TALENEST ORIGINAL

Life Is Jacob's Game

ADVENTURE · COMEDY · ACTION · MYSTERY

A Novel by Regina Mgingwa

CHAPTER ONE

THE BOY WHO SOLD NOTHING

Some people inherit money. Others inherit trouble. Jacob inherited both knees, an empty pocket, and an extraordinary talent for making trouble look like an opportunity.

At eighteen, Jacob Brooks had three possessions he considered valuable.

The first was a pair of sneakers so old that the left one squeaked whenever he walked. The right one remained silent, which Jacob believed was proof that even his shoes had developed trust issues.

The second was a cracked smartphone with seventeen percent battery life, a damaged charging port, and a screen that occasionally displayed colors no human being had ever requested.

The third was his confidence.

Unfortunately, confidence could not be exchanged for groceries at the corner store.

Jacob lived on the South Side of Chicago, in a neighborhood where police sirens sometimes served as background music and everybody knew somebody who knew somebody who could get something done. Whether that something was legal remained a separate conversation.

His mother, Denise Brooks, worked long shifts at a nursing home. She was a hardworking woman with tired eyes, a sharp tongue, and absolutely no patience for her son's creative interpretation of the truth.

"Jacob!" she shouted from the kitchen one Monday morning. "Did you eat the last two eggs?"

Jacob appeared in the doorway wearing a serious expression.

"Define eat."

"Jacob."

"If you're asking whether the eggs are still physically present in their original form, then I have disappointing news."

His mother closed her eyes.

"One day, that mouth of yours will put you in prison."

"Then I hope the prison has a good breakfast program."

She threw a dish towel at him. He ducked, laughed, and immediately regretted laughing when she pointed toward the door.

"Go find work. Any work. And come home with money you actually earned."

"That's a very specific restriction."

"OUT!"

Jacob left.

Outside, Chicago was waking beneath a pale October sky. Buses groaned at intersections, commuters hurried past coffee shops, and a cold wind moved through the streets with the confidence of a landlord collecting overdue rent.

Jacob had seventeen dollars in his pocket. Eleven belonged to his mother. Four were owed to his friend Malik. That left six dollars, assuming nobody remembered the other debts.

He checked his phone. No job offers. No messages from employers. One notification informed him that a music subscription payment had failed.

"Even the internet thinks I'm broke," he muttered.

He walked toward a busy shopping street, where small businesses stood between a barbershop, a laundromat, and a restaurant advertising chicken wings that were allegedly famous.

Jacob had never understood how chicken wings became famous. Nobody had ever interviewed one.

Near the restaurant, a man in a dark suit was arguing with a delivery driver beside a black luxury SUV. Two large cardboard boxes sat on the pavement. A third box had split open, scattering promotional flyers across the sidewalk.

"I paid for delivery!" the suited man shouted.

"And I delivered it!" the driver replied. "Your signature is right there."

"That's not my signature."

"Then perhaps you should stop signing things like a doctor having a seizure."

Jacob slowed down.

An argument was usually none of his business. But an argument involving expensive boxes, an angry businessman, and a delivery driver who looked ready to quit society had potential.

He crouched and began collecting the scattered flyers.

The flyers advertised the launch of a new technology startup called Northstar Solutions. The company promised to help small businesses manage orders, customers, and deliveries using a single digital platform.

Jacob read the headline twice.

Then he looked at the restaurant, the barber, the laundromat, and the small shops lining the street.

He had spent months watching business owners lose orders because nobody answered the phone, forget customers who had promised to return, and write delivery addresses on scraps of paper that disappeared whenever they were most needed.

He had no software, no laptop, and no money to hire a developer.

But he had just found a problem that seemed to be standing on every corner.

"Excuse me, sir," Jacob said to the suited man. "Are you launching this company today?"

The man glanced at him. "What's it to you?"

"Potentially nothing. But possibly everything."

The delivery driver snorted.

"Kid, if you sell him anything, sell him some patience."

Jacob ignored him.

"How many small businesses have you signed up?" he asked.

"That's confidential."

"So, not many."

The man's expression tightened.

"You have thirty seconds to explain why you're talking to me."

Jacob straightened his jacket. It was a secondhand jacket with a missing button, but he wore it as if it had been tailored in Milan.

"Your product might be excellent. But if the people who need it don't understand why they need it, you'll have a beautiful platform and an empty bank account."

For the first time, the man stopped shouting.

Jacob continued before his courage could expire.

"Give me one afternoon. I'll talk to the businesses on this street and find out what they actually need. If nobody cares, you lose an afternoon. If they do, you might learn something useful."

"And what do you get?"

Jacob had prepared several answers. Most involved money. One involved lunch. The honest answer was that he had no idea.

"A chance," he said.

The man studied him for several seconds.

"Name?"

"Jacob Brooks."

"I'm Richard Hale. Come to our office at two. Don't be late."

He handed Jacob a business card and climbed into the SUV.

Jacob stared at the card.

Malik would never believe this.

Then his phone vibrated. Malik had sent a message.

Bro, where are you? The guy you owe money to is asking for you.

Jacob looked up at the departing SUV.

"Apparently," he whispered, "I have a meeting with destiny."

Another message arrived.

He is standing outside your mother's house.

Jacob stopped smiling.

Somewhere behind him, a siren wailed. A bus hissed at the curb. A flock of pigeons scattered as a cyclist swore at a taxi.

Ordinary Chicago noises.

Yet Jacob suddenly felt that the day had shifted beneath his feet, as if he had stepped onto a moving staircase without knowing where it ended.

He put the business card carefully into his pocket.

Then he ran.

He ran past the famous chicken-wing restaurant, past the barbershop, and past a woman selling homemade cakes from a folding table. His left sneaker squeaked at every step, announcing his location to the entire neighborhood.

"I'm coming!" he shouted at nobody in particular.

His phone rang.

Unknown number.

He answered while running.

"Hello?"

A man's voice came through, low and strangely calm.

"Jacob Brooks?"

"Depends who's asking."

"Stay away from Richard Hale."

Jacob nearly collided with a lamppost.

"Who is this?"

"You have no idea what you've just walked into."

The call ended.

Jacob stood on the pavement, breathing hard. For a moment, even the squeaky sneaker seemed to have nothing to say.

Then he looked at the business card in his hand.

"I knew it," he whispered. "The first opportunity in my life comes with a mysterious phone call. Why can't I ever get a normal problem, like a bad haircut?"

He started running again.

By sunset, Jacob would discover that the meeting at two was not the most dangerous thing waiting for him that day.

And before the week was over, he would learn that in Chicago, some people sold dreams, some people sold secrets, and a few people would do almost anything to make sure the truth stayed buried.

Jacob Brooks had six dollars, a dying phone, and no idea what he was doing.

But he had one advantage nobody had thought to take away from him.

He was very, very good at finding a door where everyone else saw a wall.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

What happens next?

Jacob has found a possible opportunity, but someone has already warned him to stay away. Who is Richard Hale, and why is Jacob suddenly in danger?

Continue to Chapter Two

READ CHAPTER TWO →

Written by Regina Mgingwa | Published by TaleNest · www.talenest.co.tz