Badass Debt Collector

BADASS DEBT COLLECTOR >Introduction Names, places and certain details have been altered to protect the innocent, and to keep the guilty from knocking on my door one last time. They call me the Badass Debt Collector. Some call me a legend. Others call me a monster. The press - the ones who know my name but never knew the man behind it - spent years chasing me down. Exposé magazine offered me six figures for twelve pages of sensationalism, promising to paint me as a villain straight out of a noir thriller. Global Review sent reporters across three continents, begging for an interview, wanting to package my life as some glamorous tale of money and muscle. They all wanted the headlines: THE MAN WHO COLLECTED FEAR, THE ENFORCER WHO OWED NO ONE, BEHIND THE FISTS. But none of them wanted the truth. None of them wanted the dirt under the fingernails, the blood on the concrete, the nights I sat awake wondering if I'd ever be anything more than what the world had made me. This is that truth - unvarnished, unfiltered, and unapologetic. I've walked every major city in America and most of the United Kingdom. New York, London, Las Vegas, Louisville, Manchester, Miami - name it, I've been there. I've stepped out of luxury cars and out of alleyways, sat in boardrooms with bankers and in basements with men who'd slit your throat for a hundred bucks. I've collected debts owed by pimps and politicians, card sharks and corporate raiders, men who hid behind fur coats and men who hid behind tailored suits. Over twenty-eight years, I've handed over more than three million US dollars to the people who hired me - money that was stolen,