Daniel Manifest Destiny

1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-1-64146-745-2
Verlag: Made for Success
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 100 Seiten

Reihe: 11.89

Left unreconciled, the stories of our past will become the harbingers of our future.Nick Jacob's father meant the world to him. Murdered during an apparent robbery, the loss of his only mentor, friend, and idol left a crimson stain on the pure fabric of Nick's teenage life. Carrying the unimaginable burden of grief into his thirties, the haunting events of the past stir a new sensation deep inside of him. Fueled by anger and a sense of injustice, he begins a dark crusade to avenge others who have been similarly wronged.The traumatic events of the past puppeteer Nick toward a destiny that he never chose for himself. Expecting to obtain solace, Nick begins to uncover the truth of his father's murder. He soon realizes that he isn't only in a fight with his inner demons, but with what is unearthed in the investigation. A fight that stands between him and the future he desires; which may cost him everything.Manifest Destiny injects readers into a world filled with depth, drama, and timeless wisdom. Nick's story of a desire for justice shows the gravitational pull that the past exerts on our lives. But unfortunately, seeking vengeance for his father's murder only condemns his future.Left unforgiven, the dark stories of our history are doomed to play on infinite repeat. But as we beseech the world seeking growth and change, we need only lay down our past as the necessary sacrifice.

Zachary Daniel is a young, ambitious author whose unconventional career path and approach to life has wielded a story seven years in the making. A story first hatched over a glass of rum and a sunset. Zachary worked in Nuclear Medicine before starting his own Investment practice Digital Edge Wealth Management. All the while keeping focus on his writing. Drawing inspiration from an avid imagination, life experiences, friends, family, Ron Diaz Rum and a tobacco pipe for those quiet evenings. If you happen to see him out in the wild, expect a warm friendly Midwesterner with an appetite for trying new things. Whether it be gator wrestling or a board game night, there isn't much he can't get behind. He is obsessed with Bitcoin and friends would say he has a propensity for the unorthodox. He prefers to be thought of like an onion, with many layers.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Daniel, Zach

Leseproben

Chapter 4
The phone rattled violently, startling me from the groggy state of my morning. I snatched the phone off the system. Holding it to my ear, I heard a familiar voice echo through. “Ahh, I got a tip about a terrible accountant, real lazy. You got one of those there? He’s not the best looking either, and a Yankees fan of all things.” A crackle started on the other end. “Chris, you think you’re so clever, don’t you? I should call your precinct and tell ‘em you’ve been stealing doughnuts again.” “Oh, hardy har har, how original.” “Well, you keep putting those down, the wife might start looking a bit south of the state line, if you catch my drift.” Chris blew right past the remark. “Speaking of the wife, her and the kids are just getting over the flu. It’s been a mess.” “Sounds like you need a drink and some bad company.” “It’s like you know me or something.” “Well, hey, I gotta run to the office soon. How about dinner and a few drinks tomorrow night? Mulberry’s at eight? I’ll see you then.” “I’ll count down the hours… wait, Mulberry’s agai—” I smashed the phone on its console. I wanted Mulberry’s, and I knew Chris would convince me to try somewhere new if I hung around too long. Chris and I tried to get together at least once every other week. We used to get together more often, but a couple of years ago, he had packed up and moved his family to New York City, where he had received a job offer as a sergeant in the 23rd precinct. He hated the daily commute, so the decision was a no-brainer. Along with that, he had never been too fond of Jersey anyway. Chris moved here from New York when he was eight, and he’s missed that city ever since. I had asked him once why he missed New York so badly. Our past wasn’t a subject we usually dwelled on. He told me that when his father was alive, they used to go on adventures all over the city. Whether they were out looking for food, folk, or just the weird, there was never a dull moment. His father used to call it “America’s America.” On the surface, the city is rough yet so alive. You just have to view and harness it in the right way. His father showed him that reality, and he wanted to show his kids as well. That was a fair enough explainer to me. I took a sip from my mug, breaking my obliviousness to the time on the clock. I scarfed down a banana between the sips of joe, then proceeded to the office to coast by with another mundane shift. After the dull day, I settled down at one of my usual watering holes to unwind with a couple of drinks during happy hour. Once I sat down, I ordered a drink. Taking my first sip, I felt my shoulders slump and the tension melt like butter. There was nothing like Captain and Dr. Pepper. Taking another sip, the heavenly mixture tickled as it went down my throat. The bubbly warmth when it hit the stomach was unrivaled. I let out a smile and a deep breath for the first time all day. I sat with my drink and enjoyed the last few minutes of the Happy Days rerun that played overhead. It wasn’t too long before I made it back to my apartment. Once there, I kicked back with another drink, wrestled the TV tray over with my leg, and whipped out a deck of cards from the side pocket of the recliner. I shuffled quickly, fumbling on the bridge, and then dealt out my spreadsheet. The slick cards spewed out quickly, and 28 of them later, my solitaire setup was complete. It was my favorite card game, and even though it always frustrated me, the game regularly consumed my late nights on the weekday. I would come so close to beating it but was left just a couple of cards short. I would’ve rather not even come close. This time was no different, and as I realized defeat, I took another swig of my mixer. The drink fleetingly reminded me of the first time I ever avenged someone. I had been seated at a dive bar 14 years ago to the day, mulling over my drink and seething with anger. No other day of the year gets me so distraught. At that point in time, I had been an angry young adult still consumed with my father’s death. The resentment had been building for three years and was at a breaking point. The bar was called Rails. It was small and known for its cheap drinks, hence the name. The night wasn’t too busy. I was a regular, always getting a drink or two and watching the rest of the patrons. That night, the bar held the usual crowd… except for one bunch towards the end of the bar. They were obnoxiously loud and were getting stares while they shouted and hollered for some inane reason. They took up the whole far side of the bar, except for a scrawny college-aged student nestled amidst the group. He looked out of place and seemed to be doing his best to ignore the brutes behind him, focusing his attention instead on the football game broadcasting overhead. I caught him wincing a couple of times, likely attempting to ignore the yelling or the occasional crude joke. As the night went on, he started getting jostled around. At one point, a drink was spilled on him without so much as an apology from the drunks. A couple of times, it looked as though he was about to speak up, but he held his tongue. That was probably a smart choice. He caught the bartender’s attention for another drink, upgrading from his beer to some sort of mixer. I didn’t blame him. He needed something stiffer. Right as he reached for the glass, another jolt from behind threw him forward, causing his drink to spill on the wood bar top. The sigh that proceeded summed up his night. The bartender quickly rushed over with a napkin and made apologetic eye contact, topping off his glass. I knew he was about to say something, and I pleaded in my mind for him not to. Just leave while you’re somewhat ahead, I thought. “Excuse me, guys,” the man said, “would you mind calming down a little?” In a matter of seconds, a nuke exploded at the end of the bar. The group looked shocked. There was a befuddled disbelief among them, and everyone looked around for some indication of how they should react. After a couple of tense seconds, the largest of the group stepped forward. I decided Bruiser was an appropriate name. He looked the part of a bar drunk that’s itching for a fight, someone that, for motives unclear to me, craves the beatings they dish out to the unsuspecting. “I will calm down if you step outside with me and my friends and apologize,” Bruiser sneered, edging closer and closer to his victim. At this point, the young man realized what he was getting into, but it was too late. He had little choice in the matter. It was either quietly step out and take his beating or cause a scene that would probably end much worse. I felt bad for the kid. He sighed and nodded, already looking defeated. Getting up, he slammed his drink for the last ounce of courage, then slumped out of the bar, followed by Bruiser and his friends, who were jeering and cheering the whole way out. A small group of us took notice of the situation and snuck outside for what was sure to be a beat down. The participants in the fight readied themselves in true comic goon-like fashion. One guy was stretching his calves, another one was talking to himself, and a third guy put on gloves. After about 30 seconds of this nonsense, Bruiser took the circle for the little audience. “Listen, kid; I will give you one chance to be the bigger man and pick up our tab for the night. I think that would go a long way as to settling this misunderstanding,” he sneered as he looked around in mocking glee. The college kid meekly replied, “No, thank you.” Then thud! He socked Bruiser smack in the nose. My jaw dropped, and at once, it felt as if the air was sucked out of the entire circle. Bruiser staggered back slowly, reeling from the surprise attack. He covered his nose, and his friends stood wide-eyed as blood dripped out between his fingers and down his face. The crimson liquid was an indication of his mortality. “Thud!” Another strike, this one to Bruiser’s stomach. He buckled over in pain, collapsing to the pavement. Then the college student broke loose, kicking Bruiser ferociously. The fierce kicks unleashed unexpected power and emitted a mean mashing sound. He got in three to the ribs before Bruiser’s friends swarmed him. After the quick start, the college student was overpowered. Two restrained him, locking down his hands as he thrashed violently against their control. Their restraint let the third assailant start to get strikes in. A heavy gut shot forced the air out and left the college student gasping. He was getting beat but given the numbers advantage, his resistance was impressive. The cronies wailed mercilessly on the kid until Bruiser finally resurrected. I had barely noticed his slow rebirth. By now, the blood had soaked into his shirt and the Red Sea that was his friends parted, exposing his defeated victim. Embarrassed and outright pissed, the fire in his eyes would have melted glaciers. “Step aside!” he yelled, staggering over towards the group. His friends parted further and revealed a limp young man, bloody and curled up. “You’re done, kid.” As expected, he mercilessly wailed on the college student. Blow after blow landed without restraint. I had never seen someone beat so badly, and the longer the onslaught went, the more disgusted I became. The other onlookers’ faces were a mix between horrified and mesmerized. Why was no one doing anything? I could feel my anger coming on tenfold. How could we all let this happen?! This kid was just trying to enjoy his night. He didn’t ask...