Petty Rage by Thandiwe Mpofu

Chapter 10

NOAH

Past

Kim Impossible: What was your brother like?

ME:Why the fuck are you asking?

Kim Impossible: Because I… I want to know you.

ME: That’s VERY hypocritical of you. Especially when you won’t even answer my fucking questions.

Kim Impossible: Le sigh. I told you before. I’m not hiding anything. What you see is what you get. I have two sisters, a mother and I have no idea who my father is. This is a fresh start for us.

ME: So, you think telling me generic shit that I can find out all by myself will be the key to answering questions that are deeply personal? Who hurt you?

Kim Impossible:LIFE HURT ME, you judgmental fuck! Not everyone has had the pleasure of living your privileged life.

ME:Finally. Some emotion from you. I love it when you get pissed.

Kim Impossible:Noah…

ME:You’re always so closed off. Cold. Reserved and so damn unreachable. You remind me of a stealthy killer.

Kim Impossible:A killer?? I’ve never killed anyone.

ME:Neither have I. But I think we both know one day…

Kim Impossible: Noah, no. Don’t say that or even think it! Tell me about your big brother.

ME:Craig was gentle & easy going. He loved fashion and design and he was bullied for being different. I’ll never forgive that, so I’ll never stop thinking of it!

Present

We’re directed to yet another fucking office which makes me roll my eyes. I’m already annoyed beyond belief and this juggling is putting me off.

“Was there something wrong with the other room?” I demand. I had a shitty night, a foul morning, and now, I’m feeling antsy.

“Noah!”

“No, it’s all right, Mrs. Montreal. I do think you’ll be more comfortable hearing what I have to say in my private office.”

“Christina.” I glance at my mother, eyebrow raised. “Please call me Christina.”

“Of course. Henry Briggs, but please call me Henry.”

We follow him down another hallway until we reach double doors at the end. When we enter, the first thing I notice is the size.

This office is smaller than the waiting room we were in, but it has more taste and an understated elegance. It should be at odds with the man who occupies the chair behind the large mahogany desk, but instead the man and his lair seem to go together.

There’s an unmistakable warmth in the place, and as Henry Briggs removes his glasses and gestures for my mother and I to take a seat in front of his desk, I can see the warmth in the man’s eyes as well.

Strange.

Most lawyers I’ve heard are ruthless, cunning and sleek. But this man is different—a kind of different where you’d trust him with your life.

What the fuck does that mean?

“Okay, we’re here, now cut the bullshit and tell us what’s going on… ouch!” I rub my arm where my mother just pinched me.

Rude.

“What my son means to say is, what the fuck is going on Henry?” my mother gracefully demands. “The letter you sent my son was very cryptic.”

Well, if she wanted to curse first all she had to do was call dibs. Damn.

“I’m sure it had quite the effect, but I was under strict instructions to send it as it was and not give anything else away,” Henry says.

“Instructions? From whom?”

“My client.”

My foot starts tapping on the carpeted floor incessantly. I swear to God if Mr. Brigg’s client is David… I’ll set this fucking place on fire.

“Your client?” I bite out.

Mr. Briggs sighs, looking at me with sympathy in his eyes that makes me freeze in my seat. Mom glances at me with a frown but she doesn’t say a word.

“Christina, I’m sorry this is happening out of the blue like this,” Henry starts, his tone low and soft, a black folder in his hands. “But as you know, it’s been over ten years since…”

My mother looks down at her fingers, but the sudden heaviness in the room is not new to me. I knew where this was headed the moment sympathy decided to join the chat.

“Ten years since your first-born son, Craig, passed on,” Henry continues. “I can’t pretend like I know what it’s been like because truth is, my wife and I never had kids so that pain… I’m sorry, Christina.”

My mother nods silently but doesn’t say a word.

I was ready to curse this guy out but after what he just said, I mellow down just a bit. There’s nothing I hate more than pretentious pricks who think they know your pain. It seems this man is not like that.

“Thank you,” Mom says softly. “But I have to say, Henry, I have no idea why we are here.”

My sentiments exactly.

“I understand the confusion, especially with that message you received from me. However, I do hope you were discreet when you made your way here.”

“We took a fucking Toyota Corolla just so we could answer your random summon, Mr. Briggs,” I snap. “I’m pretty sure we covered that part.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so confident, however, it is imperative that we don’t draw attention to this.”

“And why is that, Henry?” Mom asks.

“This might come as a shock to you, but years ago, a young man walked into my office and hired me to carry out his last will and testament.”

I sit up straight, looking at him. The look in his eyes is too familiar not to ask.

“Craig?” I demand.

“Yes.”

“What?” Mom gasps. “My baby came to see you?”

“For a last will and testament?” I echo to which Mr. Briggs looks at us both and gives a simple: “Yes.”

It’s like getting a swift kick to the balls and a sucker punch to the gut.

I stare at the man across the desk, but all I can see are images of brain bits splattered all over the room.

When I glance down at my palms, I swear I can still feel the cold blood on them.

If Craig went to see a lawyer, one whose offices were this far out from town, then how long was he contemplating suicide?

Sniffles bring me back. My jaw clenches when I see the tears on my mother’s face, an image that triggers another eerily similar from years ago when she’s crying in the middle of shattered glass and a destroyed room, with a large handprint on her right cheek.

“Is this some kind of joke?” I seethe, staring at Mr. Briggs. “Because I assure you, you will deeply regret it if it is.”

“Mr. Montreal, I assure you, this is not a prank or a joke of any nature. Your older brother came to me years ago, a few days before…” he trails off but it’s clear. A few days before he took his own life.

“And you bring it up ten years later? On the anniversary of his death, which so happens to be his fucking birthday as well?” I snap. “How fucking poetic of you.”

“Mr. Craig would’ve been twenty-six years old today, and on this day, he left a set of instructions for me. One was the letter you received to bring you here, another is for you both to hear his last will and testament on this day, his twenty-sixth birthday.”

My mother sucks in a sharp breath beside me, and grabs my hand, holding it tight in her grasp. Like marble, I just sit there, hardly blinking or feeling. I’m at a loss right now.

“I have to say, Mr. Briggs, my son’s will was covered under the family’s private attorney. All our dealings are with…”

“Yes, I’m aware of the private law firm that the four families of Westbrook Blues use for all their needs, but if you can refrain from mentioning their name out loud in this office and in this building, that would be wonderful in our fight to maintain discretion.”

Now that raises my eyebrow. I keep my mouth shut of course, but now my curiosity is piqued.

Didn’t Hermione Granger say ‘fear of a name only increases fear of a thing itself?’

Well, she was on to something there.

I’m not shocked at Mr. Briggs’ request. Westbrook Blues is a wealthy but dark town.

Ever since everything went down two years ago with Astraea and King, the Phoenix Corp became a real thing not just folklore—and Kimberly was exposed as the fucking liar she is (putting another asterisk on this so I never forget her betrayal even when all I want is her)—there’s been this underlying feeling that there’s something else that goes on in that town. It’s even worse for us… the four families at the top.

“Why shouldn’t—” my mother starts but I cut her off.

“Of course, Mr. Briggs. We won’t mention anything about anything.” I ignore my mother’s gaze but squeeze her hand in reassurance.

Sharp, wise eyes look at me from across the table. This man knows something, but while he’s telling us all this, I’m pretty fucking sure he’s keeping a lot more.

“Very well,” he says, opening the file before him. “In his last will and testament, Craig Gerard David Montreal, left to you his mother, Christina Montreal, this locket and letter. For you to always remember him as a light. He requests that you read this letter in private. Knowing that both his brother and his mother will be listening to this testament at the same time as it is being read, he requests that his brother respect these wishes and not pry into the personal letter that he left specifically for your mother.”

In other words, he’s telling me to mind my fucking business. That’s so Craig.

An unexpected warmth blooms in my chest for a second but as soon as I feel it though, I immediately shut it down.

I don’t have fucking time to allow feelings in this life. Anything with feelings never ends well.

“That sounds like something my baby would say,” Mom says with a sad smile as she looks at me. “Don’t pry, Noah.”

If this wasn’t an unusual day, if I wasn’t the asshole I’ve become now, I would tell her that I won’t but then again, I don’t give a shit about promises and boundaries anymore.

Why should I keep my end of the deal when everyone has a way of fucking breaking said promises when it involves me? Her included.

Mr. Briggs passes my mother a wooden box engraved with our family’s crest that I’d know from anywhere.

Below it is a letter in an off-color, well-preserved envelope along with his handkerchief. I would’ve protested about that last piece but as soon as my mother sees the letter and the box, the real waterworks start.

Ah fuck!

“I’m sorry, I’m just so overwhelmed today,” she says in between tears, I think… I think I should just wait in that other room while you finish so I don’t disturb…”

Before I can protest, she’s up from the chair, grabs the box and the letter, then she’s out the door.

I stare at the closed door, feeling bereft and for some fucked up reason, in my mind’s eye, all I can see is Kim, leaving me standing there as she got in that car, unshed tears in her eyes.

A throat clears. I close my eyes, fighting the onslaught of fucking unmentionables, i.e. fucking feelings.

“Can we continue?” Mr. Briggs asks after a moment of stunned silence.

“Yes.” I sit up straight in the chair. I stare right into Mr. Briggs’ eyes, not daring to look away. “Lay it on me. What did that douchebag leave me?”

One of the biggest shitshows of my life is pretty obvious to anyone that dares to take the time and pay attention.

I’m still mad as fuck at Craig for offing himself when he vowed he’d never leave me.

So yeah, I don’t give a damn about promises.

“Well, your brother left you this.”

Mr. Briggs pushes something that I’d know from anywhere across the desk to me. I stare at it, getting pissed beyond belief.

“You’ve got be fucking shitting me!” I snap.

“Excuse me?”

I stare at the thing, my eyes bulging out of their fucking sockets.

“Seriously? What did he say?”

The poor man puts on his glasses and reads out loud in a monotone voice. “To my brother, I leave this game.”

I wait for the rest, blinking at him like a fucking cartoon character.

“Is that all?” I demand.

“Unfortunately, that’s all that he said to you.”

“A game? He left me a fucking game that he stole from my collection years ago?” I seethe.

What the fuckery is this?

Who the fuck strings people up like this then gives them the biggest let down ever? I got over the loss of my favorite video game years ago, I knew he had it. I was pissed for a while and then the asshole blew his own brains out and I’ve been fucked up since then. Now he’s giving the game back? After ten fucking years? On the anniversary of his death no less?

“Don’t I get a letter also? An explanation of sorts? A reason why the fuck he killed himself?” I bark, getting up now. “I mean, he had the time to find you in this fucking silly office, sat down, had you draw up that shit only to give me back my own game? What the fuck?”

“Mr. Montreal, please calm down.”

Somewhere in the back of my head I know I’m not fucking mad at the good lawyer, he didn’t do anything but his job.

I’m mad as all hell at Craig.

I’m mad at myself for the way I ended things with Kim.

I’m mad at her for putting us in this situation.

But most of all, I’m mad that going through the rest of this day should’ve been a stroll in the fucking park after spending the beginning of it with Kimberly but it’s not! Not anymore!

David called. My mother texted. We came here and Craig, once again, screwed me over.

“This can’t be it.”

“Well,” Mr. Briggs starts, “It just so happens that is the reaction I needed.”

“Excuse me?”

It’s like I’ve just been doused with ice cold water and now I’m staring at the good lawyer, blinking like a fool.

I watch as he opens a drawer with a key, then he takes out a thick letter-sized envelope.

“This is for you.”

“But you just said…”

“Mr. Montreal—”

“Please, sir, call me Noah.”

Mr. Briggs smiles, but just barely. He’s a serious man, but when he looks at me, I can see he has a lot to say.

“Well, Noah, your brother left me specific instructions that had to be followed to the T. No cutting corners and no half measures.”

“He hated half measures.”

“Yes, well, your older brother will always be one of the most meticulous people I’ve ever had the pleasure of working for,” he says. “You see, the first step was to send the letter to your estate in Westbrook Blues. The second was to see if both you and your mother would show up together, and my task before letting you back here, was to observe your relationship with your mother.”

“Observe our relationship? I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“I didn’t understand as well, but Mr. Craig made me promise—on a legally binding contract between attorney and client—that if I saw you laughing with your mother, caring for her, looking out for her like you were doing just now as well as the time you spent in the waiting room, then and only then would we proceed to the next part.”

What the fuck is this? Some fucked up Craig-like scavenger hunt?

“I’m sorry, sir,” I start, clearing my throat as my mind races. “I still don’t see why Craig wanted to see how my relationship with my mother is. The fucker is dead. What does he care about the living?”

Why would he care about how we’re doing after he’s gone? I mean if he did care, he’d still be here, wouldn’t he? He would’ve told me about the bullying. He could’ve… what? Been accepted by David? Yeah, right.

“The nature of your relationship with your mother matters because as you just observed, your mother received her letter from Craig. But you also have your own.”

With that he passes along the letter to me. I stare at it, not daring to pick it up as my heart starts pounding away in my chest like it’s going to burst out of its cage.

“I’m afraid I wasn’t supposed to give you this in front of your mother and I wasn’t supposed to give this to you unless you got upset about this video game.”

It’s like listening to some crazy Marvel fan explain time travel on TikTok. While it’s confusing as fuck, but you just can’t stop listening to the theories that spark more questions in your mind.

“So let me get this straight.” I start pacing in front of him. He just watches me, completely unfazed as if he has had thousands of strangers pace in his office. “He left me this game, knowing that I’d get pissed if this was all you had to give me?”

“Yes.”

“And if I didn’t get pissed off?”

“That would’ve been unfortunate, but I would’ve had to try reaching you again in about five years.”

Here I go getting mad again.

Deep breaths. I need to fucking breathe.

“If it helps,” Mr. Briggs says calmly, “I think this was a test of character. Maybe your brother was anticipating what kind of man you’d be in ten years or if you’re still angry at him for dying.”

“Oh I’m angry as all hell, all right, but he’s gone, isn’t he? It’s pointless anger that’s been eating at me, rotting me from within, for fucking years!”

We stay in silence for a few moments. I pace and he just watches me, silently waiting.

He doesn’t ask me if I’m all right and for that, I’m fucking grateful.

“My apologies,” I mumble. “So, what’s in the envelope?”

“I have no idea.”

“What? You kept this for ten years and never took a small peep inside?”

“Son, I’m a busy man and I don’t give my word lightly. Your brother came in and basically inspired me to do this for him.”

Inspired, huh?

“How was he?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “When he came to see you, was he…”

“I know the question you’re really trying to ask but my advice to you is to let the past be the past,” he says. “And try to forgive yourself.”

I stare at him, annoyance fluttering in my chest.

“Forgive myself?” I spit out. “For what?”

“For the guilt,” he says smoothly, unfazed by my anger.

“Guilt? I’m not guilty.”

But the thing in my chest twists painfully saying otherwise.

“It was you who found your brother at your house and from the stories your brother told me when he came in, you’ve always carried the weight of protecting your friends and family all your life.” I look away, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. I don’t want him to see how angry I am. “So when Craig passed, you hated yourself for letting it happen.”

He’s right. Of course he’s fucking right but the only part where he’s wrong is using the word hated.

That seems to allude to the past.

What he doesn’t know is I STILL hate myself for everything.

“Either way, asking about your brother’s state of mind when he came in to leave this with me, it won’t really help,” Mr. Briggs says from his seat across the impressive desk. “However, I hope that whatever’s in this envelope might help you sort through the chaos surrounding your brother’s death.”

“The chaos?” I frown, turning around to look at him. “What chaos?”

Immediately, he schools his features, suddenly looking confused.

“Did I say chaos? I meant the pain that surrounded your brother’s death.”

“No,” I press, walking over to his desk. “You said the chaos and I know there’s a reason you said it.”

“It was a slip of the tongue, Noah.”

“Mr. Briggs, you don’t strike me as a man prone to saying useless words that don’t have any impact or meaning to what you’re currently doing. After all, time is money for men like you, isn’t that so?”

“Indeed.”

“Then what does ‘chaos’ mean?”

“You know, you’d make one fierce and incredibly tough lawyer.”

I shrug that off. I still don’t know what life’s getting ready to serve me yet. At this rate, I assume it’s more piles of shit.

“How about we get back to chaos.”

Mr. Briggs sighs heavily, then he sits back in his chair, removes his glasses and looks at me.

“I shouldn’t be saying this at all, but when your brother came in to see me, he was afraid for his life.”

“What?” I demand, plopping down into the chair across from him. “He was afraid that someone was after him?”

“He didn’t divulge that information, but he did make it clear that his life might’ve been in danger and in the event of his death, he wanted to make sure that in ten years’ time, on his birthday, you’d get this.”

“So… it was just a coincidence that his death fell on the same day as his birthday?”

“I’m more partial to that persuasion myself,” he says grimly. “But then again, how often does that kind of coincidence happen?”

Yes. How often does that kind of cruel shit happen?

Don’t get me wrong, shitty things happen in the world on a daily basis, but this…

“What else did he say?”

“He told me that if you passed all the stages before receiving this letter, that a time shall come when you’ll need my help,” he says, reaching across his desk for something. “And when that time comes, I have to give you this.”

“Your business card?” I stare at the thick, embossed card with just a phone number on it.

“No, this is the number you’ll use to call when you need my help.”

Tick.

Tock.

“Now, Mr. Montreal, it is imperative that this letter never fall into the wrong hands.”

“Wrong hands?” I ask.

“I’m sure you already know who I’m talking about.”

My jaw clenches. Yes, I know who the fuck he’s referring to.

My father.

“I have a question.”

“I only have time for one more question but then you have to leave using the back door after that.”

I stand up, my adrenaline spiking.

“Why?” I demand.

“Because your father knows that your brother went to see an attorney ten years ago and I’m sure he’ll soon figure out it’s one of us.”

“And why would he care about that?”

“I’m sure that letter will explain it all but I’m going to take an educated guess here from what I’ve heard from reliable sources,” Mr. Briggs says, standing up now and rounding his desk. “Your older brother, as the first born of a new generation of Montreals, was entitled to be the heir and sole proprietor of the Montreal inheritance, wealth and power.”

“I know that.”

“That was only going to happen when your father passed.”

I grip the letter and the card in my hands, they might tear if I keep going. “The fucker didn’t die.”

“Yes. David Montreal left,” Mr. Briggs says. “He left—and rumor has it that he left before your brother passed.” I don’t miss the way he says the word rumor. “When he left, he forfeited the entire inheritance and so it was passed to your brother as it was rightfully supposed to.”

He falls silent, allowing me to see the picture he’s painted, but it’s still fucking blurry.

“But then Craig is dead,” I mutter.

“Yes, and so everything went to…”

“Me?” I croak.

“Yes. And now your father is trying to find you? Why do you think that is?”

And with that question hanging over me, he ushers me out the door. “If I were you, Noah, I’d be careful and practice discretion in everything. You have a big decision ahead of you.”

“Wait! What decision? I don’t understand—”

“The decision, Mr. Montreal, is whether or not you want to bear the weight and the responsibility of being the sole heir to such a powerhouse. The four families of Westbrook Blues are powerful, but surely after everything that happened before, I’m sure you know having a monopoly of power only makes you a big, shiny target.”

My mind is racing. I can see he wants me to leave but I just…

“Can I leave it all?”

“Sure. But be prepared to actually leave it all.” He says with emphasis on all. “But if that’s the course you’d like to take, just remember, there’s a reason why your brother feared for his life.”

And with that, he shuts the door in my face.

Dazed and confused I walk over to the waiting room where I assume my mother is.

Her back is to me, and I can hear her whispering something.

“Set it up in a way that she doesn’t know. She’s the only one. Trust me.”

I frown. Set what up?

“Mom?” Like she just got caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar, she turns to look at me.

“Noah! You’re done!” She quickly walks over to me. Her eyes are red and puffy, and I can see she looks shaken, but that doesn’t stop her from grabbing my hand and she starts power walking in the opposite direction from where we came.

“Where are we going?”

“We have to leave using the back door.”

“Why?”

She glances at me then.

“I think your father’s goons are watching us.”