Author: Dimitry Partsi

Hawkett and his desk arrived on the 17th floor at precisely 9:04 a.m. The desk, a formidable beast of faux-wood laminate, announced its presence with squeaky caster wheels. Hawkett, a man with a perpetually surprised expression, was, in his own mind, a legal force of nature. A legal beagle, as he sometimes called himself.

His first stop was Zenith Innovations & Futures. The receptionist here was a young man with a slick haircut named Chad, who looked at the desk with detached irony.

“Bringing your own workspace, bro? That’s a vibe,” Chad said.

“Is not vibe, is law office,” Hawkett corrected him. He leaned forward, placing both hands flat on his desk. A king addressing the court. “Have you been sued, but do not know it yet?”

Chad held up a hand. “Gonna stop you there. We’re good. Our legal team is fully gamified and blockchain-integrated.”

“I see,” Hawkett said, a flicker of something that might have been hurt in his eyes. “You are forcing my hand.” He cleared his throat. “Zenith Innovations versus Hawkett! For wasting my valuable time! You will be responsible for all costs.”

“Costs for what?” Chad asked, genuinely curious now.

“Snacks, for one,” Hawkett said gravely. “Deposition is hungry work.”

After being escorted out, his next target was SynerCorp Global Solutions. He rolled his desk to the reception station where a woman named Kathy was fielding a call. She put the caller on hold, eyes wide.

“Can I… help you?” she asked.

“I am here to take on your case,” Hawkett said, his voice a low, confident rumble. “For you, against you, perhaps even diagonally. We are flexible.”

“We have a legal department,” Kathy said, her hand inching towards the phone.

Hawkett sighed, a sound of profound disappointment. “You leave me no choice. We will now be forced to sue on your behalf.”

Kathy frowned. “Sue who on our behalf?”

“Myself,” Hawkett declared. “SynerCorp Global Solutions vs. Hawkett. For emotional distress caused by your rejection. I know all my own weaknesses. The discovery process will be devastatingly efficient.”

Kathy was already dialing security. His final target for the day was the most ambitious: the law firm of Sterling, Finch, & Hurst. He rolled his desk straight into the heart of the office until he was stopped by a tall, skeletal man in a pinstripe suit. This was Mr. Hurst.

“And what, in God’s name, is this?” Hurst asked, his voice like gravel.

“This,” Hawkett said, gesturing grandly, “is justice.”

“Get out of my office before I have you sanctioned into the next century.”

Hawkett shook his head slowly. “You are making a terrible mistake. A mistake I must now rectify. Sterling, Finch, & Hurst versus Hawkett. For… for being mean.”

Hurst actually took a step back. “You can’t sue yourself on our behalf for ‘being mean’! There’s no standing! It’s gibberish!”

“Standing?” Hawkett scoffed. “I am standing right here. With desk. And is not gibberish, is opening statement.”

Mr. Hurst, a man who had faced down federal prosecutors, looked truly broken. The sheer, unadulterated absurdity had short-circuited his legal mind. He reached into his wallet and pulled out two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.

“Here,” he croaked. “This is a retainer.”

“You are retaining me?”

“I am retaining you,” Hurst whispered, “to not sue yourself on my behalf. Ever.”

Victory. Hawkett pocketed the money. “A wise decision. My case against myself was very strong. I would have destroyed me.” The squeaky wheel sang a song of triumph as he rolled toward the elevator, a fully-retained legal beagle.