Audiobook Reel
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
You are listening to Jerrick Con Prologue Somewhere in the world. An unbearable cry pierced the darkness. It was the sound of pain, the Sound of birth and the sound of death. It was a sound that would change everything. Chapter One Los Angeles California. 30 years later, Colin Boyd stepped off the metro bus on his way to work and across the street he saw himself strolling down the sidewalk. A stubborn but warm, february rain was pouring hard across the concrete canyons of downtown. His foot had landed ankle deep in a drainage puddle, and his half broken umbrella wasn't extending as it should. But the umbrella which had rarely seen use quickly fell out of his hands as he no longer noticed the rain. His eyes were fixed, his head turning slowly to follow the other man down the opposite side of the street. It wasn't until someone shouted from behind that he finally got his legs moving again. The man, he watched with rapt attention, weaved his way casually through the crowd, headed in the direction of Colin's workplace. He wasn't a man who merely resembled Colin he was him. The same face, the same body, the same walk. He wore the clothes and raincoat Colin had put on that morning. He carried Collins briefcase. It was only then that Colin noticed he no longer had his briefcase. When had he last seen it on the bus before that he'd been so groggy all morning. He couldn't place it. And what was that on the man's wrist, Colin clinched a hand around his own wrist feeling for what was missing. He was wearing Granddad's bracelet, That line of thought was gone. Once the other man began fussing with a piece of unruly hair upfront that Colin could never seem to keep in place. This imposter wasn't a twin or a duplicate. He was him in every way, every look, every gesture, every expression. And he was walking to work in the rain under Ella's towering skyscrapers, brushing shoulders with countless citizens and tourists as if everything were exactly as it should be. If I had to summarize my views on investing, it's this every investor should pick a strategy that has the highest odds of successfully meeting their goals. And I think for most investors, dollar cost averaging into a low cost index fund will provide the highest odds of long term success. That doesn't mean index investing will always work. It doesn't mean it's for everyone and it doesn't mean active stock picking is doomed to fail in general. This industry has become too entrenched on one side or the other, particularly those vehemently against active investing, beating the market should be hard. The odds of success should be low. If they weren't everyone would do it and if everyone did it, there would be no opportunity. So no one should be surprised that the majority of those trying to beat the market failed to do so the statistics show 85% of large cap. Active man didn't beat the s and p 500 over the decade ending 2019, not so fast. Histon, unpleasant voice. A woman in an ugly black dress stood before them. I am your new teacher, Miss Viola Swamp, and she wrapped the desk with her ruler. Where is Miss Nelson? Asked the kids. Never mind that snap Miss Swamp open those arithmetic books. Miss NElson's kids did as they were told they could see that Miss Swamp was a real witch. She meant business. A knife in the dark as they prepared for sleep in the end. At bri darkness lay on buckland, a Miss strayed in the dales, and along the riverbank. The house at Creek Hollow stood silent, fatty Bolger opened the door cautiously and peered out. A feeling of fear had been growing on him all day, and he was unable to rest or go to bed. There was a brooding threat in the breathless night air as he stared out into the gloom a black shadow moved under the trees. The gate seemed to open of its own accord, and close again without a sound terror seized him. He shrank back, and for a moment he stood trembling in the hall. Then he shut and locked the door. The night deepened. There came the soft sound of horses lead with stealth along the lane Outside the gate. They stopped, and three black figures entered like shades of night creeping across the ground. One went to the door, one to the corner of the house on either side, and there they stood as still as the shadows of stones. While night went slowly on the house and the quiet trees seemed to be waiting breathlessly. There was a faint stir in the leaves and a **** crowed far away. The cold hour before dawn was passing the figure by. The door moved. In the dark, without moon or stars, a drawn blade gleamed as if a chill light had been unsheath. There was a blow soft, but heavy, and the door shuttered open. In the name of More door! Said a voice, thin and menacing. At a second blow the door yielded and fell back with timbers burst and lock broken. The black figures passed swiftly in at that moment among the trees. Nearby a horn rang out, it rent the night like fire on a hilltop.