I grabbed him by the lapels of his too clean, too pressed light blue lawyer shirt and shoved him as hard as I could straight into the slat wall. I think I actually picked him up off the ground an inch or two.

I’ve never felt intimidating or menacing in my life. I’ve only ever been in one fight in my life and that was because I kissed this girl in front of her ex-boyfriend knowing that it would hurt him more than my fists would. But at that moment, standing a foot and a half taller than The Barrister, I felt like an angry god, vengeful, wrathful, and completely irrational in omnipotence.

It was the same kind of illogical, completely un-premeditated action that parents might take to protect their children or that you find yourself in the middle of when your home or your safety is jeopardized. I was defending my home, my child, and my livelihood in one simple act- one simple, stupid act that I will never regret although it definitely wasn’t the wisest thing to do in the situation. If the reader comes out of this entire story with one nugget of advice, it should be “never physically assault a lawyer.”

His “bodyguards”, funny enough, did nothing. And for a second or two, I didn’t either. I caught myself, bridled the fury, before it went any further. He threw his hands up- likely because he knew that he wouldn’t have a case if he retaliated and also because he knew that I would kick his ass.

Dollar Bill and I immediately retreated into the back room. He called his lawyer, who advised us to get out of the store right away. We thought about calling the police, but we really didn’t have anything to go on- The Barrister was the majority shareholder, his name was on everything, and we had foolishly set up everything based on handshake deals. That’s another nugget of advice the reader may want to hang on to- “never make handshake deals with greedy serpents- they don’t have any hands.”

In the ten minutes or so that we were talking to the attorney and trying to figure out what needed to be done right then and there, the Barrister had called the police. When we emerged from the office, Atlanta Finest were walking through the front door.

What happened next was a kangaroo court scenario. The Barrister pointed at me, told the officers that I had assaulted him and that yes, he wanted to press charges. His flunkies were asked if they saw it happen and they confirmed it. They took me aside and asked what happened and told them everything within reason about the situation. It didn’t seem to make a difference because I was in handcuffs before I even finished my side of the story. I guess the button-down lawyer versus the tattooed guy with the CCCP t-shirt paradigm skewed the case against me. Dollar Bill was escorted off the premises and I was marched into the parking lot- in front of my friends, employees, and customers- and shoved into the back of a patrol car.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been arrested, but sitting with your hands behind your back in manacles isn’t exactly comfortable. Let alone in a backseat that has approximately three inches of legroom- not exactly comfortable for a six-foot-one arrestee. I sat there for thirty minutes, watching the cops talk to The Barrister, filling out forms, and even talking to our people outside. I thought that certainly they would let me go and we’d deal with any repercussions from the night’s events the next day.

But that didn’t happen. A prisoner transport vehicle (that’s what they call Paddy Wagons these days) into the parking lot next to the patrol car and a giant police officer, one of the biggest men I’ve ever seen, talked to the officers that had arrested me. I was pulled out of the car and almost literally thrown into the back of the truck. He shut the door and I was literally in complete darkness, sitting- still handcuffed- on a metal bench that had no seatbelts, no hand holds, or anything. I finally let myself cry. I didn’t have to pretend to be strong or brave or anything there in the dark, by myself.