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The Five Lives of Stephan Hart
The Five Lives of Stephan Hart
The Five Lives of Stephan Hart
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The Five Lives of Stephan Hart

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The Five Lives of Stephan Hart explores the subject of whether or not we humans live multiple lives, died in a past life, then given a new spark of life by an old soul that passes it onto us so that we can live a new life. Do we die and then live again? Maybe or maybe not. The Five Lives of Stephan Hart explores this subject through a fictional character and his past lives

LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 17, 2019
ISBN9780463250006
The Five Lives of Stephan Hart
Author

David F Eastman

I am an avid reader and passionate writer. I have written eight eBooks and thirteen short stories and my genres include science fiction, horror, murder, political intrigue, conspiracy theories, fables and parables of life and love. I am currently working on two new eBooks, one about World War 2 and a second about a terrorist attack on the U.S.I am a retired life science and high technology marketing executive and currently mentor and guide scientists, physicians, medical students and engineers in managing their start-ups, developing their inventions, commercializing their products and building their businesses into viable, successful and profitable ventures.I have a Jewish heritage from both German and Polish grandparents, on my mother's side and an English, Native-American heritage on my father's side.I have one wife, one son, and four cats.I love to travel and learn about new cultures and people and just returned from a month long pleasure trip to Venice, Italy, New York City, Athens, Greece, Split, Croatia, Montenegro and Zurich, Switzerland. Next year I plan to spend three weeks n Italy drinking good wine.I

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    The Five Lives of Stephan Hart - David F Eastman

    THE FIVE LIVES OF STEPHAN HART

    By David F Eastman

    The Air France Airbus 380 touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport 20 minutes early at 2:30 AM Paris time. Stephan had been sleeping the last two hours of the long flight over the Atlantic from New York’s Kennedy Airport and was actually shaken awake by the First Class flight attendant when the 380 was 80 kilometers from de Gaulle.

    Stephan was a light sleeper and every little noise on the plane, people talking, flight attendants serving drinks, the noisy rattle of the plane, would awaken him and so his sleep was fitful. He had a busy schedule in Paris, meeting the company’s French business manager, Jacque Benet, who was traveling up for the meeting from his office in the small French town of Manche in the northwest region of Normandy, along the North Sea. Monsieur Benet had argued loud and long with the company’s European General Manager, Joseph Wisher, about making his home his business address for the company rather than some office in an industrial park outside of Paris. His palatial home in the hills overlooking Manche had been in his family for ten generations and Jacque loved being in his expansive office upstairs looking out to the sea and so Jacque would not bend or give in on the issue. But it meant he had to travel to meetings around the country to do business for the company which, of course, he would need to do wherever his office was located.

    After Stephan left French customs with his black leather valise in hand, he hailed a taxi to travel to his hotel. Unlike his colleagues at the company who preferred American-style hotels, like the Paris Hilton, Stephan loved small French boutique hotels, the quainter the better. He loved the culture, the flavor and the people of Paris and what better way to experience it then staying in a small, 20 room hotel.

    Stephan’s hotel was called La Petite Coeur (the small heart), and the logo for the La Petite Coeur—really a coat of arms from medieval times—was emblazoned on the steel gate at the entrance, over the lobby check-in desk and on the pillows and duvet cover on his single bed. Although he was somewhat claustrophobic—the result of a childhood cave-in which he was almost smothered to death when he was 6 years old—he greatly enjoyed the one person ornate steel elevator that slowly took him from the lobby floor to his second floor room, clicking, clacking and straining the whole way. When he arrived on his floor, he pulled back the black painted steel elevator door, walked down the hall to Chambre 12, used a real, old-fashioned skeleton key to unlock his door and entered the room. Still clothed but very exhausted, he immediately laid down on the single bed for a little nap knowing that he had to meet Jacque Benet in a few hours for their meeting.

    He probably had been sleeping for only an hour or so—it now was 4:30 AM in the morning or 10:30 PM New York time--when his phone rang.

    Excusez-moi, Monsieur Hart, I am sorry to disturb you so early in the morning, said the night desk clerk, but you have a long distance call from a Monsieur Benet. Do you wish to take it?

    Thank you, yes, I will take the call, Stephan responded still somewhat asleep.

    Hello, Stephan, it is Jacque. Jacque said with some urgency in his voice, I am so sorry to awaken you at this ungodly hour, but I must cancel our meeting this morning.

    Cancel our meeting, Jacque. Why do you need to cancel our meeting? Stephan said, still sleepy and a little irritated. I flew from New York, at your request, to talk about our upcoming tradeshow in Munich and to meet with some of your French customers.

    Oui,tu as raison. Je suis vraiment désolé! (Yes, you are right. I am so sorry!), Stephan, Jacque said, but it cannot be helped. My wife, Marie, is experiencing some problems with her pregnancy and I must attend to her and the children. I am sure you understand.

    Of course, Jacque, family first, Stephan responded. When do you think we can meet? Our meeting is important and I know you wanted the two of us to entertain your Toulouse customer and discuss their purchase of five of our dialysis machines.

    Again, I am sorry, Stephan, the doctor said Marie will be bedridden for at least a week, so possibly we can meet in five or six days from now. I am hoping you will stay in country until we can talk. Enjoy Paris, my friend, and I will see you next Friday at the latest. Au revoir. And with that, Jacque hung up.

    Stephan stared out into his dark room, the silent phone still in his hand. Then he hung up the phone, a little harder than needed, and laid down his head to sleep.

    Before he drifted off to a deep sleep, he whispered out loud into the darkness, Well, I have only been to Paris one time before and did not get to really see and enjoy the city the last time, so now I will do a little sightseeing.

    Stephan awoke around 9 AM, took the tight, winding stairway down to the lobby for a cup of coffee and a very flaky chocolate croissant, then walked out the door onto St. Somme Avenue, turned left and walked about two blocks down the cobblestone street to the Champs Elysee. It was lightly snowing and quite cold and so Stephan was bundled up in an overcoat, a wool scarf, leather, fur lined gloves, but no hat on his head. He abhorred hats even though he

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