It's time for the weekly meeting with the legal team. Of all the administrivia I've had to handle since the reading of Father’s will, this is by far the least fun. Edward Smith, our lead lawyer, looms over his end of the conference room’s long oval table. He’s well over two meters tall and nearly half as wide. It’s all muscle too. If he has more than a few grams of fat on him, I don’t know where he keeps it. He likes to loom, towering over you, forcing you to look up at him. I'm not intimidated by him anymore—it's hard to feel intimidated by a man when you know you could kill him with a thought—but something about spending any time in his overwhelming presence is distinctly uncomfortable.
Maybe I’m still mad at him for the time he threatened to have my grandparents arrested if I didn’t go with him to live with Father after Mom died. It wasn’t a great first impression. I am glad he's working for us though. With an intellect that matches his imposing figure, he's a beast in the courtroom and in negotiations. It’s definitely better to have him as an ally than an enemy.
As usual, he’s flanked by a pair of men in suits who never seem to say anything. The topic this week is the same one that the notes in my head tell me was the topic of the last three meetings: the slow dismantling of his legal team. Without the steady stream of customized non-disclosure agreements and paternity contracts from Father's baby-making operation, we've been able to cut half the group already, but I want to cut deeper.
"Mr. Kimball, he intones. He always uses my last name when he addresses me, a subtle dig that I’m more my mother’s child than my father’s, that I’m not really a Butler like my siblings. “I strongly recommend against letting Jenkins’ team go.”
Jenkins again. The man who ran the “Genetic Acquisitions” team that Father used to find women willing to sign away their rights to their own bodies and potential children in exchange for a few million dollars. I’ve been trying to get rid of him for months but the contracts Father had with him have been as complicated to untangle as my own twists of broken neurons.
I shake my head and meet Smith’s gaze. “I’m not like my father, and neither are any of my siblings. We don’t need them anymore.”
“You are unfortunately misinformed about your siblings. I’ve received three requests from your family members in the last few months specifically indicating that the procurement services Jenkin’s offers will indeed be required.”
I groan. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t hold it back. Dammit Chad. And now I need to find out who the two others are.
Smith smiles a hard, false grin. “The late Mr. Butler was very clear that he intended that the Institute continue to grow through these particular family planning services. Just send Jenkins any preferences you have and I’m sure you’ll find the arrangement very…satisfying. Your father certainly did.”
I can’t say I’m not tempted by the offer of unlimited sex with different women every day. I’m not a eunuch. And better yet, I could claim, like Father did, that it’s in the name of saving humanity. But my mom raised me better than that. I may be a murderer and a traitor, but I still have some boundaries. Besides, my primary job is to get the Institute running in the black. Without Father's income, we've already burned through most of his remaining liquid funds and Jenkins’ operation is a huge part of the cash hemorrhage.
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“If you didn’t get those requests from me, then the answer is still no. I’m the one my father left in charge, and this decision is not up for further discussion. We're done propagating my father's unconventional family structure. If or when we want kids, we'll couple up like normal people and raise them like everyone else does. Get rid of them."
"And you have concurrence with a majority of the oldest class on that?" he asks, his tone telling me that I’m making a terrible mistake.
"Yeah, signed here,” I say, producing the document. “Evan, Louise, Andrea, and me. That’s all I need to make it official."
He gives me that look. That look that tells me that I have no business giving him marching orders. I do my best to give him a look back that lets him know I’m in charge. I am in charge. I am as long as I have my siblings backing me, anyway. Dealing with these people is so hard. I’d give up if I didn’t feel like I deserve this hell.
"It is,” he finally concedes.
"So how many more does that leave in your group?” I ask. “Nevermind, just send me the adjusted monthly cost statement after the meeting.”
“Very well,” he rumbles. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”
“A couple more things. How is the team working on the Pacific operation and the Southeast Asia trip doing? Did we get all the agreements we need for the work for both of those projects? And we probably need to add another associate or two for the Africa team, preferably with a good background in mineral rights. We’re expecting to have some advances in mining tech in the next couple of years that should kneecap the operations that are still using child labor there. Maybe you can repurpose some of Jenkins’ people for that."
"Not a viable option." Smith shakes his head. "The operations teams need a completely different skillset. International law and custody law have very little overlap. Unless one of you plans to impregnate someone while overseas...”
He trails off suggestively.
“Not something I’m worried about,” I say, hoping Chad is staying focused on his mission and not getting up to anything I’m not aware of. “Anyway, hire as needed to support the current and planned efforts. Send me a reminder to get you the details if you need them.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You already gave those instructions in the email you sent me yesterday with the associated plans. Are you feeling all right, Mr. Kimball?” My monitoring of his vitals make me certain he’s not at all concerned for my well-being, just being courteous about asking if I’m stupid or not. Shit. I hate looking like an idiot generally, but in front of Mr. Smith somehow it’s extra embarrassing.
DOPE_ME
A rush of well-being and focus courses through me. I can do this.
“Of course. Yes,” I say. “I was just confirming.”
He nods slowly before taking a seat and motioning to one of his minions, who stands and proceeds to bore me out of my mind with minutia. I plow through the rest of the long meeting, mentally cursing my broken mind again and again. Part of me wishes again that we’d never killed Father, that he was still here to handle all of this.
But he’s gone and I’m here, so it’s my responsibility now. I earned this.