Beckett and his desk arrived on the 17th floor at precisely 9:04 a.m. The desk was a formidable beast of faux-wood laminate, and its squeaky caster wheels announced their presence long before the elevator doors slid open with a polite ding. Beckett, a man with a perpetually surprised expression and a small, defiant tuft of hair atop his head, maneuvered the desk out into the hushed, beige corridor. He was, in his own mind, a legal force of nature. A legal beagle, as he sometimes called himself.
His first target was SynerCorp Global Solutions. He rolled his desk directly up to the glass-and-chrome reception station, where a woman named Kathy was fielding a call. She put the caller on hold, her eyes wide.
“Can I… help you?” she asked, staring at the desk.
“Is very possible,” Beckett said, his voice a low, confident rumble with a thick, unplaceable accent. He leaned forward, placing both hands flat on his desk, a king addressing his court. “Have you been sued, but do not know it yet?”
Kathy blinked. “I… what?”
“Is common problem,” Beckett nodded sagely. “Litigation is like mushroom. It grows in dark. You don’t see it until you trip. We are here to help. Myself and my legal associates.”
“We have a legal department,” Kathy said, her hand inching towards the phone. “They’re on the 24th floor.”
“Ah, but are they here?” Beckett gestured around the 17th-floor lobby. “Do they have this… tactical advantage?” He patted the desk. “We will take on your case. From any side. For you, against you, perhaps even diagonally. We are flexible.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Kathy said, her voice firming up.
Beckett’s expression didn’t change. “You refuse our counsel. This is fine. Is your right. But you leave me no choice.” He sighed, a sound of profound disappointment. “We will now be forced to sue on your behalf.”
Kathy frowned. “Sue who on our behalf?”
“Myself,” Beckett declared.
The silence that followed was deep and profound.
“You’re going to sue yourself… for us?”
“Of course,” Beckett said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “SynerCorp Global Solutions vs. Beckett. For failure to procure adequate legal representation. For emotional distress caused by your rejection. The damages will be, how you say, substantial. I know all my own weaknesses. The discovery process will be devastatingly efficient.”
Kathy was already dialing security. Beckett took this as his cue, expertly wheeling his desk back into the corridor before the guards arrived. “You will be hearing from my lawyer!” he called over his shoulder. “Who is also me!”
His next stop was Zenith Innovations & Futures. The receptionist here was a young man with a slick haircut named Chad, who looked at the desk with detached irony.
“Bringing your own workspace, bro? That’s a vibe,” Chad said.
“Is not vibe, is law office,” Beckett corrected him. He launched into his pitch, slightly refined from the last attempt. He mentioned “no win, no fee,” adding, “and we never win, so what’s the difference?”
Chad held up a hand. “Gonna stop you there. We’re good. Our legal team is fully gamified and blockchain-integrated.”
“I see,” Beckett said, a flicker of something that might have been hurt in his eyes. “You are forcing my hand. Again.”
Chad shrugged. “I’m really not.”
“Zenith Innovations versus Beckett!” Beckett announced to the empty lobby. “For wasting my valuable time, which I was offering to you for free, which makes the wasting of it even more egregious! I will depose myself for hours. I will ask myself questions I do not want to answer. You will be responsible for all costs.”
“Costs for what?” Chad asked, genuinely curious now.
“Snacks, for one,” Beckett said gravely. “Deposition is hungry work.”
He was escorted out again, his desk’s squeaky wheel leaving a trail of profound corporate confusion. His final target for the day was the most ambitious: the law firm of Sterling, Finch, & Hurst.
He didn’t even bother with the receptionist. He rolled his desk straight into the heart of the office, a vast expanse of mahogany and leather, until he was stopped by a tall, skeletal man in a pinstripe suit. This was Mr. Hurst.
“And what, in God’s name, is this?” Hurst asked, his voice like gravel being ground under a heel.
“This,” Beckett said, gesturing grandly, “is justice. Have you been sued?”
“I am a litigator. I am constantly being sued and suing others. It is the air I breathe.”
“But do you have us?” Beckett countered. “Myself, my associates, my desk. We can create a jury of your peers. Which is to say, we will assemble twelve of my associates and call them your peers. The details are not important.”
Hurst stared at him, his face a mask of disbelief. “Get out of my office before I have you sanctioned into the next century.”
Beckett shook his head slowly. “You are making a terrible mistake, Mr. Hurst. A mistake I must now, on your behalf, rectify through the courts.” He cleared his throat. “Sterling, Finch, & Hurst versus Beckett. For… for being mean.”
Hurst actually took a step back. “You can’t sue yourself on our behalf for ‘being mean.’ There’s no standing. It’s a frivolous conflict of interest. It’s… it’s gibberish!”
“Standing?” Beckett scoffed. “I am standing right here. With desk. And is not gibberish, is opening statement. The judge will be moved. The judge, by the way, is a man in a robe, just so you know.”
Mr. Hurst, a man who had faced down hostile takeovers and federal prosecutors, looked truly, deeply broken. The sheer, unadulterated absurdity of the man with the desk had short-circuited his legal mind. He couldn’t process it. He couldn’t fight it. He could only make it go away.
He reached into his wallet and pulled out two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.
“Here,” he croaked. “This is a retainer.”
Beckett’s eyes lit up. He took the money with a reverence usually reserved for sacred texts. “You are retaining me?”
“I am retaining you,” Hurst said, his voice a hollow whisper, “to not sue yourself on my behalf. Ever. Now please, take your… law office… and leave.”
Victory. Beckett pocketed the money, a triumphant smile finally breaking across his face. He had been retained. His methods, though unconventional, were proven. He gave Mr. Hurst a crisp nod.
“A wise decision. My case against myself was very strong. I would have destroyed me.”
With that, he turned his desk around. The squeaky caster wheel sang a song of triumph as he rolled back toward the elevator, a fully-retained legal beagle, already planning his visit to the 18th floor.
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