The day had been eventful even by Smoke's standards. He'd arisen at 5am. By 6 he was suited and booted and taking off for a run along the field near his home. Jury, his fully grown golden retriever and only ever pet sped off well ahead of him, his golden fur whipping luxuriously in the light breeze.

While he ran, he let the thoughts pass easily in and out of his head.

Since his latest job, the world had been spurred up into a whirlwind of morbid conspiracy theories and national panic over the recent political assassination, and the president was giving formal speeches on his plans to find and take down every conspirator and co-conspirator who had the despicable cunning to plan and undertake the gruesome attack.

Reviewing the facts Smoke humored himself by pondering the thought of exactly how the president would find, hunt and bring himself to justice before the public for ordering the death of his right-hand man.

Boy, the things the public don't know.

He gaped in more air and picked up the pace, determined to outdo his current record time. He could reach the large oak tree from his usual spot in 3 minutes and 37 seconds. He was slowing down these days, probably because his thoughts had been elsewhere aside from focused on pumping his quads.

Much like the night previously, he found his thoughts once again wrapped up in Michael for some odd reason.

He couldn't help it. Not now and not last night.

In his triggered curiosity. He'd peeled back the layers of his own logic and on a whim, he had gone to see him.

Suspended from a meaty branch high above the ground, perched like a thin black bird he'd stared straight through the window and seen him completely out of it, breathing softly beneath an aubergine blanket. His long pale fingers clipped up to some machine and his hair in easy waves across his face.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to indulge his own whimsical curiosities. He'd only really meant to climb up, find that Michael was nowhere to be seen due to the fact that celebrities hated to be in open view close to windows in case of unsolicited photographs, climb down and go along his merry way. Never did he really expect to see Michael's bed directly opposing the window and so revealing about his current state.

Smoke supposed they'd placed him there because they simply didn't expect the press to take things to the extent where they'd claw their way up a 30 foot tree just to get a glimpse into the 3rd floor window of the hospital.

Even from his superior distance, the encounter had felt somewhat intimate. He was spying into the life of an unknown man. That's what they both were now. Men. Not boys forced to share a room.

Still, he'd embraced the rush of gazing upon his face. A face that was so different to what he remembered and what he was used to but still one that was very easy on the eyes. Attractive. Innocent.

For a moment atop the branches he'd wandered if he'd made a mistake. Was his life a mistake. Should he have turned right and not left when he came to that internal crossroads. Should he have rejected the path that he'd so selfishly chosen.

Cold, disheartened and filled with bitter regret, Smoke had descended the tree with the skill and stealth of a well-seasoned squirrel and disappeared once again into the shadows.

He didn't have time to dwell on his past regrets and deep disappointments for long before he was receiving a new lead from the faceless source which he received most of his assignments through. A tricky one it seemed but it came with the reward of 15 million.

It would afford him more pet food for Jury, that was for sure.

High above the incentive of money was the enticing promise of a challenge for him to focus on that bought him out of thought and into action.

Just four days after the untimely death of the vice president he was instructed to tend to an issue that vowed to be waiting for him on the 14th floor of a set of offices south from his home and at a commercial address.

Dress code: Straight black ironed pants, crisp faintly striped shirt complete with metal name badge and suit tie, all of which had been dropped off at the LOC (location of choice) and hidden with no trace of who or where the package had come from. The LOC was always the cross way between Smoke and the "unseen source", the authors of incidental events and suspicious circumstances.

The location as always was his choice.

Always a place with no cameras, no surveillance footage and no witnesses. This time his attire had been attached by a string to the underside of a loose street vent on a road with abandoned road works. He wandered if the same government agents who orchestrated his missions ever went back to other departments to let them know about the lazy efforts these so called construction workers no doubt used a plethora of other excuses to explain away their delayed project completions.

There were still left over bread crusts one of them had clearly chucked astray "for the pigeons". All Smoke had ever spotted them doing was eating and exercising their mouths in frivolous conversation. Either way they were almost always gone by 4:27 sharp when the rest of the world didn't finish until 5 and never so much as spat on the place until 11am the next morning.

So at 4:28, he swooped right in, unhooked that bad boy and hightailed it home.

As he adjusted his tie in the mirror he paused a moment to take in his appearance.

Katherine would have been proud to see it.

He however never liked himself in formal fittings that were so openly embraced the world. By world of course he meant all those around him with a purpose other than putting serious holes in other people.

He leaned much more toward taught black clothing that clung tight to his muscles and held the promise of not getting caught on anything in case of rapid escape, large oversized hoods that masked all the way down to his upper lip and pants that narrowed at the ankle, funneling down into sock like, soundless shoes.

His clothes were tailor made by a Chinese lady who was living illegally in the country, she'd taken up residency at the back of her onion shop by a market stall in the city.

She was sweet, and perhaps the only person oblivious enough to actually trust him after years of Smoke building a rapport with her, up to the point where she'd divulged her status of immigration, and after him of course paying her generously for her work.

Of course, she knew nothing of his occupation and never would. She was one of a rare few who'd glimpsed his naked face in public.

He removed a total of 8 silver studs from his right ear and dropped them disgruntled into the pot on his dresser.

"Goodbye individuality." He muttered and straightened his shirt and picked up the last remaining item in the "drop off", a long purple lanyard which he placed around his neck. There he stood, assuming his latest identity as a tape factory employee. He'd surely have no trouble blending in dressed like this.

Staring into the pot full of studs another intrusive memory filtered in of him returning home.

His old temporary home.

His whole ear feeling as though it were on fire, he'd held a tissue stained with blood in his hand.

As soon as he'd crawled up to the doorbell of his temporary home, the door swung open and there stood Katherine, her eyes wide open in dismay.

"Where have you been Kane! What happened to you!" he scurried in and avoided the narrow clip on the ear that was attempted as he passed. That's of course when Kathy noticed. "You PIERCED your EARS?! Why would you do such a thing? My god! Look at them!" Faint on his feet and slightly light headed from the constant throbbing, he dabbed with the tissue again and for sure, a wet film of blood came away once again. "You. Are. A. Child Kane! When are you going to understand that you're not a man! You cant be walking out and about them streets late at night getting piercings...Good Lord...you're coming with me to kingdom hall this Saturday."

She'd been mad, maybe even betrayed by Kane's actions. He wandered if she felt like she was failing him, even though it was most definitely the other way around. She was an angel. Despite his unruly ways she'd sat him down at the kitchen table and cleaned his newly acquired wounds with a cotton pad, a concoction that stung like hell and a whole lot of patience...and cussing, don't forget cussing.

"And you couldn't just get one...no, you just had to go and get 8 all at once. What were you trying to prove Kane? You may as well go on and cry boy, go on, I know it hurts."

Kane felt his tear ducts stinging as she tugged on the throbbing studs, trying to clean around them. He'd manages to outwardly mask his suffering the whole way home but now in Kathy's warm presence, feeling her motherly concern and now with her express permission, he had finally allowed tears to present themselves.

"You better pray they don't get infected or it's gonna be a lot worse than this."

She'd sent him to bed once again with a fresh cloth and a whack on the back of the head.

If Kathy's reaction was bad Michael's was even worse.

Michael had somehow got it into his head that Kane was possessed by the devil and withdrew from him almost immediately after seeing his earful of studs. Michael had lay in his usual spot on the cheap metal wire bed that had always been the guest bed while Kane sank down onto Michael's double bed to sleep.

It had always been an unfair sleeping arrangement, but Michael never complained even once and in fact he'd insisted as much as Katherine did that Kane stay put there. Kane had offered up the bed multiple times but Michael always refused. Babbling on about how there is no greater show of love than giving your bed up to someone who needed it more.

They'd often stay up and talk well into the night about anything and everything 14/15 year olds liked to talk about but that night Michael had become reclusive and turned in early for the night.

The way he'd looked at Kane when he saw those piercings made Kane almost feel instant regret at impulsively indulging in his lifelong dream of getting piercings right before becoming a disciple of Hells Angels. After all what could be cooler than riding a motor cycle all day with a killer leather jacket on, getting girls and causing mischief.

Michael however didn't seem to quite share in his fantasy.

"The Hells Angels are satanic and racist and you'd have to be silly to believe in them." He'd dead panned. Kane, though hurt, had failed to respond for the mere fact that he lacked words. Michael had shut down his entire dream in a single sentence, but worse than that he'd left Kane thinking. He sank into silence.

It hadn't been the first time Michael had cautioned him to think twice before acting and this time Kane was stumped, forced to be in his own mind and really reflect on his own idealisms. For how much sense did it make for him to be a member of Hells Angels yet living well only at the sheer mercy of a religious black family.

None. None whatsoever.

Whether the Hells Angels were satanic racists or not, the truth of the matter was he'd be joining no such club unless he wanted to put his current living situation in jeopardy.

He'd fallen backwards on the bed, floored by his own epiphany and more than a little annoyed at Michael for briskly revealing the holes in his ideology.

And so he had gone to sleep with a throbbing ear and Katherine's threat for him to be carted off to church bright and early on the weekend clattering around inside his head.

Back in the present moment Smoke found himself smiling at the memory but quickly caught himself and cleared his throat as reality sank back in.

He knew what he had to do.

He arrived promptly at the location at 6:15pm. The place didn't shut until 7pm. He had 45 minutes to get in and get out. So in he went and as instructed joined the group of people all stood around spiriting purple land yards around their necks. He entered the elevator with them after they were briefed on the tour they were about to embark on.

"Right so we've got group F in here!" A short blonde lady with a high-pitched screech and thick goggles for glasses shuffled papers that looked bigger than her and far too much to manage from the front of the lift. He stood firm and confident against the back wall and nodded whenever the others nodded, laughing when they laughed at company jokes, silent when they were. Ahead of him a spicy black haired minx caught opportunist glances at him and winked whenever he so much as breathed in her direction.

If only you knew sweetheart.

Smoke commented inside of his head although he took the flattery where it came and awarded her a half inch smile for her efforts.

"Thompson! No wait..." the poor old lady rambled on with a weak and disorganized registration process, sifting through her books once again. "C-ah-Conner..." she stuck a thumb up when she saw the man in question turn threateningly in her direction, clearly as irked by the pitch of her voice as Smoke was. "Martin? Terrific! Is that everybody? You...I don't recognize you dear." She fanned an old crinkled hand over Smoke's interlocked hands.

"I'm new here ma'am but I was told to come on up and join group F." Smoke rendered in a spookily accurate country accent to the swooning reaction of the ladies who before hadn't had the bravery to stare boldly like the black hair girl did. The sudden attention cast upon him was their grand opportunity to do so apparently.

He wasn't surprised. He was young fit and muscular to the point where his shirt buttons clung onto each other desperately fighting the urge to burst open over his broad chest. Not to mention on this occasion, he'd brushed his shoulder length dark brown hair into slight waves, flipping part of it over to one side to hide the area shorter in length underneath that not too long ago was completely shaved.

He was in an entirely different league to the weedy boring men stood around them. He saw women whispering around him, giggle their little white collar heads off. He took it all in his stride.

"Okay, and your name please?"

"Laurence Graver."

"Oh yes we do have you here!" the old biddy went on ticking down her insurmountable list.

Smoke observed the slow rise in floor numbers as they were carried up into oblivion. 11...12...

Finally, they'd all spilled out in a jelly type fashion, up onto the 13th floor. The old lady led the way down a hall but Smoke was far too busy analyzing his surroundings. No camera's, 3 large overhead fans, 16 office cubicles and an intriguing looking door which he knew led to the staircases in the building from the map he'd been provided in advanced of the mission.

"Hi puddin' I haven't seen you around here before, have I?" the black-haired girl had finally cornered him as he remained lurking at the back behind the rest of the crowd. "I can tell you're new the way you're looking around. The lights aren't that interesting, I promise." Smoke gave as small chuckle.

"I'm not usually in this department." He offered shortly, followed by. "Is there a bathroom nearby?"

"Sure, just through that door past the stairway." She instructed. "Want me to take ya?" She stepped forward. Smoke held his hands out halting her quickly.

"No please..." he quickly covered his stomach and gave an awkward smile. "Chipotle...had a little too much in my food last night. Don't wanna slip up, especially not next to a gorgeous lady like yourself."

She gave a curious turn of her head, twirling a string of her hair coyly and looked amused by his confession. "Okay well you know where it is. Don't take too long..." she winked and then re-joined the rest of the group. With a leap of relief, Smoke made his way out onto the stairwell and observed his new surroundings. As promised the bathroom door stood directly ahead which he bypassed completely and swiftly took the stairs two at a time up to floor 14. The very top floor of the building by the looks of things.

Raising the depth of his breaths he lowered a hand to his pocket and felt the cool metal of his pocket knife caressing his warm flesh. Smoke gave an inquisitive eye through the key hole and saw behind the door a large unfilled office space that covered the entire floor. In the distance, his eyes were mostly focused on two legs jerking impatiently. No visible weapon. Smoke evaluated but knew that vital accessories such as weapons were easily concealed and could suddenly be whipped out from the most unsuspected places. Socks, waist lines, butt cracks you name it.

"Fate don't fail me now."

He uttered his famous words and swung open the door walking in sheepishly. Keeping much to himself he saw the man ahead straighten up. His eyes were a swimming blue with a soft baby like jaw cushioning the bone that begged to protrude through his pale flesh. Still Smoke kept his composure. No matter how attractive they were, this was strictly business and he had a job to do.

"Good Morning Sir." He'd uttered far too politely. Smoke had seen his type before. Operating much like that one delinquent teen in every bad friendship circle that could charm the pants off of everyone's mom but was the first one to commit arson. Yeah, that type.

"Fox Brown." Smoke had uttered the keywords and unlocked a whole different dimension to the man's personality and posture.

"This is it." He presented a small briefcase to Smoke. "The whole amount. 2 magazines and unloaded bullets. All 42 of them." He'd uttered with a final nod.

"Great." Smoke had simply replied and taken the briefcase with a firm grip. He'd said nothing more at that point. To his surprise the man seemed the social type and not shy to meet eyes with him. It was solely for that reason why Smoke got to see the expression on his face grow from smiley, to solemn and then last but not least sickly. Soon he was a pale as Smoke's white shirt.

"I guess that'll be all then" the man nodded deeply but still he didn't not move a hair. It was a tactical move. The oldest rule in the book. Turn your back on an enemy and it'll be the last time you turn anything.

Smoke, arriving from the same school of thought ceased to move either.

"I said that'll be all." Came the second try with more conviction and authority than the first. Smoke only swallowed as the man swayed on his feet. He could almost hear the cogs going in the mans head as he slotted pieces of information together in his head. "Ah shit!"

Smoke whipped the knife out of his pocket and advanced. The man was quick to block his attack and took off in the other direction. He was fast but Smoke was systematic. Calculating the minutes and seconds it would take for him to outrun this guy. The floor space was so expansive that it was easy to get lost in its breadth. The man took a swift left turn, then a right.

Smoke could just barely keep up with his wild dash and more out of impatience than anything else, he took a literal leap of faith and tackled the man to the ground. It was quick and the man released a whoosh of air like a popped tire. Smoke knelt over him making sure to see it through to the end. Waiting for him to breathe his last breath as blood spilled from his pierced lung. When he was certain that inevitable time was near, he stood ready to take the body across the floor and out to the chute which led straight downstairs when a ghoulish arm suddenly reached up and grabbed hold of his shoulder.

"You don't...even know...who...I am...do you..." The man wheezed. Smoke said nothing as he focused coldly on pulling the man's jacket from over his shoulders using it to soak up the blood he was oozing. His grip got tighter. "You did...the...same thing...I did...to the last...one...You're not...safe..." he ushered. That made Smoke pause in his actions. "You think you're s-safe...but...you never will be. They're coming for you...It's just...a matter of time. Just like they..." he suffered a grotesque coughing fit and blood dribbled down his chin. "G-g-got me...the government...P-Praeditus..." he struggled up until his head lolled back and the glow left his eyes.

Smoke sat with the body for a moment, the man's final words circulating in his head.

Last one? His thoughts were scrambling to make sense of his dying blubbering. Surely it was nothing but a hallucinatory rant as he passed over to the other side Smoke thought but there was a certain niggling just below his ribs that wouldn't let him pass off the words that easily. No. No the man had made sense. There was definitely sense inside his nonsense. And besides that, he hadn't used the word, death or spirits, no. He'd said government.

Government and Praeditus.

Praeditus.

What did that mean? What language was that even? Not English surely.

He revised the dying speech for a moment more but quickly opted to reserve his mental energy for completing the operation. He lifted the body and dragged it toward the chute, briefcase in hand. No blood was on the floor, no evidence left behind of his ordeal. Nothing left but the horrendous drop downward through the trash chute and into the dumpster beneath. He took a large breath and entered the drop to the bottom using the body to break his fall.

It felt almost foreign for him to set foot in Neverland again after being discharged from hospital. It was clean and everything was in order as it should have been, presumably thanks to his housekeeper Rosa, however still something about it lacked a soul and the life that souls usually bought with them.

Perhaps it had been the fact that all the park rides were as still as statues and looked as though they had been switched off for decades.

When he walked into his living room it looked bigger than he remembered it, almost to the degree where it dwarfed him and the small group he entered in with. His grounds were a beast in comparison to the places he'd been living temporarily for the duration of his back to back rehearsals. He emitted a soft sigh as he pushed his sunglasses further up his nose and his mouth churned a wad of water melon flavoured chewing gum around the circumference of his mouth.

After a brief moment of silent reflection and a short wash of relief at having returned to familiar grounds, he felt a small flame ignite in his stomach.

He was finally home.

He could now check the progress of his recent appeal. As he made for the stairs he felt bodies floating after him.

"I don't need guarding in my own house. I'd like it if you all waited here." He extended an obstructive hand to place distance between them. In all honesty, he was sick of seeing these people hovering around him every chance they got. They looked on at him but stayed put as he ascended the staircase.

"Rosa!" Michael's loud call could surely be heard throughout most of the house. Shortly after ascending the staircase he found precisely who he was looking for as she meekly poked her head out of a room in search of him.

"Oh, Michael you're back!" she said with gleeful undertones to her voice and a wide smile on her face. Instead of carrying on the conversation out in the hallway Michael deliberately stepped into the room with her, narrowly avoiding sinking his foot into her mop bucket full of water. He carefully and silently closed the door, turned and lowered his voice.

"Did you put the things in my office for me like I asked?" there was a hint of pleading present in his question.

"Yes Mr. Jackson, all your mail is under the door." She gave an assuring nod.

"And did anybody come by while I was away?"

He was halfway hoping to hear at least one of his family member's names come out of her mouth but Rosa seemed to struggle when attempting to place the face of the only person that she had seen.

"Yes, a tall gentleman, with dark hair, I think he's been here a few times before." Michael felt a strobe of irritation flow through him.

"Evander." He muttered bitterly. It didn't sound like a question or an answer.

"Yes, I think. He was trying to get in through the front door, I don't think he realised that you changed the locks before you left. He was calling out for me but I stayed out of sight, just like you said."

That intrusive bastard.

Michael thought inwardly and then gave a quick nod.

"Thank you, Rosa. I'm sorry, I don't mean to put you in this situation but I don't want him in the house while I'm not here, I hope you understand." Rosa nodded obediently. "And please keep collecting my post for me in the morning, first thing and bring everything up to my office. If he ever happens to talk to you just act like you don't know anything." Michael waved a playful hand and gave a somewhat mischievous smile. Rosa nodded.

"Of course Michael, I will."

"By the way you did an excellent job with the place while I was away. Everything looks perfect. Keep it up."

"Thank you, Sir." She beamed with pride. Michael knew that with the added encouragement she'd be collecting his mail like her life depended on it, and hers may not have but his surely did.

Michael left Rosa cleaning and approached his bedroom door. He slipped a key out of his back pocket and unlocked his personal sanctuary. With no time to lose he went straight into his closet and up to the safe at the far end of the walk-in room. He jotted in the combination. A date he vowed never to forget and heard the titanium safe door pop open with relative ease. Inside, there rested several other keys, his old piggy bank that he'd neglected years ago and a weathered box on the top shelf. He took one of the keys that were laid out and re-locked the safe.

He took that key to his study and unlocked the door for himself.

He fought a little to push open the door and nearly tripped over the mound of letters that lay collecting dust at his feet. He closed and locked the door behind himself, collected the mail and got to work with his letter opener. Slicing open envelope after irrelevant envelope. Some letters were of mild importance but none were the one he was militantly seeking, and then finally about 14 letters in, he skimmed through the contents of a page and found the keywords he'd been clamoring for.

He read every word, soaking up every last detail, his eyes unblinking and teeming with hope, but after a just few lines Michael felt his hope slip away from him like a silk cloth out of a dry hand and his stomach wrenched itself into a tight knot.

One hand gripped the page tightly causing it to crease on one side while the other arose to hold his temples as he let his eyes fell shut with disappointment.

His second attempt at revoking the Power of Attorney terms with his law firm that he'd so stupidly signed over to Evander had been callously rejected. For the same reason as the first claim had been.

No legitimate proof of his mental stability following his recent trip to rehab.

They were also refusing to prosecute Evander for embezzlement as there was no evidence that his assets were being used out of accordance with their agreement.

Bullshit.

He threw the letter down on his desk.

He kept searching through the pile.

His bank had come back with the same story.

Anger surged through his veins but worse than that was the feeling of being unable to blame anybody but himself for what was transpiring in his life.

How could he have let things ever get to this point? How? He used to be militant about who he let into his life and close to his personal affairs.

He took a deep breath and clutched the arms of his seat in defeat.

It was true that there were many things in his life he wasn't proud of. He wasn't proud of his inner turmoil and baggage, he wasn't proud of his appearance, most of all he wasn't particularly proud of his decision to turn to drugs in an attempt to heal his inner turmoil of stress and loneliness.

Sure, he was proud when he overcame his addiction, but it was short lived. Things should have never gotten to that stage in the first place. He'd been set back. That wasn't the direction his life was supposed to go in and he would do whatever he could to fight going down that dark path again.

Nobody knew about his issues apart from those who were in direct contact with him and saw it first-hand. They were his old body guards, his old staff. Many of whom weren't around him anymore. Evander had made sure of that.

"Those people are enablers Michael."

Evander had said at the time.

"If you truly want to get better you can't have them around you."

And Michael in his vulnerable state of drug induced paranoia had believed him. He'd believed the people around him were out to destroy him, he'd believed every word Evander had said because Evander had a different perspective to everyone else.

He hadn't been afraid to shine a light and show him who his enemies really were and not only that but he helped him to get away from those people, he genuinely cared about Michael and in that moment, he'd meant so much to him.

Just his presence had reminded Michael of better days. He was reminded of what friendship felt like because Evander had a spirit that felt familiar. In all his days, he never thought he'd meet someone that once again set off that childlike sense of excitement within him.

They shared a genuine connection and it wasn't long before Evander had Michael believing he just had to be an angel sent from god. In his broken co-dependent state, he'd craved the company of at least one other person in the entire world that simply cared whether he lived or died and he found that finally through Evander.

He was the one that petitioned for Michael's recovery and presented the whole idea that he'd keep an eye on things for Michael while he got better. He'd been invited in as Michael's new music manager covering the term of 6 months which wasn't supposed to mean much more than he'd deflect away offers for interviews and handle everything to do with PR until things blew over. That was fine with Michael, knowing in the back of his often-fearful mind that he could always let Evander go at any given time if things weren't working out.

But he'd had no reason to worry, things were smooth going until on a particularly turbulent night Michael had made the mistake of revealing in a fit of tears that he was in financial sinkhole. He'd let Evander know all about the snowballing amount of debt that he'd accumulated throughout the years where he'd taken a break from music.

Millions of dollars had somehow slipped right out of his account and down the drain for all he knew, and worse than that, it was incurring interest.

Having admittedly not had a single soul around whom he trusted to truthfully handle his affairs and not screw him over, the blindfold was well and truly on when it came to Evander and his kind words, so when the subject of his Power of Attorney was bought up and Evander came to him humbly with the promise to do all he could to not piss away any more funds on Michael's behalf and to basically oversee things for the short amount of time that Michael was admitted to rehab, to Michael it sounded like a dream come true.

And besides that, it was another one of those things that Michael could simply sign a letter and revoke if things weren't working out.

Only it had back fired majorly.

He'd recovered from rehab, and left sober of mind and heart, only to find that his entire world on the outside had in the space of a few weeks been flipped completely upside down.

He soon found out that Evander had been cutting deals left right and centre with the agenda to get Michael back into work again. Then with his newfound superpower, The Power of Attorney, he'd crossed the boundary Michael had entrusted him to stay within and granted himself a 2 year extension on his management contract along with an update to the reigning term of his Power of Attorney which would now last just as long as his management term did.

How. Michael had remembered thinking. How this could have all transpired without even a drop of input from him was ridiculous. It couldn't be legal.

Evander had set everything up to work in his own favour. If Evander's management term was terminated prematurely, Michael wouldn't have a leg to stand on in court because he'd be refusing to adhere to the terms laid out in the contract that he signed that insured Evander a lifespan of at least 2 years.

What did that mean?

It meant being dragged through the court system and being sued into oblivion if he tried to fire Evander on the spot, and Michael just couldn't afford to take another hit while he was down. It was a particularly bad move to pursue with Evander still in charge of his financial affairs.

At first speechless and then livid, Michael had done all he could to convey to his lawyer that he'd made a terrible mistake and needed to undo everything he had done.

Only, his lawyer wasn't just his lawyer anymore. Unbeknownst to Michael Evander had swooped in and hired him for his own personal gain and it quickly became apparent that he'd be getting nowhere with the sudden conflict of interest.

He'd been scouring for a new lawyer ever since to get some information on how to rectify his career threatening mistake. The whole time trying to keep the situation under control inside of his mind, trying to hold it together and to stay calm and to keep the embarrassment of his mistake all to himself.

Still angry at the fact that his career and finances were at the sole command of a man he believed had genuinely cared about his well-being. A man that was far too intelligent, who knew far too much about him and who currently held far too much power over him.

One thing he didn't understand however was the push back from his law firm and the banks so far. Nobody seemed willing to take his statement seriously and stop allowing Evander to make decisions without him knowing or to believe that he himself was mentally capable enough to resume Power of Attorney over his own affairs.

Instead they all seemed to want him to prove that he wasn't still co-dependent on drugs.

Well if its proof they want then it's proof they'll get.

Michael arose from his chair and stormed out of his office.