Employer

Chapter Five

                       One week later

Mr. Braeburn was tired of the world. Yes. Tired of it. In fact, he gave up on this whole stupid country.
Perhaps it was time to retire to a private island.
It had not gone well in court. The judge was a lesbian, and Mr. Braeburn knew well not to look for justice from her. And he would no more stoop to bribing her and lining her pockets than he would to paying the pervert in skinny jeans hush money to be silent about something that wasn't wrong in the first place.
Mr Braeburn had stood up in court (which was public) and said quite loudly, that if it was against the law for a man to have morals in the united states, then where the devil could he have morals? And if it was against the law to run an efficient business, well it was scarcely a wonder that all the money in the world was going to China these days.
No, it did not go well for Mr. Braeburn in court. The lesbian judge was furious, because she liked people to be slaves to the social rules which served her (and incidentally were the reasons why she had a job which she was under qualified for) and because she had been certain that she could make a cool seven million for making the lawful ruling. So instead, she made an unlawful ruling, and ordered Mr. Braeburn to re hire the lax employee and also pay him back wages plus ten thousand for emotional damage.
Mr Braeburn had stood up and replied, "Oh heck no, I don't think so. Who is paying me for emotional damage? And I will rip every shop I own right out of the ground before I hire that wretched sodomite to work in them even as a window washer!"

That hadn't gone over too well.

Which was why Mr. Braeburn was consoling himself with a meal of rib eye yak steak and King crab.

Of course he would take the ruling to a higher court and insist on justice, but it rubbed him exactly the wrong way to have to deal with a corrupt judge.

At least the crab was good.

And it was over the delicious crab and steak that Mr. Braeburn suddenly had the impulse to reevaluate his life.

"Mr. Braeburn, do you like your life?" asked Mr. Braeburn to his image in the mirror on his closet door.
"Duncan, a charaid,  what a silly question. I do, most certainly." replied Mirror Duncan Óg.
"What do you like best, Mr. Braeburn?"
"I like the satisfied, happy faces in my shops. I like riding with the boys in the club. I like learning and traveling."
"Dear Mister Braeburn, I think that it might be for the best if you were to demolish those precious dear shops of yours and do something with that land that would make it impossible for lady-men to insist upon your hiring scandalous folk."
"Oh no! My beloved shops! What would I do with all my time? Where would I make all that lovely money? I might have to start making my own meals, and I haven't the slightest idea how! Oh, and I should have to lay off my maid and do my cleaning on my own, and my own laundry, and Heaven knows I haven't a clue how to do any of those things!"
"Mr. Duncan Braeburn! Really. The things you say! You already have so much money you really ought to be embarrassed. It would do you good to moderate your income, and it isn't as though those shops are your only source of income, just the largest. You own thousands of acres of land, several working farms and ranches, and endless real estate projects. I think it is time that you stop having Napoleon Zhenga make your pants, buy some jeans, and learn how to work."
"Well, you know if I demolish my shops and sell the lots, some other, worse shop owner will just rebuild, and we'll be right back where we started, except that someone else will be making the money, not me."
"That is a problem. One moment... Ah! I have it! Duncan, I have a wonderful idea! Turn the lots into public gardens! Grow useful plants and feed homeless people or something!"
Mr. Braeburn was silent for a moment. "You know, that actually isn't such a bad idea." he muttered to himself.