He was a good looking kid, young, under 30, fit, he had it all. No shit, had it all, his father, one of the owner's best friends, 10 or 11 figures easy, owned a nationwide company, made him VP even though all he could do was pick up uniforms and drop of laundry. He was the heir-apparent.
But he had problems. Lots of problems, going way back, problems that the seemingly infinite supply of money only ever made worse. We all knew him, he was a junkie, in and out of rehab, the finest clinics, spas really, in the states. Dad Paid. He had parties, crazy parties, in his multi-million dollar penthouse downtown. Not the kind of party regulars you expect in a multi-million dollar penthouse, but this wasn't the typical million dollar penthouse. A 53" TV, no couch or chairs, no furniture, really, a variety of party goers that all, more or less, fit into the same type. The same as you'd run into in any crackhouse. Only here 50 stories up doing lines off of marble countertops and tweaking for days watching the sunrise over the mountains and the stars of the city fade...
His life, when you looked into it, was a series of bumblefuck accidents. By accidents I mean the predictable outcomes to a life lived without responsibility or consequence. He'd run a man down when he was a teenager, trying to get out of having a fight. There were other things. Everything that money could buy, and nothing that it couldn't. He lacked character, integrity, purpose. Whatever he wanted was given to him. The finest of cars, of accommodations, of worry free high rise living, an allowance, the best looking of crack-whore girlfriends...
***
No one was surprised, he hadn't shown up at work, answered texts, dad broke into the penthouse with the building manager and some cops, it looked an awful lot like Suicide by OD. He'd closed his social media to comments, there were other things going on....
***
Everyone felt bad for his dad. I mean, he had his failings, for sure, he caused G*** to get fired, for one, and an awful lot of other ones, but you could never wish this upon anyone. And he's blaming himself, doesn't understand why, the kid had everything...
***
Everyone else knows, the kid had everything given to him, this is, was the problem, everyone knows it, hard to feel sorry for the poor little rich kid, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but they are quiet when he's around, commiserate, but you here them talking afterwards...
***
After the funeral, the shit begins. The crack-whore girlfriend steals the dog, gets a warrant saying that she was left the apartment, the car, everything, they lived together forever, many years (it was at most a couple of months), other claimants step forward, everyone wants a piece of him, most have transparent claims, trumped up lies, easily disproved, but the police show up for each of them anyways, they're not thinkers, standard warrant-less searches, intimidation, J***, he's out of his league but he's got an expensive lawyer so things are sorted out pretty quick...
***
The Nephew remembers when his son would call him at 5:00 in the morning, addled out of his mind, talking about all the things he'd buy when he inherited, sold the company, A Maserati, A Lamborghini, A Ferrari, A Land Rover, there would be a parade down Centre Street and it would snow cocaine upon the whole city every Xmas ... if only his goddamned dad would die...
***
And J***, it's been a few weeks, the only child he has that actually spoke to him, hadn't done him wrong, and he's begun the unremembrance of reality, the attributions of imagined battles and saintliness "I'm a Gladiator...just like *****" and you stare at him in disbelief, ***** a gladiator? A gladiator that was given every weapon in the arsenal and after staggering into the arena under the weight of admiration and wealth promptly fell upon his sword...