The Biggest Fucking Shark
“This isn’t going to be fun. Get that in your fucking head right now. You think things are bad now? Well, let me tell you, they get about a million times fucking worse. You have to know that moving forward. So, you’re probably asking yourself, What is it that I can do for you? Fair question. Here’s the answer. I can make it so when the dust settles, when the smoke clears, you’re sitting as pretty as you can be after something like this. I can make it so your life is less miserable than it would be otherwise. And, most of all, I can give you the best possible foot to stand on once it’s all said and done. And most other guys who do what I do won’t tell you this shit. They’ll tell you they’ll get through this with you. They’ll be your friend in all of this. They’ll share the knowledge they have from doing this shit hundreds of times with you. Fuck that. I’m not your friend. I’m not your shoulder to cry on. And frankly, if I can be frank, I don’t care what kind of emotional toll this takes on you. Because you’re not paying me to be your pal. In fact, you’re not paying me to be anything. You’re paying me because I already happen to be what you need: a fucking shark. I’m the biggest fucking shark in the deepest part of this cesspool of an ocean we’re all swimming in. Sure, there are other sharks. But they’re small. They’re weak. Maybe they’ll take one of her arms or a leg or a chunk out of her ass. Not me. I’ll eat that bitch whole and spit out the bones. Then I’ll eat the fucking bones. And I know you’re probably sitting here saying to yourself, ‘This guy just referred to my lovely wife as a bitch.’ That’s right. She can be whatever you need her to be to you, but to me, she’s a bitch, and I need to tear her apart. Because, like I said, when the dust settles and it’s a year from now, do you want to be living in a studio apartment in the Noho Arts District? Or do you want to be living in a house in a nice suburb, maybe even the house she’s currently kicked you out of? This is California, my friend. She gets half of everything right out of the gate because you failed to secure a prenup. Most other guys just try to minimize the damage and convince their clients to get it done as quickly and quietly as possible. That’s a fucking mistake. I will fight and scratch for every fucking dime I can get, and I won’t play nice. I’ll hit this bitch where it hurts. You have dogs? I’ll take a full week bargaining the custody of the dogs, until she’s so tied up thinking about whether she’s ever going to see Fido again that she just signs the cars over to you without a second thought. You got kids? I’ll twist her little pea brain so tightly around the idea that maybe you’ll get custody and she’ll wind up with nothing but weekend visitation that she won’t even understand what the hell’s happening when she signs the house over to you. Play the emotional property against the financial property—shit works like a fucking charm every time. Most guys don’t have the balls to do it. They don’t have the balls because they’re pussies and pussies don’t have balls, my friend.”
I say, “Well, thanks. It sounds like you’re very capable and everything.”
He says, “Understatement, but yes, I am.”
I say, “Anyway, like I said, I’m still talking to a few more people—”
He says, “You have to. Even I recommend seeing what’s out there. Get that peace of mind.”
I say, “Right. So I’ll let you know within the next day or two.”
He stands up and shakes my hand and says, “In the end, it’s obviously your choice who you want to go with on this thing. But make no mistake, I am the biggest fucking shark you’ll meet in these waters. And when you have the biggest shark on your side, the other fish can’t fuck with you.”
I say, “That’s very reassuring. Thanks again.”
He says, “My pleasure,” and I leave his office wondering if he has that entire speech memorized or if it’s slightly different every time he delivers it.