Poetic Justice E-Book

Ray Floyd

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Brad Peterson is a highly trained Special Forces operative with less than a month of military service left. He is looking forward to a bright future in the civilian sector.

But when his last mission in Afghanistan goes horribly wrong, Brad is injured and his best friend dies. Back in the United States and recuperating from his injuries, he soon immerses himself in gambling and alcohol, in an effort to erase the guilt he feels over his best friend's death.

Only after he finds himself in jail following a bar fight, he sees the light, and creates the Peterson Foundation. Aided by an ex-Special Forces team, the foundation takes on an evil warlord in Africa as well as pirates in the Indian Ocean.

With his life hanging in the balance, can Brad find redemption in the war-torn Dark Continent?

Leseprobe

POETIC JUSTICE

JUSTICE SERIES BOOK 1

RAY FLOYD

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Epilogue

Next in the Series

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2020 Ray Floyd

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

For Tanya; you are my inspiration

PROLOGUE

Bob Channing stared out the side window of the Cessna floatplane at the incredible vista before him. Lakes and rivers surrounded by lush green forests stretched as far as the eye could see. The pale blue sky was cloudless and seemed to continue forever. The Alaskan wilderness in late spring was a truly beautiful place. He leaned back in his seat and sighed contentedly as he reached for Elizabeth’s hand. She gave him a wide smile and his heart skipped a beat. To him she was still as beautiful as the day they were married, almost forty-four years ago.

He remembered the first time they met. It was the spring of 1971, her father Greg Channing had invited him to lunch at his imposing mansion on the outskirts of Edmonton. Those were heady times, they had just received the results of a geological survey that confirmed they were going to be incredibly wealthy men. Greg was backing Robert who had recently graduated from M.I.T. with a Masters degree in Geology. The discovery of Wabiskaw oilsand fields in a remote part of Northern Alberta had been confirmed. They were meeting to discuss how to proceed with the formation of their company, when in walked the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Elizabeth was twenty-one years old and a senior at Edmonton University. It was pretty much love at first sight for both of them, and they were married a year later. In a reversal of tradition, Robert had taken her last name, mainly due to the fact that he had headed to Canada to escape the draft. This had devastated his family who had a long tradition of military service. In fact his brother Phillip was serving in Vietnam at the time.

It had broken his heart that his family had disavowed his very existence. He had tried to explain that he had no fear of fighting and dying for his country. He refused however, to fight a war on the other side of the world that politicians could not rationally explain America’s participation in. Tens of thousands of America’s teenage boys were been slaughtered for no apparent reason and he could not in good conscience participate in such madness.

He was shaken from his reverie by a shuddering as the light aircraft hit some clear air turbulence.

Tim, the pilot, glanced back and told them not worry and that they would be at the cabin in about fifty minutes.

‘Cabin’ was a bit of an understatement; it was a huge five thousand square foot log structure built ten years ago on the shores of one of Alaska’s many pristine lakes. It had its own private jetty and boathouse and was lavishly furnished in the French Provencal style that Elizabeth so adored. They were on their way to their annual fishing trip and the staff had been warned to get the property ready for their arrival.

One of the perks of being an oil billionaire was the ability to travel in style and comfort. They had travelled from Edmonton to Juneau in their private executive jet, then onwards in the brand new Cessna 206 which Rob had purchased a few months ago.

Tim Wilson was sixty-two years old and had been his personal pilot for almost twenty-five years now, ever since he purchased his own private Lear Jet. Up till then he had used the companies jets and pilots, but having his own planes afforded him the freedom to travel whenever and wherever he chose.

Elizabeth Channings mother, Kim, had died in a tragic car accident when Elizabeth was only fourteen years old. Being an only child, her father doted on her and spoilt her terribly. Her father had passed away twelve years earlier at the age seventy-three, after battling throat cancer probably brought on by his penchant for Cuban cigars.

Full ownership of their highly successful oil company had passed to Robert, who had been pursued relentlessly by the major oil companies to sell the thriving business to them. Now, at age seventy, Robert was seriously considering doing just that. He and Elizabeth had no children although they had tried right after they were married. By the time in-vitro fertilization and adoption became en vogue, they were to old to seriously consider either option.

He wanted to retire and spend as much time as possible with his beloved wife, perhaps buy a nice beach house somewhere in the Bahamas, maybe even Hawaii. They had vacationed often in both places and he loved the warm weather and white beaches. At his age cold weather was not your friend and the aches and pains were getting worse every year.

Suddenly, Tim let out a gasp and grabbed at his chest. He fell forward against the control column which plunged the little aircraft into a near vertical dive. Elizabeth screamed as Robert quickly released his seat belt and grabbed for the stricken pilot. His mind was racing, it appeared as if Tim had just suffered a major heart attack. He knew enough about flying to realize he had to pull Tim back off the control column. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to budge the large man. He looked up in horror as he saw the ground rushing up toward them at incredible speed. He heard the terrible screams of his beloved Elizabeth as the small plane smashed into the ground. Then, NOTHING………….

1

I opened my eyes slowly, only to find that all I could see was a strange, white mist. There was a gentle shuddering accompanied by an oddly comforting noise that almost sounded like a train rumbling on its tracks. My vision gradually started to clear, and I glanced around the small-enclosed space.

It was then that I realised I was laying on a narrow stretcher in the stark hold of a U.S. army helicopter.

As the effects of the morphine slowly began to dissipate, my memory began to return to me. We were on a mission in a remote area of northern Afghanistan to rescue two journalists captured by the Taliban. For the last week they had been paraded around on footage sent to Al Jazeera, showing them wearing black hoods with hands tied behind their backs. As usual their captors were wearing balaclavas and brandishing wicked looking scimitars, while their hapless victims knelt on the dirt floor in front of them. Of course they were also demanding the release of several high-ranking Taliban prisoners held by America and her allies. When were they going to learn, America does not negotiate with terrorists.

My team and I had just finished a routine mission near Kabul when we got the word that their exact location had been identified, and we were the Army Ranger team assigned to infiltrate the enemy camp and extract them.

Everything had gone according to plan; all the enemy combatants had been neutralized without alerting the people sleeping in the nearby village. It was during our exfiltration that suddenly everything had gone wrong.

A flare had suddenly exploded above us, lighting up the surrounding landscape with an eerie glow. The sound of machine gun fire followed by green streaks of tracer rounds filled the night air. I was bringing up the rear of our little procession and miraculously did not get hit by the opening salvo. I hit the ground immediately and rolled to my left behind a large boulder. I fired a couple of quick bursts with my M-16 and watched the red tracer rounds hit a large rocky outcrop where the gunfire seemed to originate from. Using my throat microphone I communicated with the extraction team that we were taking fire and needed air support immediately. Just as I heard the unmistakable sound of rotors from the approaching helicopter gun-ships, there was a large flash from the rocky outcrop followed by an explosion from behind me. I felt the heat wash over me and a burning sensation in my left leg, and then everything went black as I lost consciousness.

As I struggled to sit up in the narrow cot, a familiar voice told me to lay back and relax. Sergeant Mike Andrews was our section medic and had been down on the ground with us.

“Sergeant, what the hell happened?’ I asked him.

“Huge screw up Major.” He replied. “They seemed to know we were coming and set up an ambush on our route out of the valley.”

I was struggling to come to grips with what he had just said, when he continued.

“Seems like they fired an RPG-7 at one of the approaching choppers, but aimed a bit low and hit the top of the shelf behind us. Hell of an explosion but luckily not too much damage, mostly light shrapnel wounds.”

I glanced down at my bandaged left leg and he nodded.

”Yup, they got you too.”

He reached down and grabbed a helmet with a large dent in the side.

“You’re one lucky guy, Major, a large piece of shrapnel hit your helmet. It knocked you out and gave you one hell of a concussion, nothing too serious though.”

He went on to explain how the Apache gunship had quickly taken care of the ambush party. The injured had been loaded onto two Black-hawk helicopters, and we were now only about thirty minutes out from our home base and proper medical treatment.

“So no serious injuries on our side then?” I asked, the hope showing through in my voice.

He glanced away and I saw a shadow cross his eyes as he did so. I felt a tightness in my chest as I demanded, “Tell me sergeant!”

“Sorry Major, but Sergeant Buckman didn’t make it.”

He knew, as did everyone in our unit, how close Sergeant Fred Buckman and myself were. We were like brothers, having done our initial Ranger training together at Fort Benning, Georgia. We had pushed each other to make it through what can only be described as hell on earth. Because I had a degree, I went on to officer training while he did a non-commissioned officers course.

We had lost track of each other for a while, but both of us had eventually ended up in 1st Battalion, 75th Ranger regiment. I had immediately requested that he be assigned to my squad, and we’d been together ever since.

The kicker was, we both had only about three weeks left in the military and were looking forward to civilian life. We had both been offered consulting jobs at a large multinational security company, at roughly three times what we were earning now.

I could hardly breathe as I realised none of that mattered anymore, my best friend was gone forever. Worst of all, I was the one that got to tell his beautiful wife Tanya, that Matt and Alicia would never see their Daddy again.

I grabbed Andrew’s arm. “Sergeant, tell me exactly what happened.” I gasped.

He hesitated for a second, “Near as I can tell, after the RPG exploded we looked back and saw you fall. Sergeant Buckman told us to stay under cover and ran back to help you. It was around that time that the first Apache opened up on the outcrop and all hell let loose. Once the dust cleared I saw Sergeant Buckman lying in the ravine off to the right of the path. There was no more enemy fire so I ran over to help him.” He hesitated again, before continuing, “He was on his stomach so I turned him over. Looked like he’d taken an AK round to the throat, just above his body armour. There was nothing I could do for him, he was already gone.”

I felt the tiny cabin swirling around me as I realised that my best friend had died trying to save me. Here I was, still alive and he was gone forever.

2

Immediately upon our arrival at the airbase, they tried to get me into surgery. “I’m not going anywhere until I let Tanya know what happened.” I insisted.

I would rather have her hear the news from me than some unknown army chaplain. They carried me into the ops-room where I steeled myself and picked up the sat-phone. It was almost midnight back in Georgia, and the phone rang for a while before she answered in a sleepy voice, “Tanya, hello.”

I hesitated for a second before saying, “Hi Tanya, it’s Brad, I’m calling from Afghanistan.”

Silence, then I heard her voice catch, “How bad is it Brad?”

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but Fred’s gone.”

No hysterics, no screaming or crying. She was an incredibly strong woman; one of the reasons Fred had loved her so much.

She choked back a sob as she asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I can’t give you any details right now, all I can tell you is it was quick, he didn’t suffer at all.” Small comfort, I knew. I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks.

“And you, are you ok?”

“Just a minor leg wound and a concussion, I’ll be fine.”

“You know what I mean.” She knew better than anyone how close the two of us were. So like her to be concerned about me while she must be going through hell herself.

“Right now it still feels like a bad nightmare, it hasn’t really sunk in yet.”

“I know what you mean Brad. Listen, I’m going to phone my parents now and ask them to come over. I’m going to need their help in the morning when I tell the kids.”

“I’ll come and see you as soon as I get back. Stay strong.”

“Bye Brad, see you soon.”

I disconnected the call and several emotions washed over me as I did. I felt absolutely exhausted as they carried me off to the base hospital.

* * *

Five days later I landed at Lawson Army Airfield at Fort Benning. They had removed two pieces of shrapnel from my right thigh, one of which was close to the femoral artery. Seemed like my luck was still holding. According to the doctors I probably would have bled out if the artery had been severed. Although the leg was tightly bandaged and quite stiff, I was able to walk with the aid of crutches. The headaches from the concussion were also a thing of the past.

My father, Brigadier-General Phillip Peterson (retired), had been on hand to meet me when I arrived at Andrews Air force base the previous day. Before his retirement he was assigned to the Pentagon and lived in a brownstone in Georgetown. I had spent the night with my parents with my mother fussing over me as if I were mortally wounded.

After having endured a thorough de-briefing in Afghanistan, I had to repeat all the details of what had happened to my father. Although he was no longer in the military, he had retained his top-secret security classification, so I was not breaking any laws in doing so.

He had met Fred on many occasions and was distraught to hear of his death at the hands of the Taliban. After checking in with my commanding officer and hearing that I’d been granted a weeks leave, a private drove me over to the Single officers Quarters where I was currently staying.

I took a long, steaming hot shower and after dressing, walked down to where my car was parked. After removing the cover, I inspected the gleaming red, 1969 Ford Mustang convertible.

She truly was a classic and one of the few indulgences I had allowed myself. After reconnecting the battery I drove off base to a nearby suburb where many of the personnel with families lived.

As I pulled into the driveway I felt so much sorrow it was almost overwhelming. This was Fred and Tanya’s home. I had spent so many weekends here barbequing and relaxing next to the pool out back, that it felt like my second home.

With no small amount of trepidation, I rang the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately, I had called ahead and Tanya was expecting me.

She gave me a brave smile then hugged me tightly for a few seconds. I could see she was trying hard to keep it together. We went through to the living room and sat next to each other on the couch.

“Can I get you something to drink?” She asked.

Although it was only two in the afternoon I had a yearning for a stiff drink.

“I’ll have a whiskey if you have any?” Both Fred and I had shared a passion for a good single-malt Scottish whiskey.

“ I think there’s still some Glennfiddich left from the last time you were over.” She replied.

She poured a generous amount in two glasses and added a touch of water, no ice.

She handed me a glass “Just the way you like it.”

“So how are holding up?” I asked.

“Just taking it one day at a time.”

“And the kids?”

“Alicia’s still too young to truly understand, but Matt’s really taking it hard. You know how he idolized his dad.”

Alicia had just turned three and Matt was six.

“ If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks Brad, I seem to have it all under control. The kids are over at my parents while I finalize the funeral arrangements.” Fred was to be buried in two days time at a nearby cemetery with full Military Honors.

“Oh, if you could arrange the pallbearers, I’d really appreciate it.”

“No problem, I’ll take care of it.” Besides myself, I would choose five of his closest friends from our unit.

We chatted for another half an hour before I said goodbye. As she hugged me again at the door, she whispered in my ear, “Don’t you dare blame yourself for what happened, there was nothing you could have done to help him.”

Little did she know I totally blamed myself for his death. Not only had he died trying to help me, but we both should have been out of the army two years ago.

We had nearly finished our ten years in the army when my Commanding Officer, Colonel Waters had approached me. At the time I was a Captain. He had asked me to sign on for two more years and guaranteed me that I would make Major if I did. I agreed, and persuaded Fred to do the same. As far as I was concerned I had asked him to sign his own death-warrant by doing so.

3

It was a warm, sunny day as the coffin was gently lowered into the ground. Tanya had received the folded American flag, the honor guard had fired the twenty-one gun salute, and the lone piper had played the last post.

I heard the thunder from the west as six F-18 Eagle fighter jets approached. One of them suddenly pealed away and the remaining five thundered overhead in the Missing-Man formation.

One thing had to be said about the Military, they knew how to say goodbye to their fallen heroes.

Back at base we all gathered at the NCO’s mess to give Fred a proper send-off in true Ranger tradition. There were plenty of toasts and after a couple of hours I felt a little light-headed from all the alcohol I’d consumed. I was never a big drinker but it felt good to numb the pain a little.

Tanya came over to say goodbye and I asked if she needed a ride home.

“All sorted, my dad’s taking me home.” She said.

She gave me a worried look, “I don’t think you should be driving anyway.”

I protested, “I’m fine.”

She gave me a light kiss on the cheek and I watched as she went over to her dad. They left a few minutes later and I suddenly felt the need to be alone. I walked back to my quarters hoping that the night air would clear my mind a little. My leg was healing nicely and I was able to walk without the aid of a crutch. Once in my room, I flopped onto my bed and before long I was out cold.

I woke around three in the morning in a cold sweat. The nightmares were becoming more frequent and more intense. I dreamt that Fred and I were in a helicopter that had been hit by enemy fire. As he fell out the open door I managed to grab his wrist. He looked up at me, pleading with his eyes to not let go. Suddenly blood started pouring out his neck from a gaping wound. Try as I might, I was unable to pull him to the safety of the chopper. He was slipping from my grasp and finally fell away screaming into the darkness. That’s when I had awakened with a jolt.

Every night since he’d died it had been the same. I was in situation where I couldn’t save my best friend.

I knew I should probably see a therapist or something, but my mind and ego told me that would be a sign of weakness.

* * *

The next day I was driving over to the base hospital to have the stitches removed in my leg when my cell started ringing.

It was Colonel Waters. He said there were two civilian gentlemen in his office and they needed to speak to me urgently.

I immediately did a u-turn and headed back towards the base administration buildings.

I entered the CO’s office a few minutes later and fired off a snappy salute.

The two men introduced themselves as attorneys from the Canadian law firm of Henley, Walters & Smith. I wondered what the heck they wanted with a U.S. Army Ranger. They asked if there was someplace private to talk, so I led them to the officer’s break-room which was unoccupied at this time of the morning. Once we were all seated in comfortable chairs around a large coffee table, they gave me the startling news that was to drastically change my life.

First they gave me the sad news that my aunt and uncle had died in a tragic plane crash in the wilds of Alaska. Well, it would have been sad, if I knew what the hell they were talking about. As I informed them, both my parents had no siblings, so how could I possibly have an aunt and uncle.

Then the next bomb-shell. Apparently, someone named Robert Channing from Alberta Canada was my father’s brother. As I politely pointed out, if this was true, wouldn’t they have the same last name.

Not necessarily, they replied, Robert Peterson had legally changed his name to Robert Channing when he got married, many years ago.

All this had supposedly happened long before I was even born. My head was swimming with so many questions, I didn’t know which to ask first.

The bottom line, they said, with the Channing’s having no heirs, and me being the oldest son of my father, the entire Channing fortune had been left to me.

Still unable to wrap my head around what they had told me, I asked what they meant by fortune.

They explained that, following detailed instructions in the will, they had sold off all of the Channing’s assets and had a check for me in the amount of a little over sixteen billion U.S. dollars.

“Nice joke”, I looked around the room for the hidden cameras.

“It’s no joke.” One them reached into his briefcase, pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me.

It was a cashiers-check drawn on Chase-Manhattan bank with so many numbers on it my vision got a little blurry. The exact amount was; sixteen billion, one hundred and twenty two million, four hundred and fifty one thousand, three hundred and twenty five dollars and fifty five cents.

I sat, dumbfounded, staring at the check as if I were in a trance. After what seemed like an eternity one of the lawyers cleared his throat and suggested I place a call to my father. That might dispel any doubts I had and perhaps give me some clarity on the current situation, he explained.

That seemed like reasonable suggestion, so I reached for my cell-phone and dialled my father’s number.

He answered after a couple of rings in his usual brusque manner. At first, I was at a loss as to what to say.

“Dad, do you have a brother?” I eventually blurted out.

“Brad, is that you?” He replied.

“Of course it’s me. Did you hear what I asked?”

He gave a long sigh and asked, “How did you find out?”

I explained the situation as briefly as I could, which still took a while.

He then told me the story of what had happened forty-five years ago. He sounded truly saddened to hear of the death of his long-lost brother.

“How do you possibly just pretend you don’t have a brother?” I asked, totally shocked by what he’d told me.

“You don’t understand.” He replied. “Our father was also in the army and was a strict disciplinarian. He considered Roberts actions to be that of a traitor and forbade anyone in the family to have any contact with him.”

He went on to explain that after his father’s death twenty-five years ago, he thought about trying to find his brother. He felt guilty and ashamed at the way they had treated Robert and just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“If my mother had still been alive I probably would have, but she passed away five years before my father. She always resented my father’s actions towards Robert. Theirs was never a happy marriage after that.”

“So you were never aware that your brother was a rich, successful Canadian Oil Billionaire? I asked.

“Not a clue, but then I’m not surprised. He was highly intelligent and very driven.”

“But why not leave the money to you?”

“Probably thought I still wanted nothing to do with him, I suppose. Can’t say I blame him.” My father’s voice conveyed his sadness.

“Well, I’d better go now. I’ll give you a call later, when I’m done with these guys.”

I returned to my chair, “Well, it looks like you guy’s weren’t joking after all.”

They placed some documents on the table and requested that I read through them and sign the bottom of the page. It was basically just an acknowledgement that I had received the cashiers-check, as well as a copy of my uncles will.

The two lawyers stood and one of them handed me a sealed envelope with my name written on the front. “Your uncle left this for you. Here’s my card if you have any questions.”

“If I were you I’d hire an Investment Advisor.” The other one said.

“Thanks, I’ll do that.” I replied. I showed them out of the building, said goodbye, and walked towards my car. I was still trying to process everything that had just happened.

As soon as I got back to my quarters I poured myself a stiff drink, sat on the bed and opened the envelope.

4

Dear Brad,

If you’re reading this letter, it means that I have moved on from this existence on Earth. You are probably quite overwhelmed right now. I have a feeling that your Father, my Brother, never mentioned me to you.

I just want you to know that, although you never knew about me, I followed both yours and your brother Mark’s paths through life. I can only say that you both made me so proud to be your Uncle.

My one true regret in life, is that I never got to meet the two of you in person, and that you never knew your amazing Aunt Elizabeth.

After much deliberation, I decided to leave my entire fortune to you. I know that you will make sure that the entire family is well taken care of.

The money is yours to do whatever you want with. Knowing the type of person you are, I’m more than confident that you’ll do the right thing.

I can’t wait to meet both you and Mark in the next life, but hopefully that will be quite far in the future.

For now, live your lives to the fullest.

Your loving Uncle,

Robert Channing.

My hand was trembling as I laid the letter down on the bed. I wiped the tears from my eyes and took a big gulp of whiskey.

My Uncle Robert seemed like a kind and noble person. I was truly sad that I had never got to meet him.

The next order of business was to phone my brother and tell him the whole incredible story.

At thirty-four, he was two years younger than me and a Captain and Company Commander in the 101st Airborne.

It took a while to convince him that the news I’d told him was true. It was only after I’d read him the letter that he started to believe me.

When I offered him half of the money he immediately refused. He eventually agreed to me depositing one hundred million dollars into his account.

“If you ever need any more, just let me know.” I said.

”Yeah right, I’m sure I’ll blow through that in a month or two.”

“Hey, you’re getting married in a few months, at least now you can give your lovely bride the wedding of her dreams.”

“I guess so, and maybe even a first class Hawaiian honeymoon as well. Just don’t go crazy with your wedding present, remember I’m in the army, I don’t need a private jet or anything.”

“How about a nice new sports-fishing boat? Say a nice forty-five footer.” I asked. I knew that one of his passions was deep-sea fishing.

“You know me so well brother,” he replied. “Ok, I accept.”

It seemed unreal to be talking like this. A few hours ago it would have been a crazy dream to think I could afford to buy my brother a million dollar boat. Now I could have anything my heart desired, travel anywhere I wanted, do whatever I please. I must say, it wasn’t the worst feeling in the world.

* * *

I eventually made it over to the hospital to have the stitches removed. The doctor inspected the leg and pronounced me fit and clear of infection.

“Just take it easy for the next month or two.” She said. “Don’t go crazy with the workouts.”

I was a fifth degree black belt in Taekwondo, as well as a fourth dan black belt in Judo, and liked to work out at least three or four times a week.

“How do you know me Doc?” I asked.

Doctor Rivera actually knew me very well. We had dated on and off for the past few years. She knew I was a fitness fanatic and liked to push myself to the limits when I trained.

She just rolled her eyes and ushered me out of the examination room.

“Tell Peter I said hi.” She was currently dating a friend of mine from the base.

I wondered what she’d say if I told her I was now a billionaire. I decided discretion was the better part of valour, and bade her farewell. I drove into town where I had set up a meeting with an investment advisor.

He almost choked on his coffee when I showed him the check. He advised me to invest most of the money in various offshore accounts where interest rates were higher and no taxes were due by me. I would only have to pay taxes on money that was brought into The United States, he informed me.

An accountant was called into the room, and after filling in forms and signing documents for over two hours, I was finally done. My main account was in the Bahamas with sub-accounts scattered all over the globe. I had phoned my father from the advisors office to get his banking details. When he asked why, I told him I was transferring a hundred million dollars to his account. A mighty battle then ensued, which I eventually won when my mother stepped in. She told him to shut up and take the money. It’s what his brother would have wanted, she said.

I had then transferred another hundred million dollars to my brother’s account.

I was now driving over to Tanya’s place with a freshly printed check made out to Tanya Buckman in the amount of fifty million dollars.

She listened in silence as I once again related the story of my uncle’s life and eventual death. When I handed her the check she was shocked.

“You really don’t have to do this Brad.”