I was starting to get used to sitting in the offices of Agathon and Menander.

While the two partners were handling my case, their associates were busily buzzing around the office, handling their other client loads for the time being. Most of their cases involved contract disputes, nothing serious enough to warrant trial. I was told by their front desk admin that my case was probably the first in a while that could potentially be brought to trial.

This was a prospect I was hoping to avoid.

"Mr. Berget!" I heard someone cry out. I looked up, seeing Greg waving me over while speaking with Charles. Charles had quickly nodded to me and darted off as Greg caught up with me, offering me a handshake. "Good to see you. You ready to talk strategy?"

"Sure hope it will be a favorable outcome," I replied, accepting the handshake. 

Greg led me down the hall toward one of the conference rooms. "So, last we spoke you were traveling to Cambodia. How was the trip?"

"Lets just say," I replied, "that it was something of a trial."

"Bad weather? Packed with locals?"

"Something like that."

As we entered the conference room, Greg said, "Well I hope to get out there someday. I was looking at some travel brochures; seems like a lovely place, and those ruins! It would be fantastic for me to take it all in."

I took a seat near the window as Greg sat across from me. "Sounds like you're a history buff yourself."

"Bah, I just dabble here and there," He said dismissively. "I just enjoy a good ruins. Its very...Indiana Jones, I suppose."

"Quite," I replied. "So, about the strategy. How did it go with a settlement?"

Greg frowned, sliding a file folder across to me. "Unfortunately it did not go as well as we hoped. We provided an offer for settlement considering the circumstances. Their attorney sent us this over fax this morning."

As I opened the file folder, I remarked, "You still receive faxes?"

"Sometimes records are best kept in paper," he replied.

Our settlement agreement was that South Shore Construction would be paid out for the supplies they lost from the sabotage, to be used to restock, in addition to covering expenses for the new stainglass window. In exchange, we would cover security for the property and have an addendum to the contract reflecting this, as to prevent any confusion with the construction company. In terms of insurance, we agreed to drop our claim and handle it between the two parties. "So this is what you had offered them," I stated.

"Seemed to make sense. Their property was damaged in the sabotage, so it only made sense that they would be paid for the supplies that were damaged in order to replace them."

"And they didn't take this?"

"We were surprised too," He remarked. "All said and done, their settlement would have been roughly $23,000, while we would cover the expenses for security and dropping the insurance claim. They would still have the better deal in the long run."

I nodded. I didn't really like the idea of dropping the claim, but without proof that they caused the water damage, it could still be seen as insurance fraud. "And what did they send over?"

"That is on page twenty-six in the document," Greg said, rolling his eyes.

I flipped to page twenty-six to see a fully xeroxed giant middle finger staring back at me. "Classy," I remarked.

"They seem unwilling to compromise on a settlement, so unfortunately this will need to go to trial."

I sighed deeply. "I was hoping to avoid that, you know."

"We are aware, and we apologize." Charles' voice startled me as he slipped into the room unnoticed. "When we had asked them what their terms would be, they essentially told us they were going to take you for everything you had."

"Is that how they phrased it?" I asked.

Charles rubbed a foot behind his leg. "In...more colorful language, yes. I believe the term 'bukyak' was used at least twice during our conversation with Scapelli."

"Bukyak?" Greg asked.

"Cunt," Charles replied matter-of-factly.

"Yes I'm aware that he's a-"

"I think he means," I interjected, "that that's what...bukyak? That's what that word means."

Greg slowly turned to Charles, a grimace crossing his face. Charles, as straight faced as ever, simply shrugged without moving his arms. "At any rate," Greg said methodically, turning back to me. "We have a deposition to attend with Scapelli's attorney this afternoon. Once that is complete, the two parties will convene to work out the trial date."

"I know this was not the outcome you wanted, but in truth, this is very good for us," Charles explained. "Greg prefers not going to trial either, but when he needs to, he is excellent at ferreting out information we normally wouldn't get from witnesses. And with my research, we can put together a profile of South Shore Construction, and in particular with Mr. Scapelli. We'll have access to their customer records, in particular their complaints, and see if we can establish a pattern."

I knew I hired solid attorneys. "Sounds like we have a good plan then."

"Provided this deposition goes well. Their counsel is Hank van Dusen."

"Sounds nice."

"Prepare to be surprised."

---

---

It was eerily silent in the conference room at Hank van Dusen's office.

I was there, alongside Greg, with Hank himself sitting across from me. The man looked like an absolute rat, with thin hair, close to balding, on top of his head. His eyes didn't give off any kind of color of iris, just a piercing dark black made even worse when he would squint. He at least dressed the part of a corporate attorney in what I could only assume was at least a $3000 suit and cologne so powerful it could level a middle school locker room.

On the table was a small tripod with a camera fixed to the top of it. Plugged into that was a microphone, also on its own tripod. Hank broke the silence by leaning over the table and turning the mic on while also pressing play on the recorder. "Deposition number two four dash one, subject name Dionysus Berget," he stated. He then turned to look at me. "Can you state your name for the record?"

I looked back at him, confused. "But you just-"

"Your name, please," he barked.

I shook my head. "Dionysus Berget."

"Occupation?"

"Owner of Berget Vineyards."

"Any other occupations?"

"Professional wrestler under contract with XWF."

Hank sighed, hitting pause on the camera. "Come on, don't be a douche," he said. "If you're going to come up with some stupid answer, we'll never get this bullshit trial over with."

"...What stupid answer?" I asked. "You asked my occupation and I gave it to you."

"So you're actually a professional wrestler. And I'm Louis Armstrong," Hank remarked snidely.

Greg crossed his arms. "You'll need to forgive Hank. He's not exactly the brightest his firm has to offer."

"I'm the only one this firm has to offer," Hank replied.

"See what I mean?" Greg concluded. "Look, his profession has been established. He even gave you a name. This information is public record. Whether you want to believe it or not is irrelevant to your inquiries."

Hank tapped his pen on the table, thinking of how to reply. "Very well," he continued, hitting play as though nothing had happened. "Could you please recount the events that took place on the day of the incident?"

"Yes," I began. I explained the story a second time.

I was interrupted before I had finished explaining how I walked around with the insurance adjuster to see the extent of the damage. "Were any of the security measures damaged as part of the incident?"

"...There was no site security," I stated.

"What happened after that?"

"The next day, I made a visit to South Shore Construction-"

"Why?"

"To deliver the news in person to Mr. Scapelli."

Hank frowned. "Why in-person?"

"I prefer to give bad news in person, not over a phone or through an email. I informed him of the damage that was done to the construction site," I said.

"That is not all you said to Mr. Scapelli, was it?"

"It was not," I continued. "I had also accused him of being behind the incident."

"Was there any proof that pointed to my client?"

Before I could answer, Greg put a hand on my shoulder. "As part of the insurance company's investigation, shoe prints were identified and brought in for forensic testing. A piece of fabric was also found on a loose nail near the damaged lumber, and was also tested."

"I'm not asking you what was sent for evidence," Hank snapped before turning back to me. "I am asking you if you had any evidence pointing to my client."

Greg had instructed me to simply tell the truth to hard questions. The circumstances would be worked out during the trial. Therefore, under his advice, I answered, "I did not."

"So you had no evidence to suspect my client of foul play, but decided to use the opportunity to threaten his life, correct?" he accused.

"No," I answered flatly. "I informed him of the damage, accused him of being behind it, and informed him that Mr. Scapelli and anyone associated with South Shore Construction were barred from the premises with restraining orders being issued after."

"And this was after you assaulted him, correct?" Hank accused a second time.

"Alright, that is enough," Greg interjected. "We requested footage from the room where their exchange took place; we already know what happened in that room! Why bother to play such a stupid game?"

"What footage?" Hank asked.

Greg swallowed hard. Even I was blinking rapidly. "According to our records, Mr. Scapelli's office was outfitted with security cameras, as he kept sensitive company data within the room. That was the footage we requested."

"No such footage exists," Hank explained. "And even if it did, it would show your client assaulting mine. The charges stand as is." Hank reached over to stop the recording. "Your settlement was a slap in the face. Paying for the supplies you damaged while demanding we use that money to purchase new supplies? Fixing a window we never broke? You're out of your goddamn minds. You think you can get away with beating the shit out of people to get what you want? Well buckle up, kid; you're in for the trial of the century."

Hank stormed out of the conference room, leaving Greg and I bewildered. "Is he...always like that?"

Greg sighed. "Only when it involves his brother, unfortunately."

"...What do you mean, 'his brother?'" I asked.

"Scapelli and van Dusen are brothers through adoption. Have been since he was just a boy. Hank and I have had a few cases against one another. Cheery enough once you get past his bravado, but he exudes entitled partner attorney. His top client is Scapelli, naturally, so he constantly goes to bat for him and his other misgivings."

"That deposition didn't go well for us, did it?" I asked.

"For your first one," Greg smiled, "It wasn't awful. Not great, naturally, but you spoke the truth, didn't lose your composure, and ultimately made an ass out of Hank in the process. Its all we can really ask for, in this case anyhow."

I nodded. "We should probably leave before someone decides to toss us out."

"With our kneecaps intact, I hope," Greg joked.

As we left the building, I couldn't help but think of what he had told us. "Say Greg," I asked, "What did Hank mean by 'The Trial of the Century?"

"Well," Greg slowly began, "Hank takes his trials when his brother is involved seriously. So much so that he treats it like one of your wrestling main events. The courtroom is his ring and there, he thinks he's a champion."

"So basically we just need to pin him in the middle of the court?"

"They might hold you in contempt for that."

I thought about it for a moment, then said, "But only to a five count, right?"

---

---

January 29th, 2023.

My official debut in XWF.

We are mere days from a year long milestone, a yeah which will be considered my greatest year to date. A year of trials and tribulations. A year of many failures...but even greater successes. I searched for a new home, and it was here that I found a new beginning.

Forgive all the reminiscing; the curse of having a degree in history.

Free For All would have been a great opportunity to compete with everyone all at once, just to see where I stack up today. And while I will be away from all the festivities, at least this time around, know that what I am needing to do is still important.

For my prize is not in that match. No, it is the prize at the end of this Xtreme Championship journey. A briefcase. An opportunity of my choosing. And for me to get to this point, I must decimate all in my path to get there. By doing exactly what I have said I would do from the word go: Fight, Win, Move On. That work ethic has made me one of the hardest workers and best workers in the company today.

But Hawaiian Hardhead, for some reason, decided after a years long hiatus, that working hard and fighting harder is...and you better sit down for this one...a problem in XWF.

...Yes, I do believe that is an incredibly silly remark to make.

Especially after assaulting the only champion that you can pin at any moment to get that title and force the change you want.

Just watch back on the tapes. Another successful defense, I get laid out, and instead of capitalizing on the opportunity, Hawaiian Hardhead decides now is the time to wax poetic and monologue like a low-budget eighties action movie. I bet he took notes from Samurai Cop or Honor and Glory.

But what stuck out to me watching it all back was talking about how I was "fake." Or perhaps he meant "not as brutal" as he is. Which to his credit, he may actually be correct on that front.

I'm not as brutal as The Hawaiian Hardhead.

I am more brutal.

And the best part is, he knows it. He knows what it is like to constantly being alert, waiting for someone to try and snatch this prize from my hands. Needing to do everything and anything it takes to retain. It flips a switch in your mind. The biggest difference between us is his brutality is in the form of a wild rage, furious but not focused.

Meanwhile, I am able to think ahead, anticipate what my opponent will need to do next. Its how I bested BobD in the first place. It was how I knocked out Centurion not long after. And each defense after that has been nothing short of the extent of how brutal my matches can be. You see the size and stature and think, "This guy is going to swing for the fences every opportunity he gets."

And that thought is what costs them all in the end.

I am methodical in my approach. Less brute force, more precise action. I don't need to swing a chair five times on your back to do the damage I want to do. Why waste the energy when one well-placed swing to the knee, shoulder, or heck, even the back of the head will do far worse? The strongest muscle in my body is my mind, and it is constantly in use. Devising strategies. Adapting on the fly. Doing the mental gymnastics when things start looking worse for me.

See, the problem you have with me isn't that I'm a fake wrestler. It also isn't that I am not as brutal as you think I am.

You just hate the fact that I am a thinking man's Xtreme Champion.

And worse, that I'm succeeding as a thinking man's Xtreme Champion.

So you crawled out of your hole that you vanished to for years, posturing about finding a home for your brand of brutality, when the realization must have struck you. This is the only place that you have. And I am the one thing keeping you from making the land of Xtreme yours once again.

And that thought scares you. You have to do what you can to weaken my resolve, weaken my body, weaken every aspect of my being, in order to cope with the fact that in your returning match, your assault from behind will be rewarded back to you tenfold.

It didn't need to become as personal as you made it, you know. You simply could have made the pin happen and call it a day. Instead, you chose to wait until I was at my strongest, to try and tear me down while I'm at my best. All in an effort to show that I am truly unworthy of this title.

But you forget. I am a thinking man's Xtreme Champion.

I know enough about you to know that this battle is only a victory in your mind. You think you have it won. But you still haven't had to deal with the reality that is The Lord of the Vine. Your introduction to me will be quite educational, with the lessons being beaten into you. Then, when you are gasping on the mat and I hold this title aloft in victory, you will know just how brutal I can be.

And how quickly you will want to forget.