Not a family lawyer

Matthew silently wailed inside his own head as the elevator crept up to the 19th floor. He should not be in this position. He had told his client that clearly in the first meeting. He wasn't a divorce attorney. He had no desire to be a divorce attorney. He wasn't really an anything attorney at the moment. He had only passed the bar barely five months ago, and was working for the little shingle that his dad had set out. Obermeyer and Franz was now Franz, Obermeyer and Son. Ostensibly, they were an employment and personal injury law firm. He wanted to turn Mr. O'Shannon down, but Mr. O'Shannon was so insistent, that he ended up briefly leaving his own office to discuss with his father. Mr. Obermeyer Sr said it was good for a young attorney to try out a bunch of different areas of practice. It was one thing to learn the law at law school, it was an entirely different beast to actually practice law. Besides, someone who knocked on the door of the first law firm they saw and was insistent that the first lawyer available help them probably needed the help.

Matthew thought that perhaps Mr. O'Shannon was barely holding on. He looked like a dockworker, nearing retirement age. Big, broad shouldered, ruddy cheeks, a shock of red hair with streaks of grey, hands the size of Thanksgiving turkeys. He probably didn't have much in assets besides the house and an union pension, Matthew figured. Then he actually sat down and reviewed everything that Mr. O'Shannon had. He was no barely literate dockworker in **** need of an attorney, Mr. O'Shannon was a corporate titan and had net worth nearing 9 digits. And a prenup with Mrs. O'Shannon. A prenup that had clauses about infidelity. Apparently, Mrs. O'Shannon was aware of how she became the third Mrs. O'Shannon. This was way too big of a case to give to a greenhorn lawyer fresh out of law school, he argued to Mr. O'Shannon.

No, Mr. O'Shannon countered, they had a contract, and if Matthew didn't serve as his lawyer, then Mr. O'Shannon would get his actual personal attorney and make his life hell. It was a pretty standard lawyer-client contract, and Matthew was pretty sure he'd win in the end, but he also knew that the Harvard-educated shark that O'Shannon had on retainer could bury his firm in paper and leave them penniless. So, even after consulting with Mr. O'Shannon's personal attorney who was collegial enough to give him some pointers, it was up to him to escort his client to the 19th floor and sit down with Mrs. O'Shannon and her attorney to divide assets.

He felt like he was going to faint.

Ms. Rebecca Hashimoto was in fact a divorce attorney, and she was very good at it. She specialized in high-asset and high stakes. There were only a few attorney who operated on her level in this state, and she knew them by name. She was surprised that someone like O'Shannon wasn't being represented by someone she knew. She expected the opposing counsel to be someone he flew in from New York or California, some Yalie grad who clerked for Rehnquist and charged a small country's GDP for their hourly rate.

In this line of work, she couldn't exactly be super-selective in her clients. A defense attorney's client was always innocent in the courtroom, but no defense attorney could make a living defending only innocent people. Likewise, she couldn't only represent wronged women. She had done her fair share of representing assholes who were serial philanderers and monomaniacs who only cared about making sure their ex-wife was left penniless. But, at the same time, it felt good to be on this side of this case rather than the other. The fact that O'Shannon had been stupid enough to cheat when there was a infidelity clause in his prenup meant that Rebecca didn't envy her opposing counsel.

She was shocked when she learned that his lawyer was some 26 year old guy she had never heard of. But if he wanted to bomb his own divorce proceedings, she had no compunction about taking him to the cleaners. Even his private personal cleaner of an attorney would be better suited that this Obermeyer kid was. But, hey, it was his money, and would soon be Michelle's money.

Michelle O'Shannon, soon to be Michelle Richardson yet again, didn't like the smell of this. Paul was a lot of things, an inconsiderate dickhead, a cheating asshole, but a fool? No, he was never that. He wouldn't pull something like this unless he had a plan. Why didn't her dickhead soon-to-be-ex use his normal lawyer? Or the lawyer he used when he divorced Karen to marry her? He had to be up to something. She briefly thought that maybe he had tracked down the kid she gave up in high school - maybe he thought she'd be so overcome with emotion she'd forget that she was divorcing him - but no, the ages didn't line up. Paul had to have a plan, otherwise she was liable to walk away with 40, maybe 50 million dollars.

It was starting to be very clear after the mediation began that Rebecca was just heads and shoulders above this kid. The uneasy pit in Michelle's stomach still wouldn't close. She had Paul by the balls because he still couldn't stop cheating even into his 60s, and she had a lawyer who could make mincemeat out of his. Why was he still smiling, even if his own lawyer looked like he was going to puke?

Matthew was practically turning green; this was way too much for him. He didn't know the statues that well, he didn't know case law. There was something to the notion of throwing yourself into the deep end of the pool and figuring out to swim, but a centimillionaire's divorce case as his first go-around? He WAS. NOT. A. FAMILY. LAWYER. He didn't practice this kind of law. He had told Mr. O'Shannon that there were a thousand lawyers in the bar better suited to this case than he was. Why was Mr. O'Shannon forcing him to do this? Had Matthew accidentally cut him off in traffic and he just wanted to **** Matthew? It made no sense. And why did it seem like the more Matthew was panicking, the more than Mr. O'Shannon smiled?

Matthew's heart was racing. He was sweating. He was either going to puke or faint or possibly both. He took out his pocket square and feebly touched it to his brow. His blood froze, when he realized that not only was Mr. O'Shannon smirking, but he was opening his mouth to say something.

"Quite frankly, I don't see why I should be punished when it was Michelle who got old and fat. And its not like I ventured very far; it was only her younger sister that I slept with. I kept it in the family!"

Matthew couldn't resist. His head slammed into the desk in front of him. "Why would you say that?!" He seethed. His heart wasn't just racing at this point, it was more like it was trying to drill itself out of his chest. His hands were at his hair, ready to tear chunks of it out. He wanted to scream.

Then his jaw unhinged and his eyes turned a glowing purple. He started levitating 18 inches above his chair. The lights around them on the 19th floor flickered and shut off. Both Rebecca and Michelle screamed and huddled behind their chair away from the unnatural phenomenon happening before them.

Paul only smirked as his young lawyer soundlessly screamed. One of Matthew's hand slowly pointed at Michelle.

"What is happening? Please, I didn't do anything! Stop, please!" she cried.

"See, I was turned on to this by one of his law school professors. Apparently, if you put this young man in an acutely stressful situation, he starts gaining the ability to reshape reality. Apparently, his mock trial wasn't going so well, but, well, his opponent decided she wanted to try to be a stripper instead of a lawyer instead. Apparently wiped the minds of everyone who saw, but the professor was taping the trials so he could review them. Wrote him one hell of recommendation after that. Poor kid could be raking it in, but he just wanted to work for his daddy's firm."

"Myyyy client... wants... you to beeeee hooooot," the still-levitating lawyer moaned. A zap of purple electricity shot from Matthew's finger directly between her eyes. She stepped backwards, and reality swirled around her.

Suddenly, Mrs. O'Shannon looked better than the day Mr. O'Shannon hired her to be his assistant. "Oh, baby, have I been neglecting you? How about I bend over and you ream me right here and now?" She asked huskily.

"Please, I didn't do anything wrong. I won't say anything. I'm a lawyer and I zealously advocated for my client. Just let me leave, and I'll go!" Rebecca pleaded, realizing that she was in a terrible situation.

"I mean, its really up to young Matthew here, I think," Paul chuckled as he got closer to his wife, and put a big meaty hand on her ass.

"Youuuuu embarrassed me. Iiiii'm a goooood lawyer..." Matthew rasped as he pointed his finger at the senior lawyer.

"No! Nonono! NooooOOOO!" she screamed as he shot another bolt of electricity at her.

"TeeHee!" She giggled and spun in front of the men, "I'm sure you're a good lawyer, Mr. Matthew, sir. I wouldn't know, I'm just a pretty doll for you to play with!" She turned around and bent over, presenting her newly well-toned ass to him, "Would you like to play with me?"

"See? Its thanks to lawyers like you and young Mr. Obermeyer here that we can come to these positive win-win negotiations like this," Mr. O'Shannon chuckled, as he let his wife slowly zip his pants down.

"Yooooou," Matthew moaned still levitating in the air, "youuuu tortured me! Worst of them alllllll...."

"What? No! I didn't **** you! I may have put you through your paces, but you did the job that I expected you to, and you did it excellent. I'll pay you your fee that we agreed to. Hell, I double it, triple it, I'll quintuple it!"

A bolt of electricity shot from Matthew's outstretched hand. Mr. O'Shannon let out a rather girlish shriek.

Matthew collapsed back to the ground, utterly spent and exhausted. The former Mr. O'Shannon tore herself away from Mrs. O'Shannon and rushed to Matthew's side. She didn't know her name. Shannon, maybe? But she knew she had to be nice to this young hunk of a man. She would do anything for this man. He was obviously her master. She cooed over him, and urged her fellow hotties to get him some water. Slowly, the man regained consciousness, with three sets of very pretty eyes looking over him.

He found a stack of papers on the conference room table. Where exactly they came from, he wasn't sure. Did he draft them? They were awfully favorable to his side of the case. He took a second glance at the young Asian ballerina. For a moment, Matthew thought he should ask her her opinion, but, no, she was very clear that she was only a pretty doll.

He found the redhead's car keys, and they all looked up at him hopefully. He decided that he was the only one fit to drive. He'd make arrangements to get his car and Becky and Mitzi's respective cars later. He'd have the three hotties pile into Shannon's Lamborghini, and take them back to Shannon's mansion.

They wanted him to stay and play, but he had to get back to the office. It would be nearly 5:30 when he got back, nearly quitting time.

"Heya, Mr. Obermeyer!" Mrs. Brabec chirped happily from her office. The receptionist had left at 5, so she kept one eye on the front from her desk.

"Hey, I know its too late to get sent down to the Register of Deeds today, but you can make sure someone e-files this first thing tomorrow morning? I got a quitclaim deed from the O'Shannon case."

Mrs. Brabec took the signed and notarized form from his hands, "This is a deed from both the O'Shannon's... to you." She wasn't an expert in the manner any more than he was, but Franz occasionally took on a divorce case.

"Yeah, the O'Shannons wanted me to... hold it for them while they reconciled," He said slowly. That didn't sound quite right. Why would they deed him their house and all their assets? They were quite adamant that they wanted to reconcile though. They wanted to reconcile on him all night. He'd have to review his notes on the case. There was a big hole in his memories about their mediation today, but it went well. Paperwork proved that.

Mrs. Brabec stared at him skeptically. She had been his father's firm's office manager for decades. He had known her since he was six or seven years old. He had met her grandchildren; she considered herself his second mother, practically. Hell, she was the one who found him when he got so nervous on his first day that he fainted in his office. She shrugged and assured him that it would get filed tomorrow.

"Any plans for the night, Leslie?" He said, feeling a bit uncomfortable, remembering how concerned she was when he had fainted.

"Oh, I'm probably going go down to the club and shake my ass on the pole again. Money's too good to pass up. I make so much there, that I thought about quitting here. But I just love you guys so much."

He did have to admit, with her long blonde hair and F-cup titties, and the fact she didn't look a day over 25, his 60-something office manager probably could make a living just at the strip club. But it was nice to have an experienced set of hands around, especially as a new lawyer.