Read Online The Outer Circle (The Counterpoint Trilogy Book 3) by D. R. Bell - Free Book Online
Authors: D. R. Bell
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What amazed Jia was the real rage expressed by the protesters. Despite everyone knowing that they were a part of a staged theater, that they were doing their government’s bidding, the protesters have been overcome with palpable anger at the dirty Americans that have been trying to humiliate China for many years. A few weeks ago the same marchers were indignant at their own government. The government that only two years ago send tanks against its own people, not far from here. Jia shook his head, thinking how potent nationalism is and how manipulated people can be by appealing to their national pride.
Los Angeles, USA
Jeff Kron’s campaign headquarters were located in a former “shared office space” in Culver City. These spaces have sprouted like weeds during the second Internet boom in the middle of the previous decade. Increased telecommuting and the 2019 financial crisis killed many of them. Robert Marosyan, Jeff’s campaign manager, liked the space for its openness and extensive computer cabling. And because it was only a few blocks from Jeff and Jennifer’s house where Marosyan often stayed. Jeff didn’t like it, but then he thought that his house was a perfect place to run a presidential campaign from and renting this warehouse-type facility was a massive waste of funds that the Reform Party didn’t have. Marosyan begged and pleaded for weeks until Jeff relented.
Jeff scowled at his own posters as he and Jennifer walked into the huge open space:
“They made me look like some kind of tenth century saint! In this day and age, who needs posters anyway?”
“Don’t worry, nobody will mistake you for a saint,” smirked Marosyan, a thin, nervous man with an unruly mop of jet-black hair. “And yes, with all the social media and virtual townhalls we still need old-fashioned posters.”
Jennifer stood in front of the offending object and thoughtfully drummed slim fingers against her lips:
“I agree with Jeff. This background, this faraway look on Jeff’s face...”
Marosyan started biting his fingernails:
“These have been approved already and printed and distributed and...”
“All right, all right, Robert, I am just teasing you,” Jennifer hugged Marosyan and kissed him on the ear. “You know that Jeff does not like any of his pictures. He does not like attracting attention.”
“Yes, he is the only political candidate I’ve ever met that doesn’t like attention,” nodded Robert sorrowfully. “Some days I wonder why I am bothering to run his campaign.”
“Because you believe in him?” smiled Jennifer.
“I do,” agreed Marosyan and pointed at the back of Jeff Kron, who was out of the earshot shaking hands with his campaign workers. “I hope he believes in himself as much as I believe in him.”
A blond man in his 20s waited for them in a conference room. Upon seeing Jeff and Jennifer, he stood up, knocking down his cup of coffee in the process:
“O-o-ops!”
“David, don’t worry about it. It’s so good to see you!” laughed Jennifer, hugged the man – who turned out to be skinny and tall – and helped him clean up the mess on the table.
She then turned to Marosyan:
“Robert, please meet our dear and somewhat awkward friend, David Weinstein.”
“Nice to meet you, Robert,” David extended his hand. He had a slight but noticeable accent.
“Nice to meet you. Where are you from?”
David looked at Jennifer questioningly.
“It’s a bit of a story,” she told Robert. “You see, David is a son of my father’s college friend in Moscow. David’s father is an American and David moved here after finishing high school. He recently finished his PhD in political economics and, instead of chasing big bucks on Wall Street, volunteered to join Jeff’s campaign.”
“Jennifer is omitting a few important details,” smiled David. “Firstly, it was Jennifer’s father Pavel that enabled me to come here. He left my mother a substantial sum of
What amazed Jia was the real rage expressed by the protesters. Despite everyone knowing that they were a part of a staged theater, that they were doing their government’s bidding, the protesters have been overcome with palpable anger at the dirty Americans that have been trying to humiliate China for many years. A few weeks ago the same marchers were indignant at their own government. The government that only two years ago send tanks against its own people, not far from here. Jia shook his head, thinking how potent nationalism is and how manipulated people can be by appealing to their national pride.
Los Angeles, USA
Jeff Kron’s campaign headquarters were located in a former “shared office space” in Culver City. These spaces have sprouted like weeds during the second Internet boom in the middle of the previous decade. Increased telecommuting and the 2019 financial crisis killed many of them. Robert Marosyan, Jeff’s campaign manager, liked the space for its openness and extensive computer cabling. And because it was only a few blocks from Jeff and Jennifer’s house where Marosyan often stayed. Jeff didn’t like it, but then he thought that his house was a perfect place to run a presidential campaign from and renting this warehouse-type facility was a massive waste of funds that the Reform Party didn’t have. Marosyan begged and pleaded for weeks until Jeff relented.
Jeff scowled at his own posters as he and Jennifer walked into the huge open space:
“They made me look like some kind of tenth century saint! In this day and age, who needs posters anyway?”
“Don’t worry, nobody will mistake you for a saint,” smirked Marosyan, a thin, nervous man with an unruly mop of jet-black hair. “And yes, with all the social media and virtual townhalls we still need old-fashioned posters.”
Jennifer stood in front of the offending object and thoughtfully drummed slim fingers against her lips:
“I agree with Jeff. This background, this faraway look on Jeff’s face...”
Marosyan started biting his fingernails:
“These have been approved already and printed and distributed and...”
“All right, all right, Robert, I am just teasing you,” Jennifer hugged Marosyan and kissed him on the ear. “You know that Jeff does not like any of his pictures. He does not like attracting attention.”
“Yes, he is the only political candidate I’ve ever met that doesn’t like attention,” nodded Robert sorrowfully. “Some days I wonder why I am bothering to run his campaign.”
“Because you believe in him?” smiled Jennifer.
“I do,” agreed Marosyan and pointed at the back of Jeff Kron, who was out of the earshot shaking hands with his campaign workers. “I hope he believes in himself as much as I believe in him.”
A blond man in his 20s waited for them in a conference room. Upon seeing Jeff and Jennifer, he stood up, knocking down his cup of coffee in the process:
“O-o-ops!”
“David, don’t worry about it. It’s so good to see you!” laughed Jennifer, hugged the man – who turned out to be skinny and tall – and helped him clean up the mess on the table.
She then turned to Marosyan:
“Robert, please meet our dear and somewhat awkward friend, David Weinstein.”
“Nice to meet you, Robert,” David extended his hand. He had a slight but noticeable accent.
“Nice to meet you. Where are you from?”
David looked at Jennifer questioningly.
“It’s a bit of a story,” she told Robert. “You see, David is a son of my father’s college friend in Moscow. David’s father is an American and David moved here after finishing high school. He recently finished his PhD in political economics and, instead of chasing big bucks on Wall Street, volunteered to join Jeff’s campaign.”
“Jennifer is omitting a few important details,” smiled David. “Firstly, it was Jennifer’s father Pavel that enabled me to come here. He left my mother a substantial sum of
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