As a trial attorney, Brock Vanark wasn't just a Great White Shark – he was a killer whale. Despite his youth he had amassed an impressive string of victories defending large multinational corporations, or suing critics on their behalf, as the top litigator and rainmaker at McKenzie Squires P. C., an old fart establishment law firm in Washington, D. C. He also had become rich employing a reverse contingency fee arrangement that few, if any, other litigators had the guts to try, let alone pull off.
Brock's reverse contingency fee arrangement provided that if a large multinational being sued was either absolved of liability or achieved a favorable settlement (what was a favorable settlement was spelled out in advance) Brock individually would receive fees that might be as much as ten times what he would have on an hourly basis, and McKenzie Squires would receive about 40% of Brock's take for providing logistical support. If he lost (which hadn't really happened as of the start of this tale) or a settlement did not meet the pre-agreed upon favorable outcome, he would receive either nothing, or a fraction of what he would have if charging on an hourly basis.
Brock had one other unusual arrangement with prospective clients – he would not even agree to meet with them unless they signed a waiver foregoing all potential rights to challenge his employment for other parties based upon information that the prospective client provided to him in their initial meeting should Brock decline to take their case. This put off a few prospective clients but Brock had as much work as he could do, and as much money as he could ever want, so he didn't give a shit. "Take it or leave it," he would say – with a smile – to anyone who balked.
Given his heavy litigation schedule and rainmaking duties for McKenzie Squires, Brock had no time to establish relationships with females despite the fact that because of his deceptive "choir boy" good looks he had many females that would love to establish a relationship with him. However, he had a high libido, so he did what busy rich guys have done for decades – he hired prostitutes. Not streetwalkers, but high end call girls. He had probably fucked half the pricey hookers within a hundred mile radius, usually in hotel rooms under assumed names. There were also two regulars – who were trophy wives of high powered travelling businessmen who wanted some extra cash for shopping trips – that he trusted to entertain at his condo when the conditions were right. He was happy with his sex life, though far from fulfilled, and with no romantic love.
There were two loves of Brock's life, however – his older sister Bernice Canton and even more so his ten year old niece Brooke. For some reason Brock felt a connection to Brooke almost from the time that she exited Bernice's womb and he spoiled her to the extent that Bernice and her husband Clem would let him. Brooke was the only person in the world that he would take time from his busy schedule to do what he might otherwise consider frivolous things with, such as going to the zoo, attending a sporting event or play or movie appealing to girls, or a trip to a museum. His greatest joys in life were seeing Brooke happy and being on the receiving end of one of her awesome clinging hugs and sloppy kiss on the cheek.
Brock had essentially zero social conscience, making his unparalleled special relationship with Brooke even odder because she had an innate strong sense of justice, empathy, and fair play. She had talked her Uncle Brock into supporting various endangered animals such as elephants, manatees, and wild mustangs, and if they ever passed a beggar on the street Brock knew that he'd get a big smile and a hug from Brooke if he gave him or her a few bucks, so he always did despite his inner loathing of them.
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The genesis of this story occurred in a most unusual manner, one that could only be accurately described as "serendipitous."
On a Friday night, just before Brock was about to lay the wood to a new call girl, his cell phone buzzed. The only people he would have answered it for under those circumstances were Brooke and Bernice. The caller ID said "Brooke Canton."
"Hi Honey, what's up with my favorite girl?" was Brock's cheerful greeting.
"Hi Uncle Brock," Brooke gushed on the other end of the line. "I'm so excited – I won first place at my school for the fifth and sixth graders' science fair."
"Wow – that's awesome, Honey. What's your project?"
"It's on global warming. And guess what – I go to the state competition in a month! I'm so excited!"
After an exchange of more information, with Brooke's excitement seeming to ramp up more with each sentence, came the coup de grace. "I want to make my project even better for the state competition – could you help me Uncle Brock? Please, please, pretty please with sugar on top?"
Brock knew that he couldn't turn her down, so he gushed "Of course, anything for my favorite person in the world!"
When he finally terminated the call, he was in a great mood including because Brooke's successes were even more rewarding to him than his own were. He turned to the perplexed hooker, smiled as he reported "That was my ten year old niece, the light of my life, who just won her science competition. My joy is going to turn into your lucky night," he fake snarled.
"I like the sound of that," Amber squealed as Brock reached for her last vestige of clothing.
Brock ate Amber's pussy through multiple orgasms and doggy-fucked her senseless with an alacrity that he had rarely manifested before. When Amber left the hotel room the next morning, having overstayed her three hour session by six hours, she walked bowlegged, but with a grin on her face and a $1,500 tip in her purse.
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Despite his busy litigation schedule, Brock met with Brooke, viewed her project, and then got to work learning as much as he could about man-induced global warming. His interest was initially only academic, and his preliminary motivation was only to help Brooke. However, since Brock never did anything halfway, he soon developed an actual interest in the subject. His interest was enhanced by Brooke's unbridled enthusiasm and sense of purpose. He ended up surreptitiously buying professional visual displays and commercial science experiments that greatly enhanced the optics of Brooke's project.
The state science fair for fifth and sixth graders was on a Saturday when Brock most likely would have had to be travelling to an out-of-town trial. However, Brock put in a measure of hard work and enthusiasm that was almost unprecedented even for him, and by posturing with the opponent, and by reducing his contingency fee to his client by 20%, he settled the lawsuit on the Friday before the state competition.
As Brock quietly observed Brooke's passionate presentation of her project to the judges, and her deft handling of all of the questions thrown at her, his heart so swelled with pride that he actually exhibited some humanity – a tear in his eye. "Must be some allergen in the air," he unsuccessfully tried to fool himself.
Brooke took third place in the state, a result more rewarding to Brock than almost any of his multi-million dollar victories at trials, and he happily treated Bernice, Brooke, Clem, and Brooke's science teacher and her husband, to dinner at a five star restaurant. At the end of the evening he received a double hug and even sloppier kiss that normal from his precious niece as she squealed "I love you sooo much Uncle Brock – thank you a thousand kisses worth!"
Despite his inner joy, that may have been the end of Brock Vanark's foray into the realm of social consciousness except for a meeting that Wednesday over lunch. Jim Watson, the managing officer/president of McKenzie Squires (both of the name attorneys having departed the earth decades ago) came into his office first thing in the morning.
"Brock – we've got a great chance at landing FFA as a client in a landmark litigation that was just filed last week," Jim gushed.
"What's FFA?" Brock asked.
"The Fossil Fuel Association," Jim responded in a perplexed tone.
"What's that? Never heard of them," Brock deadpanned.
"They promote fossil fuels worldwide and have more money than God. They're headquartered in Dallas, but they've been sued in D. C. by a bunch of tree-huggers calling themselves the Climate Reality Institute, CRI," Watson replied.
"What's the issue?"
"The environmental kooks allege that FFA's policies are resulting in a destruction of the earth's climate, and they want damages for all of the poor people who have been affected so far, and an injunction against a couple of dozen of their practices."
"Why tell me about it?" Brock asked, his weekend activities with Brooke jumping into his head.
"They specifically asked me to have you handle the situation for them; they don't need one of your reverse contingencies and are even willing to pay double your and our normal rates. This could be really big bucks for the firm – and you," Watson chuckled.
"Did they sign the waiver?" Brock asked.
"I want you to not require that in this instance, Brock. There's no way that you're ever going to be representing environmentalists, and we really need this litigation," Watson sternly replied.
"They sign the waiver or I don't meet with them – simple as that," Brock flatly responded.
"For Christ's sake, Vanark, what the fuck is your problem?" Watson snarled.
Brock stood up to his full six foot five inch height, got in Watson's face and spat back "That's my fucking requirement. I have no exceptions. If you don't like it get the management team to fire me – but don't you ever, ever, talk to me like that again. You need me a fuck of a lot more than I need you!"
His last comment was punctuated by a stiff finger into Watson's chest.
Watson's attitude had a 180 degree change. "OK, OK – don't get your panties in a bunch. I'll give the waiver to John Patterson, FFA's executive director. If he signs I want you to meet with us for a lunch with Patterson, the CEO of his largest member, and Patterson's wife at noon at Bistro Voltaire."
"Sure," Brock dismissively replied.
Brock's mind was in turmoil that morning – he found it hard to work, especially since about 10:30 a. m. Watson's secretary entered his office with the waiver signed by Patterson. Among the thoughts running through Brock's head was how he could keep his expected representation of FFA secret from Brooke.
