“There are some serious issues here, Mr. Winter,” asserted another one of the scoundrels-in-training.
“Well, the way I see it, boys, your master down at the end of the table, Mr. Moody, needs 12 of you to do his dirty work. What that tells me is that Mr. Moody’s best weapon in this case is his money and power, which means he has a shit case. Now, you want to act tough? Then let’s put away the neat folders you have, move this table, and get down to some real business.”
Moody was furious. Each of his million age spots seemed ready to explode. “Listen, punk, I’ll bury you!”
“Do you think I give a shit about you or your money? I don’t. It’s about time someone taught you a fucking lesson.”
“This meeting is over!” Moody announced to his minions, who simultaneously stood up and marched out of the room behind him.
Adam yelled down the hallway, “Cy, did they have the rules of ethics around when you started practicing? If they didn’t, don’t worry. I’ll teach ‘em to you as I’m shoving ‘em up your ass before this case is over!”
Moody was a jerk. He’d probably be out for Adam now, but in that moment Adam felt great unleashing on him.
Sager was in shock. “I’ve never seen anyone stand up to him before,” he said.
“That guy fucked you out of your business. Now I’m going to teach you how to fight back.”
On the drive back to his office, Adam felt himself falling apart. He was in his fifth year of spending every minute of the day dealing with other people’s problems and listening to them complain. He had no girlfriend and a social circle that was growing only because some of his friends were getting divorced.
His near-brawl with the 80-year-old Moody only signified to Adam that he was living the wrong kind of existence. What the hell was he doing? Is this what life was going to be like? Spending his prime dealing with rich assholes all fighting over money? Then again, rich assholes like Moody were helping Adam come close to making him a junior partner at Kaplan, Rubens & Squire. Wondering how to find the right existence was a luxury reserved for the five-minute mini-fantasy he lived each time he bought a lottery ticket. That’s when he would dream about how his life would be different if he had millions in the bank and was able to pursue something he really loved
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