Some kind of life (1)
Twenty-three steps. This was the number he had to go up to get to his office on the second floor of a three-storey building on Brussels’ expensive Avenue Louise. There, his personal assistant always waited for his arrival in the morning at 8.30 am to brief him on the day’s agenda and remind him of the most important commitments of the week. His PA’s name was Jean-Marc. Efficient. Handsome. Young. Single. French.
Forty-three years. This was his age, not Jean-Marc’s, Michael’s. Black hair. Grey eyes. Handsome. Intelligent. Ambitious. Rational sometimes. Emotional often. Bored easily. Married. Two daughters. British father. Italian mother.
Fifteen as a corporate lawyer. He was good at his job. Clients appreciated his work with expensive fees and gifts. He gave them back one of the best lawyers in European competition law the European education system can get. That is why he could afford having his own firm. Alone, against the Baker & McKenzies or the Freshfields, Bruckhaus, Deringers that populated the trade. Big law firms with dozens of lawyers. He, only him.
Seven days a week. If Michael would have been just a lawyer during all this time, he would have probably killed himself. He had not. Nothing of the sort. He had another life besides being one more puppet of the multinational legal system in which he navigated in his dull life. A life that provided him with the thrill he needed to keep his body and mind on this earth. A second life that was going to change his first life forever. (more…)
