Baewatch - Xavier Neal Page 0,87
kindly gestures me inside, hiding her amused smirk over the situation.
As I squeeze past her, I politely state, “Thank you, Debra.”
“Of course, Mr. Maxwell.”
We exchange one more set of pleasant smiles prior to her shutting the door behind me.
Debra has been at my father’s side since before Harrison was born, and they’ve had an ongoing affair since he was about six weeks old. In a strange way, at times, she’s like having a second mother. She shared the responsibility, toting us around when our nannies couldn’t. Coming to games to cheer us on when the one who birthed us was too drunk or too busy to care. Sometimes I used to wonder why she’s stuck around all this time, given that my father was never going to leave my mother for her, yet given what I’m about to do next, I now completely understand why.
Love.
“Scott,” Father coos, cheerfulness in his tone as clear as the crystal sky outside. “What a pleasant surprise!” He sits back down in his leather chair and leans to one side. “I see you’ve come without your friend. I take it she understood her place and chose to make a quiet exit from your life?”
Gripping the folder in my hand harder is the only thing that keeps me from swinging a fist his direction. “This meeting is more formal than informal, and it wasn’t necessary for my fiancée to be here for it.”
His previous joy disappears.
“Besides, I absolutely fucking refuse to subject her to any more of your disgusting intolerance.”
He rolls his eyes and undoes the button on his suit jacket. “Stop taking the actions of last night so personal.”
“Excuse me?”
“This is a high-pressured family in which the ability to withstand such emotional stress and strain is crucial. If she wants to marry a high-class criminal defense attorney, then it is only right to test how well she can withstand such harshness.”
I give him a nod of comprehension – despite the fact I know he’s full of shit – prior to correcting, “I’m no longer a criminal defense attorney.” Crossing the room to place the folder on his desk, I announce, “Had you paid a little more attention to those who work at this firm rather than just where it ranks, you’d know I finished my final case a couple months ago.” A small tap is given to the folder. “This a copy of our original agreement in case you’ve misplaced yours. I have fulfilled my end of the arrangement. It is signed and dated to match the day I closed my last case.”
There’s no mistaking the displeasure in his voice. “You’re not quitting law.”
“You’re right.” My hands slide into my navy suit pants pockets at the same time I firmly announce. “I’m not.”
His smug smirk is premature.
“See, I could’ve come to you the day that final case was closed and cut my shackles free, but instead…instead…I decided to draft a proposal.”
He lifts his eyebrows curiously into the air.
“See, the woman you so wrongfully mistreated yesterday, unintentionally led me to discover that I don’t actually hate law. I just hate the law I’ve been practicing. And, the woman you so easily dismissed for having the ‘wrong’ color of skin and financial wealth, helped nurse the passion inside of me for the career that this family has been so proud of for so many generations. She – again unknowingly – helped me embrace the board inside of me that I was gung-ho on selling because I was so determined to be nothing like you. An idea was formed, and through her encouragement, I was going to propose that you add a leg to the firm in which we would begin to cover human rights cases. I’ve come to realize how important they are. How many vulnerable people exist and fall victim to a system not designed necessarily to protect them but to profit and progress off of them without their consent. Are the cases financially lucrative in comparison to the ones you currently accept? No. Are they socially lucrative in the aspect that they would allow you and the other money hungry monsters that walk these halls to feel as though you’re helping make a difference without actually having to do something to make one, while the world praises you for the choice to join a war that needs stronger warriors on the side of what’s right?” My smile becomes malicious. “Absolutely.”
Father adjusts himself in his chair, crosses his leg, and motions his hand at the seat