentioned that he was looking for an apartment. Thinking it would be beneficial for both of them, Daniel eventually offered Francis a place to stay. It sounded like a win-win, shared rent, shared vision. So they came up with a plan, joined forces, work on a project together, and co-found a startup that

was sure to make them both rich. his police interview, Daniel told detectives that he and Francis were well on their way to launching this groundbreaking technology. It wasn't fart coin, was it? I hope not. On the surface, everything was working out, except that Francis didn't have a job. You see, whenever Daniel asked him about finding work to support himself before their big payday, Francis goffed at the idea. Clocking in for a paycheck was beneath him. In his eyes, he was smarter than ever. else, particularly women. They say you never really know someone until you live with them. And from Daniel's perspective, that couldn't have been more true. He started to pick up on Francis's

bizarre world views. Daniel remembers how easily Francis turned to any conversation, no matter the topic, into a platform for misogyny. He blamed women for the pitfalls of civilization and referred to them as societal rot. From there, things only got worse. While Francis was undeniably talented and highly intelligent, good ideas don't pay the rent, you know? When Daniel returned home from his 9 to 5, ready to start his second shift working on the software, he'd find Francis pacing between his desktop and frantically scribbling and decipherable notes on his whiteboard in the living room. Over time, Francis became so obsessed with the project that he stopped sleeping altogether. He'd drink pots of coffee and keep himself a while.

wake. Once caffeine was no longer cutting it, he'd turn to Adderall. As you might already know, Adderall is just as much as stimulant as it is an appetite suppressant. Francis was already a pretty small guy, and eventually he stopped eating entirely. Now a full-blown insomniac addicted to speed, Francis started to become even more delusional than he was before. He was extremely paranoid and started rambling to Daniel about Microsoft, claiming they were spying on him, tracking his IP address, and that the software they were developing was a threat to corporate tech giants all over the world. I'm sure they were very scared. But that wasn't the worst of it. One day, out of nowhere, Francis started tearing apart the room, dragging furniture from

wall to wall, flipping chairs and throwing electronics through the air, like a wildman. When Daniel confronted him, he found Francis in the kitchen opening cabinets, pulling out dishes and smashing them onto the floor. According to what Daniel told police, that was the last straw. That was it. That was too much. The instability, the chaos. It wasn't worth the promise of a big payday.

It wasn't worth the effort, the trouble. Dealing with crazy people will drive you crazy. After about six months of putting up with this nonsense, Francis was kicked out of the apartment on ceremonial. Just like that, he was homeless. No plan. No money. No safety nut. I don't know how people let themselves get like that. Just his laptop and the clothes on his back.

From there, he bounced around the Bay Area, sleeping in cafes, park benches, and even on people's lawns. Eventually he spotted a vacant balcony at one of the dorms on the Stanford University campus. He scaled the second floor balcony in the lived there for weeks unnoticed. Then one afternoon he slipped and fell trying to climb down. He broke his leg. Students called 911 after seeing a malnourished man crawling in the middle of the street.

Francis refused medical attention, but when the EMT saw the bone poking through his jeans, they basically forced him to the back of an ambulance against his will. While at the hospital, he was unruly, calling the female staff incompetent. and useless. Once he was fixed up, the kind folks at the hospital couldn't get rid of him fast enough. And after hobbling out of the hospital on crutches and a fresh new leg cast, he was back out on the streets, on his own. Meanwhile, his family back in Ohio was trying to get a hold of him.

His cell phone was shut off long before his roommate kicked him out. They knew something was wrong. What they didn't know was that their son, already hospitalized twice, for psychosis was unraveling again. Then one night after weeks of radio silence, Francis appeared on his parents' doorstep in Cincinnati, nearly 2,300 miles from where he'd last been seen. His mother opens the door and freezes. She doesn't recognize him. His eyes are sunken. His clothes and leg casts are crusted with grime, and he reeks of body odor. Mom, he says, but it doesn't sound like him. Then he starts rambling, nonsense about frequencies in his head, about unlocking

some kind of system. His words come fast, frantic, but his eyes are vacant. This is the worst she's ever seen him. She's been worried, sick, and is just happy that he finally made it home. Besides a broken leg, at least physically, Francis is in one piece, she thinks. For the next year, she tried everything she could to get Francis help. He met with countless mental health professionals while in Cincinnati, and over time he seemed to be improving. Unfortunately, looks can be deceiving, especially when it comes to mental illness. And crazy people tend to hide. They're crazy. Without his parents' knowledge, Francis eventually stopped taking his meds. He was quietly becoming convinced the treatment he'd been receiving was a means to silence him.

an attempt to turn him into uninformed sheep like the rest of the population. Before along, delusions of corporate overlords out to get him came flooding back like they'd never left. Then one morning in early December of 2018, Francis vanished without a trace. His parents immediately notified the police, but he was long gone. While they scoured Greater Cincinnati searching for him, Francis was already on a bus, back to California. On the way there, he stayed awake, listening to voices in his head

that were only growing louder. Don't bitch out, they whispered. Just do it. He'd been up for days, but somewhere between the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific coast, Francis had a different kind of awakening. To join the elite

1% of society, a sacrifice had to be made. And it didn't matter who. By the time the bus's hydraulic squealed to a halt, and the doors swung open, the plan was set. It was Francis's time to become eternal. If you want steady energy without feeling wired, this is worth a look. Mantra Macha makes premium ceremonial grade matcha, sourced from a private farm in Uji Japan. It's made from the youngest tea leaves, stone ground, naturally smooth, and it delivers

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They're great for gifts or just keeping something genuinely interesting in your pantry. I've arranged an exclusive 10% off for listeners. Go to mollybz.com. That's mollybz.com and use promo code sword at checkout. It's the morning of December 12th, 2018. Francis Woke has been walking for hours.

The city shifts around him, but his tunnel vision keeps him focused. He's no longer in control, nor does he have a say in where he's going. He only knows his role in the mission, and that his destiny, depends on it. He looks like a walking skeleton. Skin and bones have trekked over 40 miles at this point. Finally, he recognizes a shift in class when he turns into the wealthy neighborhood

off of Valparaiso Avenue. He sees the shiny cars parked in the mansion's driveways and white lights festively strung around the tall evergreens. He takes it as a warm welcome, a sign that he's in the right place. He chooses a house. After walking onto the front porch, Francis opens the unlocked door and walks inside.

From the doorway, he sees her in the kitchen, cutting fresh vegetables from her garden, moving ignorantly between the stove and the counter, humming a tune. How stupid she is, he thinks to himself. Only a woman would be so foolish, to allow a stranger to wander into her home like this. He takes a few more steps.

He's right behind her now, so close that the stench of expensive perfume stings his nostrils. The aroma only angers him. Then Kathy hears it, the sound of a man breathing down her neck. She immediately turns to see a disheveled man six inches from her face. Before she has time to scream, she's knocked to the floor.

She yells, but it's no use. Francis is on top of her now, throwing punches until the blood from her nose covers her face. Her vision blurs with each blow to the head. The last thing she sees before fading to black is two distorted hands reaching towards her throat. Francis uses every muscle in his fragile frame to squeeze as hard as he can. but he's not strong enough to finish the job. Kathy begs for her life, and Francis's eyes dart across the room searching for a tool.

There, on the Kitchen Island, he notices a pencil next to a pad of paper. With his victim lying helplessly on the tile, he reaches up to grab it and drives it into the old woman's eye. Kathy lets out an excruciating scream that only excites him. Over and over he stabs until her eye is just an open cavity. Kathy's body twitches. Her screams slowly fade. But Francis doesn't quit.

With one last thrust to the victim's unrecognizable face, he feels it break through her skull into her brain. Finally, she stops moving. And Francis snaps the tool off, leaving half of it. inside. With sweat pouring down his face, he stands to catch his breath. He's content that she's dead, but knows he's far from finished. The voices visit him again, reminding Francis of the second half of the plan. He stumbles through the house, his bare feet leaving streaks of blood until he finds a rusty handsaw in the basement. When he arrives back at the kitchen,

He leans over Kathy's body and starts sawing at her neck. He tries to remove her head, but his arms are too weak. His stomach hollow from days without food. Francis needs nourishment, but not to survive. He reaches down, grabs a handful of flesh, and starts to consume his victim. Francis has completed his mission, but he's disappointed. He doesn't feel any of his. more enlightened. He doesn't feel any more powerful. In fact, there's no transformation

whatsoever. Just the taste of blood and an empty stomach. Hours later, he wakes from her bed and hears a man's voice calling out inside the house. Kathy, are you home? Francis doesn't hesitate and heads down to greet him. Don't fucking move. Where's Kathy? The man hollers out. But Francis says nothing. He just stands there and stares. The old man reaches for a knife to keep the killer at bay, right before scrambling for his cell phone to call 911. When Francis was questioned following his arrest,

he admitted to the murder, dismemberment, and that he tried to eat Kathleen's body. He didn't know her and had chosen the home at random. Francis went on to explain how a higher power had visited him. instructing him to kill and eat the rich. Wonder where he got that. By doing so, he'd become wealthy, just like Kathy, and he'd be able to live forever.

All happy and healthy and full. Toward the end of his interview, Francis said that if it were a man standing in the kitchen that night, he would have simply walked out. I guess that's not his particular preferred cut of it. beef. Ahead of trial, Francis woke pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity. He was seen by various psychiatrists.

Some deemed him insane while others didn't. Bringing into question yet again what the point might be of this particular subject. In the end, the jury unanimously agreed that Francis knew exactly when he was doing the moment he entered Kathy's home. And in March of 2023, he was found guilty of first-degree murder and sentenced to 26 years to life in prison. A few weeks after the murder, a neighbor witnessed a man climbing through Kathy's window. When the authorities arrived, they saw it was Kathy's boyfriend. He was holding a small plant. They could tell he was distraught and clearly grieving. The man told police, he was sorry, and then he just wanted something to remember her by. As for his roommate, Daniel,

he since moved to Berlin, where he became the founder of a different cloud-based software company. He seems to be doing just fine, and I'm sure is more than thankful, having dodged the proverbial bullet. If you enjoyed the show, please consider joining plus at sword and scale.com slash plus. But if you can't, consider leaving us a positive review on your preferred listening platform. Sweet dreams and good night.