LITMIR.BIZ

      The window at the end of the hall in front of the office reflected the brilliant oranges and reds of the setting sun. All was quiet as the door to the office stood closed, a lone fortress to the stream of humanity that had inhabited the building a short while ago, but now formed long trails of traffic leading to the suburbs.

      Jake slumped over his desk, contemplating the visit he had just concluded with Logan Massey and the bank auditor. Deep crevices formed across his forehead as he recognized the inevitable.

      He knew it wouldn’t last forever. The costly cocaine habit had finally caught up with him. For the last few years, he had fallen deeper and deeper into drug addiction until it consumed his life. He had dreaded the day he would be discovered for the thief he was and would have to pay for his crimes.

      What can I do? Rubbing the crevices on his forehead, leaving visible red marks, it seemed as if he was trying to eradicate the criminal acts he was being accused of committing.

      He always had the intention of paying the money back, but was never able to dig himself out of the horrible abyss. No more excuses or broken promises now; no more lying, stealing, cheating. The secret was out. Feeling powerless, all he could think was ‘I’m going to jail!’

      Slowly, Jake slid his desk drawer open, reached in and grasped the hard, cold steel of his handgun, placing it gently on the desk beside the single white sheet of paper. He glanced down at his choices--the gun and the line of coke resting on the sheet of paper.

      Drumming his fingers, he remembered his first time experimenting with drugs at law school, the world of stress relievers and social highs. He was taking a class called “Legal Writing”. The professor was Dr. Hannaford. Both were dry and boring.

      His roommate gave him a joint one night while he was struggling with writing a brief for the class. Jake discovered it created this most magnificent mellow feeling. One joint and he could write a masterpiece! It certainly eased the pain caused by the monotony of sitting in class every day and listening to the prof’s lectures. One joint and he was firmly convinced that his other classes could benefit from a little ‘pharmaceutical security’, as he liked to call it.

      Over the course of three years in law school, he graduated to harder drugs to generate the same brand of success experienced with marijuana. Eventually he had difficulty separating the reality of what the drugs did ‘for’ him with what they did ‘to’ him. Slowly, his deteriorating disturbed mind justified the chemicals and he came to depend on them more and more. During third year Law Jake was introduced to the power of cocaine, only to exude confidence. He WAS confident, at least in his mind.

      Managing to graduate with honors, due more to his energy and willingness to work long, hard hours, not to his intellectual ability, the drugs helped him through school and to get a job.

      In an ironic twist this artificial confidence led him to an interview with one of the leading law firms in Indianapolis: Arbuckle, Hawkins, and Weller. His arrogant, brash attitude was perceived as ambition; his good looks appealed to the ladies. The firm had read his resume, and to them, Jake looked good on paper as well.

      Taking the job, he watched his clientele grow. Partners, thrilled with his success, congratulated each other on their wise decision to hire him. Jake’s sense of power and aggressiveness depended on his ability to maintain confidence, and he found himself turning to cocaine more and more frequently to bolster this illusion.

      About a year ago, mumblings started, “What’s up with Jake? Have you noticed how often he’s absent?”

      He could hear them and he saw the furtive glances directed his way. He observed how people would go out of their way to avoid him in the hall, on the street, or any place he might be. This only increased his disdain for those around him. The cocaine was what mattered now, and it became more difficult to come up with cash to feed the addiction.

      So, he had created the scheme to siphon funds from his senior clients, convincing them to relinquish control of their bank accounts so he could pay their bills, smiling now as he remembered how easy it had been. Most of them didn’t have relatives or were estranged from their families, more than happy to let Jake take care of their finances. They assumed that their nice young lawyer was very concerned and helpful and never questioned or checked their bank statements with anyone but him.

      He began stealing from the accounts with every intention of paying them back but, sinking deeper into looting and drug addiction, he felt there was no way out of the chasm he had created.

      Turning his gaze to the handgun, was this the solution? Was this the only way out?

      “Life or death, which should I choose?”

      He knew criminal charges would probably be filed against him. He convinced Logan Massey to give him a day to try to come up with the money, begged her to let him have the next twenty-four hours to explain to his law firm what had happened and resign, saving them any embarrassment. Of course, he would be disbarred, his life a shambles. Jake knew he couldn’t come up with the money. All of his friends and family had long since distanced themselves from him, owing to his unpredictability. Maybe they didn’t know what he had done but they surely wouldn’t come to his rescue when they found out!

      As he stood and walked around the desk, running fingers through his hair, again he studied the gun. No one in the law firm will help me…friends... “What friends!” Long ago he had isolated himself, putting up so many emotional barriers that others were reluctant to reach out.

      Jake let out a stifled futile sob, coming from deep within his throat as he contemplated the future. “What future! I have no future.”

      Reaching out, he inhaled that one last line of coke on the sheet of white paper, grabbed the handle of the gun, and carefully placed the barrel in his mouth. Tears streaming down his face, mixing with sweat, Jake pulled back the hammer and squeezed.

      The last thought that raced through his mind, as the bullet entered his mouth and exploded his head in a sea of bloody foam, was of Logan Massey…her fault…not mine.