Chapter 8: Small Victory
1208 Words
Daryl felt his blood rush to his head, his face burning with frustration at what he just heard. All he wanted was to thank Martin Anderson in person, but here he was — being mistaken for a thief. Because of his clothes?
What was so wrong with a simple faded t-shirt and worn-out jeans?
It always seemed like the people who were just like him were the quickest to judge and look down on others.
But Daryl stayed where he was, standing his ground, his eyes fixed on the guards with a cold glare. They clearly didn’t like that — and their irritation turned to outright anger.
“What are you still standing there for, huh?!” one of them barked. “I told you to get lost!”
Daryl’s fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t want to start any trouble here — but the humiliation, the insults — they were getting harder and harder to swallow.
“I’m asking you politely again, sir,” Daryl said, his voice tight with patience. “Please call Mr. Anderson and let him know I’m here—”
One of the guards clicked his tongue impatiently. “Will you quit wasting our time already? Don’t you get it? It’s impossible that Mr. Anderson knows you! Now get out of here!”
Daryl took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Please. I’m not here to cause any trouble. I just want to speak with Mr. Anderson. I swear he knows me—”
“Didn’t I tell you to leave?” the first guard snapped, stepping forward like he was ready for a fight.
“Listen,” Daryl said, his patience slipping. “If you would just call the house—”
“Or what?” the other guard sneered, crossing his arms. “You gonna force your way in? Go ahead and try. We’ll make sure you regret it.”
Daryl stared at them, his fists clenching so tight his nails dug into his palms. He wasn’t one to start fights — he never had been — but right now, it was taking everything in him not to lash out.
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “If you won’t call, I’ll wait here until someone from the Anderson household passes by.”
The guards burst out laughing. “Good luck with that,” one of them jeered. “You’ll be waiting all day, if not longer.”
Daryl ignored them. Moving a few feet away from the gate, he sat down on the low stone ledge near the entrance, his determination outweighing his frustration. He would wait — no matter how long it took.
The hours dragged on. The sun rose high in the sky, the heat beating down on him relentlessly. The guards eventually grew tired of their taunts, though their occasional smirks and pointed looks still grated on his nerves.
Still, Daryl waited.
And finally, his patience paid off.
A sleek black car approached the gate, and Daryl shot to his feet, brushing the dust off his pants. As the car slowed, the tinted window rolled down — and there was Martin Anderson, looking as polished and composed as ever.
“Mr. Anderson!” Daryl called, stepping closer. “It’s me — Daryl!”
Martin’s eyes widened in surprise. “Daryl? What are you doing here?”
Before Daryl could answer, the first guard rushed to the car, his face suddenly plastered with a polite, obsequious smile. “Sir, this man was trying to sneak in—”
Martin’s expression darkened instantly. “Is that so?” he said, his voice dangerously calm. Then his sharp gaze swung to the guard. “And did you think to call my house and ask before making that assumption?”
“W-Well, sir—” the guard stammered.
But Martin was already stepping out of the car. “This young man is my guest,” he said firmly. “And if I ever hear of you treating anyone this way again — guest or not — you’ll be looking for a new job. Do I make myself clear?”
The guards went pale, nodding so quickly their heads nearly bobbed off their necks.
Martin turned to Daryl, his expression softening. “I’m so sorry about that. Come on — let’s get you inside.”
As they walked through the gate, Daryl couldn’t help but glance back at the guards. Their earlier arrogance had crumbled into shame and fear.
It was a small victory — but it felt good all the same.
---
The Anderson estate was even more impressive up close — sprawling gardens, marble walkways, and a house so grand it looked more like a palace than a home. Daryl felt the weight of his surroundings, but Martin’s warm, welcoming demeanor kept him from feeling completely out of place.
Once inside, Martin led him to a cozy study lined with shelves of leather-bound books and elegant furniture. “Sit,” Martin said, gesturing to one of the plush chairs. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Daryl said, still a little overwhelmed.
Martin sat across from him, studying him with thoughtful eyes. “So… what brings you here, Daryl? I take it this isn’t just a social visit?”
Daryl nodded, his throat suddenly dry. “I just… I wanted to thank you, sir. For everything you did for me. I got the job — I passed the interview and was accepted into the police department.”
A warm smile spread across Martin’s face. “That’s wonderful news. I knew you had it in you.”
Daryl swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You believed in me when no one else did. I’ll never forget that.”
Martin waved his hand dismissively. “All I did was give you a little push. You did the rest on your own.”
They talked for a while longer, and as they did, Daryl’s initial nervousness faded. Martin was easy to talk to — wise and kind in a way that reminded Daryl a little of his own father.
When the time came for Daryl to leave, he stood up reluctantly. “Thank you for everything, sir. I owe you more than I can ever repay.”
Martin smiled, clapping a hand on his shoulder like a proud father. “You don’t owe me anything, Daryl. Just keep doing your best — I know you’ll make me proud.”
They walked together toward the gate, the atmosphere light and warm. Daryl was about to turn away when the sudden roar of an engine made them both pause.
A motorcycle screeched to a halt in front of them, and two riders — both wearing helmets — remained seated. Daryl wouldn’t have paid them much attention… until he noticed the passenger reaching into his jacket.
A glint of metal caught his eye.
The gun was out in a flash, the barrel pointed directly at Martin.
Daryl didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate.
He moved.
Throwing himself toward Martin, Daryl turned and shielded the older man with his body, bracing for whatever came next.
- Writer
