Florida to Execute 18yr old killer- Lured, Sh0t, and Burned to Death girlfriend Ex in Backyard Pit.

Florida to Execute 18yr old killer- Lured, Sh0t, and Burned to Death girlfriend Ex in Backyard Pit.

The News Broadcast: A Community in Shock

Reporter: Detectives are piecing together the final, brutal moments of Seath Jackson’s life. The local teen was beaten, shot, mutilated, burned into ashes, and his remains sunk to the bottom of a local quarry. WESH 2 News’ Kendra Ari has the late-breaking details tonight from Marion County.

Kendra Ari: Lead detectives tell WESH 2 News they believe they know where the murder weapon has been hidden, but right now, they are not telling us whether it has been found. Crime scene techs wrapped up scouring the property here for evidence, where they say 15-year-old Seath Jackson was viciously murdered.

Bystander: This is ruthless.

Kendra Ari: Friends of 15-year-old Seath Jackson continue to visit his memorial. Cars pass by the Summerfield house where the teen met a violent end. Investigators say he was lured to the home by his former girlfriend, ninth-grader Amber Wright, then attacked, shot, and burned. Detectives say Wright’s new boyfriend, Michael Bargo, is the mastermind behind the killing.

Judge: Potentially, you are facing the death penalty.

Kendra Ari: Bargo faced a judge with a gash on his eye and forehead. Investigators tell WESH 2 News he had the cuts when they arrested him. The suspects tell police the victim tried to run from the home after Bargo shot him, and was still alive even after the group dragged him into the bathtub and broke his kneecaps to stuff him in a sleeping bag. Friends believe he fought for his life.

Friend of Seath: Seath was a little fighter. I hope Seath messed them all up.

Kendra Ari: Right now, Bargo and the teen accused of grabbing the victim as he tried to run, Justin Soto, are on suicide watch at the jail.

Bystander: Maybe he wants to actually die so he doesn’t have to remember anything.

Kendra Ari: Crime scene techs wrapped up sifting through evidence focused on a bin in the backyard near the fire pit. Even experienced detectives are shaken, as are those close to Seath Jackson.

Local Resident: That’s hard to believe, isn’t it? That you could get five people together that would think that was a good idea. It’s still unbelievable to me. Who gave them the right to take somebody’s life? Who made them God? Nobody did.

The Sentence: Cold, Calculated, and Premeditated

On December 13, 2013, in a courtroom in Ocala, Florida, Circuit Judge David Eddy read a sentence that he described as the most cold, calculated, and premeditated case he had presided over in 32 years on the bench.

The man standing before him was 21 years old. He became, in that moment, the youngest person ever placed on Florida’s death row. As he was led from the courtroom, his father called out from the gallery, “I love you, son.”

The crime that brought him there had taken place two years and eight months earlier, on a Sunday evening in Summerfield, Florida. It was April 17, 2011. A group of five young people were gathered in a mobile home on Southeast 53rd Avenue. They had been planning this for weeks.

The Victim: Seath Tyler Jackson

Seath Tyler Jackson was born on February 3, 1996, in Ocala, Florida. He was a sophomore at Belleview High School. He stood 6 feet tall and weighed 135 pounds. Students at his school had taken his lean build as an invitation, and he had responded by training in mixed martial arts.

He dreamed of competing professionally. He went four-wheeling with his family on weekends. He made people laugh without trying. His best friend was a young man named William Somalot, who knew his habits, his moods, and everyone in his life.

The Fatal Night: April 17, 2011

On the evening of April 17, 2011, a text message arrived on Seath’s phone at 8:12 p.m. It was from his ex-girlfriend. She said she wanted them back together. She said she could never do anything to hurt him. She asked him to keep it quiet.

A friend sitting beside him read the messages and told him not to go. She said she would not fall for it. Seath had already made up his mind. He sent his mother a text telling her he was staying with friends. He made his way toward Summerfield.

His ex-girlfriend met him at a street corner near the mobile home and walked him to the front door. Inside, three people were waiting.

He was struck in the head with wooden weapons the moment he walked into the living room.

He fought through it and made it outside.

He was shot.

He was tackled to the ground and carried back inside.

A neighbor two houses down watched it happen from across the street.

Inside the bathroom, Michael Shane Bargo Jr. stayed with Seath until Seath was dead. He had told people for weeks that he wanted Seath to know who was killing him before he died. He made sure of it.

That night, Seath’s body was burned in a fire pit in the backyard of the mobile home. His remains were collected into three 5-gallon paint cans, driven to a remote rock quarry in Ocala, weighted with cinder blocks, and dropped into the water.

The Aftermath and Accountability

The next day, Bargo described every detail of what he had done to six people across two cities. He described it to them the way a person describes something they are proud of. He was arrested the following morning, still at the house where he had been telling the story.

Five others were arrested on April 20, 2011. All of them had been inside the mobile home on Southeast 53rd Avenue the night Seath Jackson walked through the door. More than 370 people attended the memorial service held for Seath in the days that followed.

Four of the five charged with murder received life sentences.

One of them walked free in 2020 after a federal court found she had received ineffective legal counsel at her original trial.

Michael Shane Bargo Jr. received a death sentence in December 2013. A second jury voted unanimously to give him death again in 2019.

The Florida Supreme Court upheld that sentence in 2021.

He is currently at Union Correctional Institution in Raiford, Florida. He remains the youngest person ever sent to death row in the state of Florida. He will not leave it.

Seath’s mother, Sonia Jackson, stood in courtrooms for nearly a decade and spoke every time the process gave her room to speak. At one hearing, she said, “Seath would have never been at that house without your manipulation.”

To understand how a group of young people in a rural Florida mobile home—driven by a broken relationship, a social media feud, and one man’s consuming hatred—planned the death of someone they knew, lured him through a door using words of love, and spent the hours that followed destroying the evidence in a backyard fire, we have to go back. Back to 1992. Back to the beginning of Michael Shane Bargo Jr.

The Mastermind: Michael Shane Bargo Jr.

Michael Shane Bargo Jr. was born on April 29, 1992, in Florida. From the earliest years of his life, he lived inside a home where anger was the dominant language. His parents, Michael Bargo Sr. and Tracy O’Brien, fought constantly, and their son grew up surrounded by the fallout of a marriage that had collapsed long before it was officially over.

The arguments were frequent and sometimes intense. Michael Jr. was still small enough to sit in a car seat when his father, in a rage directed at his mother, punched out the car window beside him. It was the kind of moment that does not leave a developing mind easily.

The household was not simply loud; it was unpredictable in the way that young people find most damaging—not knowing what version of the day they were walking into, not knowing how an evening would end. Michael Jr. absorbed all of it. He watched, he learned, and the lessons he took from those early years were not ones that served him.

His parents’ marriage ended formally in 2006 when Tracy O’Brien filed for divorce. Michael Jr. was 14 years old. The separation did not resolve the conflict; it reorganized it. The household split into sides, and Michael Jr. made his allegiance clear from the start. He blamed his mother for the divorce and made that clear in the way he spoke to her and behaved around her. He was still living under her roof, but he had already stopped treating it as home.

Michael Sr. actively encouraged the boy’s hostility, going as far as having the young Michael write offensive words about his mother in sidewalk chalk outside their home. The message being communicated to the boy was that his mother was the enemy and his father was the one who understood him.

Mental Health and Early Struggles

At school, Michael Jr. struggled. His behavior was disruptive, and his academic performance was poor. He was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). These diagnoses were documented and treated, though not consistently or effectively.

As the years passed, more conditions were identified. Mental health professionals who evaluated him at various points noted:

Bipolar disorder

Schizoaffective disorder

Anxiety and depression

A complex partial seizure disorder

Oppositional defiant disorder

Frontal lobe abnormalities

The evaluations painted a picture of a young person whose brain was not functioning without difficulty, and whose environment was providing no support to compensate. Discipline was nearly impossible. When his mother tried to correct him, he would leave. He ran away repeatedly. There was one occasion where he climbed a tree in the front yard and refused to come down for hours, waiting for his father to arrive before he would move. His attachment to his father was total and unquestioning, and his resentment of his mother grew in proportion.

Substance use entered his life during his early teenage years. He began drinking and using drugs—habits that he carried with him as he grew older. His substance abuse aggravated his existing neurological difficulties, making the symptoms of his various conditions harder to manage and his behavior more volatile. By the time he was 16, Michael Jr. had made his preference clear: he wanted to live with his father, and his wish was granted.

The change of address did not change the trajectory he was on. Without consistent structure or meaningful guidance, he continued to make poor choices. In the summer of 2010, he was arrested twice on burglary charges in Florida. He was ultimately adjudicated guilty of burglary of a dwelling and grand theft. He did not consider himself a convicted person in the formal sense—a distinction he would try to make years later when questioned about it directly in a courtroom before acknowledging what the record showed.

By early 2011, Michael Shane Bargo Jr. was 18 years old and had ended up in Summerfield, Florida. Summerfield sits in Marion County, a rural stretch of Central Florida about 65 miles northwest of Orlando. He gravitated toward a mobile home on Southeast 53rd Avenue, a property that had become a loosely organized gathering place for a group of young people with nowhere better to be. He began staying there. He brought his .22-caliber Heritage revolver with him and kept it inside the home as a matter of routine.

The Mobile Home on Southeast 53rd Avenue

The woman whose name was on the lease was Charlie K. Ely. When Bargo arrived at her home, he was stepping into a world that was about to change in ways that none of them would be able to undo.

Charlie K. Ely was born on July 11, 1992, in Maryland. She was 18 years old when Michael Bargo Jr. settled into her mobile home on Southeast 53rd Avenue in Summerfield, Florida. She had not grown up in this part of the country and had no deep roots in Marion County. The life she had before arriving in Florida was lived in the Northeast, and the circumstances that brought her south were not ones she had planned for.

She had moved to Florida specifically to reconnect with her birth mother, a woman she had been separated from for years and had spent a significant part of her life wondering about. The reunion, when it finally happened, was not what she had built it up to be in her mind. The relationship did not settle into anything stable or nurturing. The gap that years of separation had created did not close simply because the two of them were now in the same state. Ely was left in Marion County without the foundation she had come to find.

Before Bargo ever walked through her door, Ely had already been through the kind of experience that leaves a young person feeling unsteady. At 18, she had married a 21-year-old man named Joseph Eberhart. The marriage was fast—the kind of fast that happens when two young people are looking for something solid to hold on to. It did not last. Eberhart was sent to prison for violating his probation not long after they married, and Ely was left alone in the mobile home on Southeast 53rd Avenue with a lease in her name and nobody beside her.

She had no nearby family to fall back on, no close friends from a long history in the area, and no particular plan for what to do next. What she had was a home. In the absence of a better option, that home became the place where other young people without better options began to gather. The door stayed open. People came in and did not leave. The property filled up with faces that became familiar, and the line between who lived there and who was simply always present stopped meaning anything practical.

The Dynamics of the Household

Justin Edward Soto was one of the people who had already established himself at Ely’s home before Bargo arrived. He was born on January 4, 1991, which made him 20 years old and the oldest of the young men living there. Soto had grown up with a record. As a juvenile, he had been arrested on charges that included aggravated battery, possessing a weapon on school property, and burglary. He was not someone to whom violence was unfamiliar or alarming. He moved through the mobile home with the ease of someone who had decided that the rules governing how other people behaved did not apply to him in the same way.

Kyle Loni Duane Hooper was born on July 19, 1994, and was 16 years old when Bargo arrived at Ely’s home. He was Amber Wright’s older brother, the two of them raised together in the same household by their mother, Tracy Wright. Of all the people staying at the mobile home on Southeast 53rd Avenue, Hooper was the one who moved most comfortably between the world inside that house and the world outside it. He had connections elsewhere. He had a life that extended beyond the walls of that property. He had friends who knew nothing about Bargo or about the atmosphere that had developed at Ely’s home. One of those friends was a young man from Belleview named Seath Tyler Jackson.

The friendship between Kyle Hooper and Seath Jackson had not started through any dramatic circumstance. It had grown the way most genuine friendships grow: through proximity, through shared time, through the kind of repeated contact that eventually produces real familiarity. That friendship was intact and functioning when Bargo first arrived at Ely’s home.

Though the conditions inside the house were already working against it, the home did not function like a household. There were no schedules, no shared responsibilities, no adult oversight of any kind. The days passed without structure. Marijuana and alcohol were present regularly. People argued, and when arguments happened, Bargo was almost always somewhere near the center of them.

He was 5 feet 4 inches tall, which he was aware of, and he operated in the space as though his size were something he had decided was irrelevant. His temper moved quickly from irritation to confrontation. He did not de-escalate; he escalated. During one dispute at the property, Bargo pulled out his .22-caliber Heritage revolver and held it toward one of the people staying there. The threat was direct. Two of the home’s residents decided that the situation was no longer one they wanted to be part of and moved out shortly afterward. The incident was not a secret. Everyone remaining in the house knew what had happened. They knew Bargo had done it, and they knew he was still there with the same weapon. They stayed anyway.

The Escalation of Hatred

Bargo had Amber Wright’s initials—AEW—tattooed on his left thigh. He had been with other young women before and during his time at Ely’s home, but his attachment to Amber was the one he had literally written into his skin.

Amber was Kyle Hooper’s younger sister. Born on March 29, 1996, she had grown up with Kyle in the same household. Raised by their mother, Tracy Wright, she visited Ely’s home so regularly that the distinction between staying there and living there had effectively disappeared. It was through Amber that Bargo first heard about a young man named Seath Tyler Jackson. And once he heard about him, he did not stop thinking about him.

Seath Tyler Jackson had been part of Amber Wright’s life since December 2010, when the two of them began a relationship. He was born on February 3, 1996, in Ocala, Florida—the same year as Amber. He lived in the Belleview area of Marion County with his parents, Scott and Sonia Jackson, and his two older brothers, Scott Jr. and Stefan.

The household that Scott and Sonia kept was a stable one. Stability is not a dramatic quality, but it is a foundational one, and Seath had it in a way that shaped who he was. His parents paid attention to him. They knew his friends. They tracked what was happening in his life. Sonia Jackson texted her son to check in on him. Scott Jackson took his son four-wheeling on the weekends out on open land, driving through the kind of Florida terrain that is flat, wide, and uncomplicated—the kind of activity that has no particular purpose other than spending time together. It was simple. It was reliable. It was the kind of thing that a young person grows up around without fully understanding how much it matters until it is gone.

Seath was not a person people needed to spend a long time figuring out. The people who knew him—classmates, friends, neighbors—described him in the same terms regardless of how well they knew him. He was funny. Not performed funny, not trying-too-hard funny, but genuinely, naturally funny in the way that some people just are. He made people around him laugh without effort. He was loyal. When he called someone a friend, it meant something. He showed up for people. He was an animal lover in a straightforward, unpretentious way. He liked animals, and he was kind to them. There was no complexity to it. That was just who he was.

The Breakup and the Feud

At Belleview High School, where he was a sophomore in the fall of 2010, he had encountered something that many lean, tall young people encounter in school environments: students who read his build as a vulnerability. He stood 6 feet tall and weighed around 135 pounds. That combination—the height without the weight—had drawn attention from others who mistook it for weakness. He had been bullied. He had felt the particular discomfort of being in a place where your physical presence invites unwanted contact.

His response was not to retreat, and it was not to become someone who treated others the way he had been treated. He started training in mixed martial arts. He found a gym. He showed up consistently. He worked at it with the seriousness that people bring to things they care about, rather than things they are merely trying. The training gave him something practical: an ability to defend himself if it came to that. But it gave him something else as well. It gave him a pursuit. It gave him a direction. He began talking about competing—not in the casual way people mention things they might like to do someday, but in the way people talk about goals they have actually committed to. He came back to it in conversation again and again. He wanted to compete. He wanted to be good at it.

His closest friend was William Somalot. The two of them were in and out of each other’s company regularly. Somalot knew Seath’s patterns, knew where he went, who he spent time with, and what a normal week looked like for him. He knew Seath’s moods. He knew how he talked and how he acted when something was bothering him. Their friendship was the kind that develops through consistent presence over time, through the small, shared experiences that pile up into something that matters.

It was in this period—fall of 2010, Seath a sophomore, the school year just beginning—that he and Amber Wright started spending time together. She attended Belleview High School. They were the same age. They moved through overlapping social spaces. Somewhere between September and December 2010, what had started as an acquaintance deepened into something more. By December, they were in a relationship.

Amber’s older brother, Kyle Hooper, was already one of Seath’s friends, which made the arrangement feel natural from the start. The three of them moved comfortably through shared space: Kyle as friend, Amber as girlfriend, Seath at the intersection of both. The relationship between Seath and Amber ran from December 2010 through March 2011. During those months, it was the central relationship in both their lives. They were together at school. They appeared in each other’s social media posts. They spent time in each other’s company in the easy way that two people do when they are genuinely invested in each other.

By early March 2011, something had shifted. Seath began to sense that Amber’s attention was elsewhere. She had been spending time around Michael Bargo, who was older, who was part of the group at Ely’s home, and who was present in Amber’s life in a way that Seath did not think was innocent. He started asking questions. The answers he got—or did not get—confirmed what he already suspected: Amber had been seeing Bargo while she and Seath were still together.

The relationship ended in March 2011, and the ending was not clean or quiet. Seath did not handle the breakup privately. He processed it where he processed most things: on Facebook, where his posts were visible to everyone connected to him. In early March, those posts still carried the tone of someone who was hurt but still hoping. By the end of March, the hurt had hardened into something more direct. He accused Amber publicly of cheating on him with Bargo. He wrote it in posts that anyone following him could read.

Michael Bargo read them. He did not read them and move on. He entered the conversation directly. And the breakup between two young people who had dated for three months became something else entirely—something that now included a man who was three years older, who was built around grievance rather than grief, and who had a loaded revolver in a mobile home less than an hour away.

A Web of False Accusations and Confrontations

The conflict between Seath Jackson and Michael Bargo moved off social media and into direct physical confrontation quickly. Bargo had formed a specific view of Seath Jackson—a view that was not built on anything he had personally witnessed, but on what he had been told or had chosen to accept. By the time March had turned to April, Bargo believed that Seath Jackson had been physically violent toward Amber Wright during their relationship. He believed this firmly. He had settled into it as a fact.

The belief was not accurate. William Somalot, who had been with Seath throughout his relationship with Amber and who knew Seath better than almost anyone, later stated clearly that Seath had not abused Amber. The accusation had no grounding, but the accuracy of it was not something Bargo went looking for. The belief was useful to him. It transformed his hatred from something personal and petty—anger at a younger man over a girl—into something that felt, in the framework he had constructed, like righteous protection. He was not just angry at Seath Jackson; in his own understanding of the situation, he had a reason to be.

This was not something Bargo kept to himself. He talked about Seath openly and repeatedly in the weeks between March and April 2011. He brought him up in conversation with the group around him: with Hooper, with Soto, with Ely, with Amber. He expressed what he thought of Seath without hesitation and without softening it. He described what he believed Seath had done to Amber. He said out loud what he thought should happen to Seath.

These conversations were not one-time events. They became part of the daily texture of life in that house. The group heard it so many times that it stopped registering as something unusual and started registering as simply the way things were.

Seath, for his part, was not pulling back from the conflict. He was 15 years old. He had been training in martial arts, and he had built a physical confidence over the preceding months that he was not going to walk away from simply because Bargo was older and had a gun. He challenged Bargo to fight him directly on more than one occasion. He made the challenges without covering them up or wrapping them in diplomacy. He called Bargo out plainly, and he expected Bargo to respond the same way: face-to-face, the matter settled physically between the two of them.

Bargo did not accept any of the challenges. He heard them, noted them, and stored them. He was not going to engage on Seath’s terms. He was going to engage when and how he chose.

The Confrontation at Seath’s Home

Bargo had Amber’s initials tattooed on his left thigh: AEW—Amber Elizabeth Wright. The tattoo was the visible marker of an investment that went beyond ordinary dating. Amber had a corresponding tattoo as well. The two of them were connected in a way that Bargo had literally put into his skin, and the idea that someone had hurt her—even if that idea had no factual basis—was not something he could let pass without a response.

Bargo eventually took the confrontation directly to Seath’s home. He arrived at the Jackson family house not to talk, not to negotiate, and not to resolve anything. He arrived to deliver a message. Seath was there. His mother, Sonia Jackson, was there as well. Bargo stood at the property and told Seath in plain terms, with no lowered voice and no effort to make it private, that he had a bullet with Seath’s name on it. He did not say it with visible rage. He said it with the calm of someone stating a fact they have already decided on. Then he turned and walked away.

Sonia Jackson heard every word. She stood in the space where she had just watched someone threaten her son’s life, and she absorbed it. She did not forget it. She did not stop thinking about it.

Kyle Hooper’s Betrayal

Kyle Hooper had his own path to the same destination. His friendship with Seath had been real—not a surface-level acquaintance, but a genuine connection built over shared time. The erosion of that friendship had started with the breakup between Amber and Seath, which put Hooper in a difficult position. His sister was at the center of a public argument that Seath was driving on social media, and the accusations Seath was making against Amber were the kind that were hard for a brother to absorb without taking sides.

Then something separate happened that had nothing to do with Bargo or Amber. Hooper had developed feelings for a young woman named Alyssa. He was interested in her seriously. At some point, he found out that Seath had been intimate with her. The discovery hit him hard. It was not a matter of disappointment; it landed in him as a betrayal, and he did not manage the feeling internally or quietly.

He picked up his phone and sent text messages to Alyssa in which he stated directly and without ambiguity that he wanted Seath Jackson dead. The messages were not emotional overstatement. They were specific. They were written and stored on a device. They were the documented output of a young man who had moved through anger and arrived somewhere more fixed and more deliberate. Hooper’s hatred of Seath by April 2011 had its own momentum, entirely separate from Bargo’s.

Amber Wright at the Center

Amber Wright was at the center of all of this without appearing to manage any of it. She was spending her time at Ely’s home. She was in a relationship with Bargo, and she was still in occasional contact with Seath. She was the one person connected to everyone: Bargo’s girlfriend, Kyle’s sister, Seath’s ex. She had talked to Bargo about Seath. She had described what happened between them in ways that shaped how Bargo understood the history.

The claim that Seath had been abusive had come, at least in part, from what Amber had communicated to Bargo directly or through the impression her account created. Whether she said it deliberately to provoke Bargo or whether she said it without fully measuring the consequences, the effect was the same. Bargo had received it, accepted it, and built his entire framework of hatred on it.

The Warning Shot and the Setup

In early April, the confrontation arrived at Ely’s property in person. Seath and Somalot walked toward the mobile home together. They were not there to talk. They expected a physical confrontation—two people, the matter settled between them.

Before they reached the front door, a gunshot rang out. Bargo had fired his .22-caliber revolver from the property in their direction. The shot did not hit either of them, but it was not a misfired round or a mistake. It was aimed at driving them away. Seath and Somalot stopped where they were, turned, and left the area. They did not press forward. They did not try the door.

When Bargo was later asked to describe the incident, he said he had fired the gun to scare them off a little bit, and delivered that explanation in a flat, matter-of-fact tone—as if the firing of a weapon at two people on a public road were a perfectly ordinary response to feeling annoyed.

The gun had now been used in two separate incidents as a tool of intimidation: once inside the house against a person who had since moved out, and once fired directly toward Seath and Somalot in the street outside. Everyone at Ely’s home knew both of those things had happened. No one who heard about them left. No one confronted Bargo about them. No one called anyone. The group adjusted around the information and continued.

The Final Planning: April 16, 2011

By the evening of April 16, 2011, James Havens arrived at Ely’s home. He was 37 years old—more than a decade older than everyone else in the house. He had been connected to this social circle through his relationship with Tracy Wright, the mother of Amber and Kyle Hooper. Though that relationship had ended, the connection to the family and to the people around them had persisted even after the romantic relationship between him and Tracy was over. He still showed up at places where Amber and Kyle were gathered, in the easy way of someone who considered himself part of a world he technically no longer had a formal place in.

He arrived at Ely’s home on the evening of April 16 and found the group together. The conversation that developed that night was different from the conversations he had overheard on previous visits. The group was not simply expressing hatred for Seath Jackson in the general terms they had been using for weeks.

On April 16, they were talking about how to do it. They were discussing how to get Seath to the house. They were talking through the logistics of what would happen when he arrived. The conversation had moved from expression into planning.

Havens sat in the room and listened. The conversation around him was specific in a way that went beyond the general expressions of hatred toward Seath Jackson that had become routine in that house over the preceding weeks. The group was talking about how to get Seath there. They were talking about what would happen when he arrived. There was a structure to what they were saying—a sequence, an order of events that did not have the loose, unfinished quality of idle venting. It had the shape of something being worked out.

Havens told himself it was not real. He had heard angry people say dark things before and seen it come to nothing. He decided this was that kind of conversation. He said he felt uncomfortable enough that he did not want to stay in the room while it continued. And so he stood up, said whatever he said by way of leaving, and walked out. He got into his vehicle. He drove away from Southeast 53rd Avenue.