The Man behind the rumors

This isn’t the story you’ll find on the comment sections of Facebook. This is the story that built me.

Humble Beginnings

I was born and raised in Davenport, Iowa, the youngest of eight children. I attended Sacred Heart, a Catholic grade school that instilled early values of structure, accountability, and faith. With most of my siblings out of the house by the time I was ten, I learned independence young. I became highly observant, naturally disciplined, and extremely self-motivated — traits that would follow me through every stage of my life.

Eventually, I moved to South Chicago to live with my father. That transition exposed me to a very different environment — one defined by real-world pressure, economic hardship, and constant challenges. I lived in a small roach and mouse infested trailer in Calumet Park off 127th and Ashland. Our source of heat was a kerosene heater. Our AC consisted of open windows and fans. I didn’t just witness adversity; I lived through it. But rather than fall into the circumstances around me, I studied them. I focused. I adapted. I learned how to navigate difficult systems, how to lead without a spotlight, and how to stand firm when things got tough.

Quiet Strength: My High School Years

Transferring High schools wasn’t easy for me — but not for the usual reasons. I wasn’t interested in being popular. I didn’t chase cliques, crowds, or attention. I was an introvert, more comfortable analyzing the world around me than participating in its noise. I found peace in video games, especially RPGs, strategy titles, and shooters that rewarded patience, foresight, and critical thinking. What most people saw as “just a game,” I saw as a mental proving ground — a place where being quiet didn’t mean being passive.

But the world outside the screen wasn’t always so forgiving.

Growing up in south Chicago was something that had an everlasting effect on who I became as a person. I had already learned that being small, reserved, and different could make you a target. I was often underestimated because of my size. And because of where I lived, I had to physically fight more times than I can count — not because I wanted to, but because I had to earn respect just to be left alone. It was a constant reminder that silence is only powerful when it’s paired with strength.

I wasn’t naturally gifted athletically, either. I played sports — wrestling, football, and some recreational basketball — but I wasn’t the fastest, strongest, or most coordinated guy on the field. What I lacked in raw talent, though, I made up for with something far more valuable: persistence.

I showed up. I trained. I failed. I came back. Again and again.

That mindset became my superpower.

In a world that celebrated instant success and overnight stars, I became a grinder. Someone who didn't expect results without struggle. Someone who was willing to be uncomfortable longer than most people were willing to try.

Off the field, I explored spoken word poetry and even created and sold a small run of rap CDs. Creative expression helped me process what I was going through — not just socially, but emotionally. I wasn’t just thinking through challenges — I was writing through them. Performing, quietly, in my own way.

In hindsight, high school taught me lessons that no textbook could offer:

• That leadership isn’t always loud.

• That success has more to do with grit than gifts.

• And that being underestimated can become one of your greatest advantages — if you know how to turn pressure into fuel.

"I wasn’t the biggest. I wasn’t the fastest. But I refused to break — and that made all the difference."

College wasn’t part of my original plan. I wasn’t interested in the social politics of academia. But my father saw potential in me, and with his encouragement, I applied to the United States Naval Academy. That decision changed everything.

Forged in Leadership at the Naval Academy

At the Naval Academy, I earned a Bachelor of Science studying Computer Engineering, a rigorous program that gave me a deep foundation in systems thinking, technology infrastructure, and problem-solving. My senior capstone project focused on advanced routing protocols and network failover systems — work that sharpened both my technical expertise and my ability to execute under pressure.

Athletically, I boxed competitively from sophomore through senior year and played cornerback on the Sprint Football team during my freshman year. In my time at the Academy, I also earned the Black N — a satirically prestigious internal honor earned after getting two 6K offenses totaling 72 days of restriction and 20 marching tours for running an online business jailbreaking and reselling iPhones internationally. Somewhat of a precursor to my Yoshis Tronics business and the entrepreneur I am today.

Perhaps most critically, it was at the Academy where I began developing the leadership framework I use to this day. I led by example, navigated high-pressure environments, and quickly learned how to command — through competence, consistency, and accountability.

Even while managing a demanding schedule, I began an underground business reselling electronics — identifying early the market inefficiencies between consumer tech supply and demand, something the Commandant took into account when sparing my attendance to the Academy. That early venture was the seed of what would later become a full-scale brand and business.

The Rise of Yoshi’s Tronics — And Everything That Followed

Like most things in my life, Yoshi’s Tronics didn’t start with a business loan, a roadmap, or a team of experts. It started with hustle, instinct, and a secondhand laptop in a spare room of my home in Norfolk, Virginia, in 2013.

Fresh out of the military, I began buying storage units and flipping what I found — furniture, collectibles, tools, you name it. But it didn’t take long before I noticed a pattern: electronics moved fast and flipped for more. There was a clear disconnect between what people were selling locally and what those same items were worth online. I studied the market, spotted the opportunity, and leaned in hard.

Within three months, I was shipping out 15 to 25 electronic items a day.

From there, I signed a short-term lease on a kiosk in MacArthur Mall, buying broken and used electronics from walk-in customers. In less than a year, I expanded to four kiosks across the Hampton Roads area, each generating up to $1,000 per day in profit. At that point, most people would’ve been satisfied — but I saw something bigger.

So I moved into a small retail unit shared with a printing company and transitioned into my first brick-and-mortar location. I added display cases, accessories, and repairs. Local sales were earning me 20–50% more than online sales, and smartphone repairs created a natural lead funnel — people who came in for a fix often walked out selling their old phones or buying a newer one. That synergy became the cornerstone of my model.

By 2015, I opened a second store, shot my first TV commercial, and generated over $1.2 million in annual revenue. Yoshi’s Tronics was no longer a hustle — it was a brand.

The Chapter That Tried to Erase Me

There’s a chapter of my life that most people wouldn’t survive. A chapter I didn’t ask for, didn’t deserve, and still feel the effects of to this day.

In 2016, while expanding my electronics store in the Philippines, I was arrested and extradited back to Virginia, accused of a crime I had no part in: capital murder. In an instant, I went from running businesses and building my future — to being thrown into a legal nightmare that threatened to destroy everything I had ever worked for, including my name.

There were no warnings. No second chances. No fair shots. Just a label — “Killer for Hire” — and a system that moved forward like I was already guilty. I was incarcerated for over a year, stripped of my freedom, and held in a space where the presumption of innocence didn’t exist — not in the press, not in the public, and not in the eyes of the prosecutors who were more interested in conviction than truth.

But I knew the truth. And I refused to let them bury it.

The Fight to Be Seen as a Human Being

In that jail cell, I learned what isolation really feels like. You’re not just cut off from the outside world — you're erased from it. I watched my reputation get shredded online. I saw people who once smiled in my face back away without even asking what happened. I heard the whispers, the assumptions, the headlines. And yet not a single shred of real evidence ever existed to tie me to the crime.

I spent that year fighting from inside a system designed to break people, not correct itself. Every motion. Every affidavit. Every breath had to be a battle. It wasn’t just about proving my innocence — it was about surviving long enough to have the chance.

Eventually, the truth surfaced.

The charges were dropped. (This will be elaborated on in the future)

Not because of a technicality, but because there was never a case to begin with. Just a misidentification. A theory. A convenient name to attach to a narrative. And by the time the truth came out, I had already paid a price that no court could ever repay.

Life After the Cage

People love a redemption story — but they forget the scars don’t disappear when the case is closed. I was physically free but mentally shackled. The PTSD is real. The trust issues are real. The rage, the anxiety, the nightmares — all of it still lingers.

And yet, I refused to let that year define me.

Instead, I used it.

That experience sharpened my clarity. It made me fearless in the face of public perception. It taught me how broken the system can be — and how important it is to own your narrative, especially when others try to write it for you.

I don’t tell this part of my story for pity.

I tell it for perspective.

Because no matter what’s been said about me — no matter how many rumors, smear campaigns, or attempts to erase my character have been launched — I’ve already faced the worst. I’ve already been buried alive. And I walked out breathing.

This Is My Name. I Protect It.

To this day, there are still people who try to use that chapter against me — people who pretend dropped charges don’t matter, or who want to define me by an accusation rather than the facts. But here’s what I know:

📌 I didn’t fold.
📌 I didn’t run.
📌 I fought — and I won.

So when you hear my name, understand this:

I’ve built everything I have after surviving everything they threw at me. My businesses. My reputation. My role as a father. All of it came after they tried to take my freedom — and failed.

And that’s why nothing they do now can shake me.

From Virginia to the Quad Cities: Expansion, Evolution, and Legacy

While still on bond fighting false murder charges, I moved back to the Quad Cities in 2018. In 2019, I brought Yoshi’s Tronics home to Davenport, Iowa, and introduced something new: gaming. I wanted more than just a repair shop or electronics store. I wanted to create a space — a culture — where tech, community, and lifestyle converged.

We hosted our first gaming tournament, which led to our first gaming lounge, and eventually an all-out interactive retail experience: a shop where customers could chill in RGB-lit gaming chairs, sip coffee, test devices, and hang out. We built out display cases, invested in high-end gaming consoles, and introduced competitive repair turnaround and ironclad warranties.

The results spoke for themselves:

• Revenue skyrocketed from $63,000 to $88,000+ per quarter

• Our average sale value increased

• Customer retention and word-of-mouth referrals exploded

Beyond Tronics: Building the Portfolio

As the success of Yoshi’s Tronics QC grew, so did my vision.

After years of success in electronics and tech repair, I took a leap into a new kind of venture — one rooted in culture, community, and connection. In 2023, I opened Yoshi’s Bar and Filipino Canteen, a concept that gave a home to my Mother’s love for cooking Filipino food.

This wasn’t just a bar and grill — it was a vision. A place where people from all walks of life could share a drink, enjoy authentic Filipino cuisine, and feel at home in a setting that was modern, warm, and built with intention. From handcrafted cocktails and coffee drinks to lumpia and lechon, every detail was designed to stand out in a market that too often felt impersonal.

But the moment this business gained momentum, it became clear that I wasn’t just stepping into a new industry — I was stepping into a political minefield.

Defending My License — And My Name

Not long after opening, I found myself under scrutiny — not for anything I did wrong, but for the threat I posed to the status quo. I was running a bar that didn’t look like the others. I wasn’t backed by local power players. I didn’t come from one of the old, established networks. What I did have was a growing following, a successful brand, and an unapologetically independent mindset.

That didn’t sit well with some people.

I had to defend my liquor license, not just once, but repeatedly — often in front of decision-makers whose objectivity I had to question. Each time I complied with every legal requirement. Each time I operated by the book. But despite being in compliance, I found myself facing manufactured complaints, anonymous opposition, and public whispers rooted in politically motivated slander.

These weren’t organic issues. They were orchestrated efforts to undermine me — to paint me as irresponsible, volatile, or unfit to run a business. None of it was based in truth. But in today’s climate, perception can be weaponized, and I had to learn how to fight not just for my business, but for my reputation.

The Bigger Battle

What I faced wasn’t just regulatory pressure — it was an attempt to silence a rising voice in a space where independence, especially from someone like me, was seen as a threat.

I watched as certain competitors aligned with political figures to create friction — through social media attacks, backroom lobbying, and attempts to alienate me from vital business resources. I wasn’t just running a bar — I was fighting off an unspoken narrative designed to isolate and exhaust me.

And yet, I kept showing up.

Even with the weight of that opposition, I made sure that every customer was welcomed, every plate left the kitchen with pride, and every drink reflected the quality hat had always been central to my brand. As my businesses grew, so did my vision and a trip to Nashville with a buddy and an introduction to an after hours social club would give life to what I thought at the time, would be an exciting and very lucrative new venture.

Yoshi’s Island: The Dream and the Struggle

When I first conceptualized Yoshi’s Island, it was meant to be something different. It was inspired by the vision of a space that could blend family-friendly fun during the day with an adult-oriented entertainment social club by night. A place where people could come together, unwind, and escape the noise of their everyday lives — but still feel like they were part of something special, something authentic.

I envisioned Yoshi’s Island as a hybrid concept that would appeal to all ages, offering something for everyone — a mini golf course for families and children , a fun and safe social scene for adults, and most of all, a sense of community that would grow organically. The concept was unique: mini golf by day, with activities like billiards, air hockey, and arcade games, and a BYOB entertainment park where guests could play games and socialize, creating an environment of fun and camaraderie. The idea was to offer a membership model, where patrons could pay a daily, monthly or yearly membership fee to have access to these social amenities.

This wasn’t just a business venture — it was my vision for a new kind of community space. It was a chance to offer something unique to the Village of Hampton and its residents — a safe, creative, and vibrant spot for both families and adults to enjoy. But what started as a dream soon collided with reality.

From Concept to Reality — The Roadblocks Emerge

I found the perfect location for Yoshi’s Island when a mini golf course came up for sale in the Village of Hampton. The price was right — I made an offer and it was accepted. Everything was going according to plan, and I was excited to bring my vision to life in the Quad Cities.

But then the issues began.

I had attended multiple Village of Hampton city council meetings, informing the council of my plans to run a family-friendly mini golf course during the day, and to transform it into an adult social club at night where patrons could bring their own liquor and enjoy activities like mini golf, pool, and arcade games. I made it clear that this would be a unique offering, designed to serve the community and boost the local economy. My concept wasn’t just a putt-putt — it was an experience, a space where people could socialize in a safe, controlled environment.

But despite my efforts, I was told by the Village that there was no formal business licensing process for this kind of establishment in the area. The absence of a clear process should have made it easy to proceed — but, in reality, it left me vulnerable to political obstruction.

The Sudden Ordinance Change — A Political Hit

After operating Yoshi’s Island successfully for nine months, everything changed. The Village of Hampton, under the direction of certain officials, suddenly enacted an ordinance change that broadly changed alcohol regulations that any form of exchange or consumption in a social setting became illegal overnight without a liquor license. This decision didn’t just impact my business model — it directly undermined my ability to operate.

What was most troubling wasn’t just the new ordinance — it was the timing. The Village had been aware of my business model since the beginning, and there had been no objection. I was operating legally, and there were no complaints about my business. But after a particular event held at Yoshi’s Island, the Village acted swiftly to change the laws in a way that would effectively shut me down without due process or proper warning.

This was no coincidence. It was a direct hit, aimed at removing a specific demographic from the their small town— using local political power to stifle my business, which was growing rapidly and attracting a loyal customer base. They didn’t want to play by the rules; they wanted to force me out, and ignored constitutional rights to do so.

The Fight for Yoshi’s Island

In the face of this sudden opposition, I wasn’t willing to just walk away. I fought back.

I filed a lawsuit against the Village of Hampton, challenging the unfair ordinance change and the lack of due process among other violations. My claim wasn’t just about business — it was about standing up against political manipulation and ensuring that small businesses weren’t stifled by unethical practices. I wasn’t just trying to save a bar; I was fighting for the right to create. To offer something new, to innovate, and to challenge the status quo. This fight is still ongoing, but win or lose, its a battle I’ll be proud of myself for fighting regardless of the outcome.

The walls close in

The beginning of 2025 gave way to very financially and emotionally challenging year. The extent of my adversity with local city governments and those who benefit from the corrupted power they wielded become extremely evident. In early February of 2025, with virtually no criminal record, no time obligations I owed to an employer and no DHS cases, I went from having 24/7 custody of my daughter to being allowed to see her for 4 hours per day two days per week. The disposition stated “Yoshi shall not have any overnight visits due to the supervision issues when he is working at the bar.” This put me into a depressive spiral as my daughter, Tala, was the only thing I really lived for at this time. My ability to act with reason became compromised and the opposition saw an opening. They ramped up the social media slander and the circumstances surrounding the loss of custody of my daughter was not spared. To add fuel to the fire, intentionally fictitious allegations of rape began to circulate with my best friend being named as the offender in my very own apartment. In a mentally compromised effort to combat it, I proved against it in the only way I thought could best present a defense. A very poor decision to post the judge who had signed the order taking my daughter from me, along with an intentionally falsified police statement was enough to issue a warrant for my arrest for charges of Invasion of Privacy and Harassment. (I cannot elaborate further as this case is still currently ongoing). At this point it became painfully obvious that fighting to keep my bar open was coming with far too great of a cost, one I was unwilling to bear. Shortly thereafter in March 2025, I made the decision to step away from operating the bar — not because I failed, but because I recognized the cost of fighting entrenched political resistance along with the significant effect it had on the custody of my daughter. I surrendered my liquor license voluntarily and shifted my focus back to being a father and to the businesses I could grow without compromise.

In the absence of my parental obligations, I began to work 14-16 hour days for 7 days a week. I was on a mission. And that mission to was to be a present father in my daughter’s life…

But I don’t see that as a defeat.

Closing the Chapter — With My Head High

Yoshi’s Bar and Filipino Canteen taught me more about resilience, reputation warfare, and systemic power dynamics than any other business I’ve run. It also gave me another platform to celebrate my culture, serve my community, and stand for something bigger than profit.

If anything, it solidified my belief that entrepreneurship isn’t just about making money — it’s about choosing legacy over silence. Even when the fight isn’t fair.

Shortly after surrendering my liquor license, I launched Yoshi’s Coffee Bar and Filipino Canteen — a colorful blend of both my mother passion in cooking Filipino food and the community-driven experience I wanted to build. It became a place where locals could grab a handcrafted latte, try traditional Filipino comfort food, or sit down for a strategy meeting in a welcoming space.

A business that I’ve been growing since 2019 after deciding to diversify outside of electronics and into hospitality came with Yoshi’s Place — a growing collection of unique, themed Airbnb properties designed to deliver something far more memorable than your average hotel stay. From smart homes to game-room getaways, each listing is optimized with personality, tech, and experience-driven design.

Today, I’m proud to say I run a multi-branch business portfolio that includes:

• Electronics retail and repair (Yoshi’s Tronics QC)

• Hospitality and short-term rentals (Yoshi’s Place)

• Food and beverage (Yoshi’s Coffee Bar & Filipino Canteen)

• Entertainment (Yoshis Island - Mini Golf and More)

What Drives It All

On April 30th, 2025, I became the father of another baby girl previously unbeknownst to even be a possible candidate. Nevertheless, I was incredibly excited and grateful for this unexpected gift. I found regained purpose and direction. What started as a side hustle has become a movement, powered by persistence, pattern recognition, and a relentless drive to create value.

But what matters most to me — beyond the numbers — is what my businesses stand for:

• Creating opportunity where others see obstacles

• Building community where others see competition

• Owning my story where others try to write it for me

This isn’t just about phones, food, or rentals. It’s about freedom. It’s about legacy. It’s about showing my daughters that no matter where you start, you can build something that outlives the noise.

Returning to the Quad Cities

Today, I’ve come full circle — back in the Quad Cities, where my journey began, but with a deeper mission.

I’m a father to two beautiful daughters, Tala and Pandora. And while I’m proud of my military service and the businesses I’ve built, my greatest role is being a father. Everything I do — every decision I make, every risk I take — is rooted in creating a legacy that reflects integrity, resilience, and truth. Not just for myself, but for my children.

I’ve faced challenges — personal, legal, and professional. I’ve been misrepresented. I’ve been judged. But I’ve also remained unshaken. I believe in transparency, in self-determination, and in building a life that speaks for itself.

So… who is Yoshi?

I’m a strategist shaped by adversity. A leader forged in service. A father committed to legacy. And a man who’s learned to turn every obstacle into fuel.