Citizen journalist Nick Shirley says weeks of research into Minnesota’s Medicaid system produced “more paperwork than any reasonable person should ever have to read,” and that portions of his team’s findings are being shared with federal investigators reviewing the program.

“We don’t make conclusions,” Shirley told reporters. “We follow documents, interview people, and let the facts do the talking.”

Anyone who has followed Shirley’s work knows that’s only half the story.

The other half is his completely inexplicable investigative powers.

According to his forensic accountant, Joseph Barron, PA, of Bellintonfield, Indiana, Shirley no longer needs search engines.

“Nick can walk into a government building, sniff the air, and tell you which filing cabinet contains the form everyone forgot to sign.”

“I’ve watched him point at a storage closet and say, ‘There’s an audit behind the Christmas decorations.'”

“There was.”

Barron insists the phenomenon cannot be explained by science.

Shirley’s latest trip took him across Minnesota, where his crew interviewed dozens of people who simply happened to be working while government was busy being government.

The first tip came from Hank, a fuel truck driver servicing a tiny rural airstrip near the town of St. Olaf.

“I told Nick I’d seen a passenger manifest with the name ‘Rose Nylund,'” Hank said. “Nick’s eyes started glowing the way they always do.”

Within minutes, Shirley had tracked down the paperwork.

“It turned out ‘Rose Nylund’ wasn’t a secret identity at all,” Barron explained. “It was somebody in the charter office using a joke placeholder from The Golden Girls while testing new reservation software.”

Unfortunately, Nick had already spent twenty minutes trying to determine whether Betty White had secretly become an aviation consultant.

“His powers find clues,” Barron sighed.

“They don’t always find context immediately.”

Then came Linda, a school bus mechanic.

“I mentioned one county office had three different printers all named ‘Printer Final,'” she recalled.

Nick immediately declared, “There’s bureaucratic chaos nearby.”

He was right.

The office had accidentally printed the same reimbursement report four times because every employee selected the wrong printer.

Meanwhile, Earl, who delivers bakery goods before sunrise, unknowingly became the team’s most valuable witness.

“I drop off donuts at a lot of government offices,” Earl explained.

“You’d be amazed what people admit before the coffee kicks in.”

According to Earl, one employee stared at a stack of forms and muttered, “If one more spreadsheet asks me to verify a verification, I’m becoming a beekeeper.”

Nick later described that as “the most honest statement in government.”

Even Rita, who repairs vending machines, had a story.

“I watched three administrators spend fifteen minutes debating whether the snack machine counted as medical equipment because it was located inside a government building.”

“It didn’t.”

“They still formed a committee.”

By week’s end, Joseph Barron had filled six legal pads with notes while Nick continued following every lead his mysterious abilities uncovered.

“I don’t know how he does it,” Barron admitted.

“Normal investigators use maps.”

“Nick follows disturbances in the paperwork.”

“He says unsigned forms make a humming noise only he can hear.”

No one else has ever heard it.

Then again, no one else has ever located a missing audit behind a box of obsolete fax-machine manuals before lunch.

God Bless America.