Kick in the Pants

He didn’t know why he’d been summoned to the lawyer’s office. He assumed it was yet another debtor wanting him to pay off the debts his ex had racked up before running away with her new boy toy to some foreign paradise. It had been three years and they were still coming out of the woodwork. He’d quickly learned that face-to-face meetings tended to work out better for him.

But he’d never met with a group of people. Two or three people representing the debtor, sure, but never seven people. All women. Eight if he counted the baby. All huddled in front of the oversized oak desk.

Whispers crisscrossed the air around him. Accusing glares pricked at his exposed skin, and he pulled his puffer jacket tighter around him despite the room’s suffocating air.

Underdressed. Don’t belong here. Should I just leave? Fuck it. I’m outta here.

The heavy wooden door swung open, ushering in a wave of fresh air and silence as all eyes turned to the woman dressed in a deep red suit tailored perfectly for her middle-aged figure.

He sunk back into the leather chair. Muted power. She’s working her audience. Stay alert.

He pushed his shoulders back, lifting himself to his full seated height. The new arrival’s eyes flicked from person to person, stopping on him. The whispers erupted anew, now laced with a blackened anger.

“Hello, everyone,” the power suit said as she moved to sit behind the desk, which suddenly felt insufficient. “First, let me offer my deepest condolences.” She offered a practiced, softened look at an older woman sitting silently in the corner.

How had he not noticed her before? The whispers. They hid her. Protected her. But didn’t invade her space. Ah, the matriarch. The power suit’s initial comments had already confirmed he was the odd man out in some familial suffering.

The matriarch made an almost imperceptible nod, acknowledging the power suit’s words.

“Shall we get started?” Power suit tore open a manila envelope without waiting for an answer. She pulled out a thick file, flipped through several pages, and started reading in a nearly monotone voice.

“Just skip to the important stuff.” Everyone turned to the Gwyneth wannabe, mumbling and nodding. “Please,” she added, flashing a tight, perfect smile.

Power suit shifted in her seat. No one missed the glance she flicked his direction before she returned to the pages in her hand. The others acted as one, scooting forward on their seats, no longer hiding their hostile sneers toward him.

“Who is this guy, anyway?” One of the younger ones spoke, probably just a few years younger than him.

“Yeah, this is a family matter,” another said in a venomous voice.

“A private family matter,” a third added. A chorus of anger exploded.

Escape route. Right down the middle. Could probably power through a few of them, but that damned door is going to slow me down. Should have sat closer to it.

Should’ve asked what this was about before coming.

Shouldn’t have bothered coming.

Should never have married her. Shouldn’t have listened to everyone saying she was a catch. Shouldn’t have believed that whole “time to settle down” spiel from Mom. Should have known when she started bragging that she’d given me the kick in the pants to take the leap.

“He’s your father’s son.” The angry chorus instantly fell silent as everyone turned to the ancient brittle voice. The matriarch lifted her eyes to him. “I’m sorry you never knew. My husband was a good man, but he was not without weaknesses.”

He gripped the armchair until the leather gave way to his fingertips. “And I’m the weakness?” He heard the sneer in his voice and fell back against the chair. Damn. I am related to them.

They must have heard it too.

Power suit cleared her throat, taking control once again. “He’s the sole inheritor of the estate.”

An icy silence smothered the room. He struggled to breathe.

The matriarch scoffed, stood up, and tossed another “weakness” at him, all brittleness gone from her voice, before striding out of the room. The Gwyneth wannabe raced after her, followed by a parade of other women.

He turned to power suit, who plastered a fake professional smile on her face. “You sure you have the right person?”

She nodded.

“How much are we talking about? Ballpark.”

She shuffled through the papers again, ticking off the properties and their worth. A working man’s estate. He’d saved his entire life. He hadn’t died a rich man, but he’d had a healthy nest egg.

A nest egg that might finally break me free of these damned shackles.

“Can you help me with a legal issue? Debtors—the kind an ex saddles you with before taking off?”

Power suit’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll have my assistant draw up an agreement.”

“And them?” He nodded toward the empty doorway.

Power suit shook her head, smiling. “We locked the will up tight.”

“They could still fight it.”

“They could, but there’s a clause in the will making them responsible for all legal fees if they do.” She winked at him. “And I’m not cheap.”

The shackles slithered back into place.