THE LAMB AND THE LION

The Lamb and the Lion

I heard the door slam and the sound of packages tumbling to the ground.  I remembered an expression my grandmother always used just before my brother entered a room. “Gird your loins” was her expression and I quickly came to understand that she meant, prepare yourself for something unpleasant or challenging. A moment later my brother poked his head around the open door of the family room calling out,” I’m back” in a sing-song voice. I gave a quick sigh and pasted a smile on my face.

“So how was your foray into the world of house hunting in today's real estate market,” I asked him, feigning an interest in his latest pursuit. I should have taken more of a genuine interest however as his purchase of a house meant that he would be vacating my home.  As far as I was concerned, the sooner the better. Ross had been bunking with me for the past month until he found a property that he fell in love with. The days were stretching on endlessly.

Ross was my younger brother. In actual fact, he was my half-brother, we shared the same mother but had different fathers.  I was the older brother and he was the younger by quite a few years. Mum had several miscarriages before Ross was born and so upon his arrival, he was dubbed the Miracle baby, Rainbow baby, or the Golden-haired child. He was spoiled rotten from the day he was born, nothing was too good for Ross. When we went shopping, he had only to glance at something on the shelves, point, and say Goo Goo and it was immediately put into the shopping cart for Ross. I, on the other hand, remember begging to go to space camp in the summer when I was ten.  It was a free program offered in the church at the end of our street. I was denied the opportunity because if I went, then Ross would have no one to play with.

Excuse me if I seem bitter, but I am bitter. But I learned to go with the flow and accept things for what they were. Kinda.

Ross was a sickly baby, puny and thin, who always seemed to be taking another trip with Mum to the doctor. Maybe if they stopped pampering him he would actually grow a pair.

With his parents doting on him, he quickly became an entitled brat. Those are my grandma's words, not mine. She was an astute dowager who came to live on our property when my grandpa passed away, leaving her very rich but very lonely. Once she was in his company 24/7 she quickly cottoned onto the fact that Ross was a manipulator of the first water. Once again her words, not mine. I didn’t always understand Grandma's sayings but I got the jist of what she meant. BRAT, with a capital B.  I spent a lot of time with Grandma and had even begun to sound like her according to my family. But Grandma always had time for me while my mother only seemed to have time for her dear little lamb. Ross. Despite her somewhat ambivalent feelings towards Ross, I thought Grandma always treated us equally. Her fair treatment of us both was a balm to my wounded spirit. She nurtured and encouraged me, and imparted wisdom, knowledge, dependability, and self-worth. Her fair-minded spirit was portrayed when she unexpectedly passed away leaving a will which named both Ross and I as her heirs equally.

 Ross had been staying with her the summer she passed away. She had tripped over her cat and broken her leg and was unable to get around very well, so Mother thought that Grandma had best have someone stay with her to fetch and carry.  Grandma lived in a large cottage on our property. Close enough to visit when she was feeling lonely but far away enough that she could take refuge from family life when she chose. Since Ross was on summer holidays, he did not have to attend school and would be the ideal candidate to move into the spare bedroom of the cottage. He had his summer all planned out but on this one point, surprisingly, Mother was adamant. One week into the summer holidays, Grandma unexpectedly passed away, so sadly,  once again, Ross got what he wanted. A summer free from Grandma sitting and a summer to carry out his plans.

 Ross had just turned sixteen a week before Grandma died and had his eye on a jazzy sportscar. My stepfather had for once, put his foot down and told Ross that he had all his capital invested into some new venture so he wasn’t buying Ross a sports car any time soon.  Ross went around for a week with a permanent scowl on his face.  When Grandma’s will was read, we all discovered that Ross and I were equal beneficiaries of her largesse.   Ross spent his inheritance on a brand new Maserati, the one he had been eyeing for weeks. I, on the other hand, used my portion to start my own architectural business. For once I took a leaf out of Ross’s book and played the egocentric card, calling my firm Wade Cooper Architectural Designs.

 Now we were both adults, I was a fairly successful architect based on hard work and diligence on my part while Ross became a jet setter, skipping from one party to another on various continents hobnobbing with the rich and famous. Admittedly, he had made several wise investments and his father had hooked him up with a wealth management firm that handled all his business affairs.

When my stepdad passed away leaving my mother a twice-widowed woman in the prime of her life. She clung even more closely to Ross, smothering him with affection, motherly advice, and someone to continuously inflate his ego; which in my opinion, was already highly inflated. Ross took it all as his due.

Ross was close to our Mother, but closer to money. Always playing the stock market and making wild investments which, to put it frankly, didn’t always work out so well for him. But this was never a deterrent for him. He spent money like it was water, a commodity that was always easily replaceable. His latest whim was to own a house, but not just any house, it had to be spectacular, to be able to hold his myriad of friends and be larger and more luxurious than that of his group of homies. His homies had all just recently decided that their jet-setting days were over and the natural flow in life dictated that they own a palatial pad to start laying down roots.

To this end, Ross had spent the better part of his last few weeks, trailing real estate agents around both city and country trying to assuage his many requirements and must-haves. The grin on his face as he stood in the doorway of my family room, must only mean that today's offerings were up to Ross’s standards.

“So, how did today's viewing go?” I asked casually.

“Great! I think I found one. It’s gorg. Everything I wanted and more. I put in an offer already and put a call into Harry.”

Harry was Ross’s financial adviser and big money handler. Ross, being born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, actually knew very little about finances, or even about math for that matter. To that end, as previously mentioned his late father had hired Harry to deal with the running of Ross’s empire as he liked to call it. This way he really didn’t have a care in the world and could live life to the fullest. The Ross way.

Ross sat down on the chair near me and started to tell me all about his new find. The house had an indoor pool, tennis courts, and several hot tubs. The kitchen or chef's kitchen as he called it, was epic. I listened with half an ear as I was working on some architectural plans that were due by the end of the day. Sometimes working at my home office cut down on the distractions of working out of the office but apparently, that wasn’t going to be the case today.

Ross waited for hours to hear back from Harry, but as five o’clock closing time approached,  Ross made a sudden decision, all by himself, I might add, and rushed out the door. 

I had just finished my plans, rolled them into the delivery tube, and sent them off with the courier when I heard the front door slam loudly. The door slammed again three more times in quick succession and I hurried to find out the reason my poor front door was being abused. I knew the person behind the slamming door only too well.

Most of the time Ross had a very charismatic and charming demeanor, however, when he was crossed, Ross had an uncontrollable rage.  Mother always excused this seldom-seen behaviour and came up with some farfetched excuse for it. My ever-realistic grandma called it the lamb-to-lion syndrome.

On this particular occasion, I approached the front door with caution. Ross’s face was florid, and his hands were clenched in fists at his side.

“You won’t believe it, you… you… just won’t believe it.” Ross sputtered with rage.

“What happened,” I asked, moving rapidly to the side of the foyer as he stalked past. He turned suddenly.

“He’s gone, gone. Can you believe it? Gone with all my money.  The wretched man cashed in everything, stocks, bonds, investments, bank accounts everything, and absconded with it all. Probably sitting on a beach in the Caribbean sipping margaritas in some swank resort, on my money.”

“You gave him carte blanche with all your business dealings?”

“What?”

“You gave him complete access, complete freedom to deal with all your assets”.

“Yes, in hindsight not the best idea, but I was often in various parts of the world when a great deal would come my way. Anyway, I went there and his office was being closed up by the landlord of the building. It was empty of all his stuff, only desks and chairs left. The landlord told me he had vacated the premises the day before. He had been notified by Harry’s little mouse of a secretary when she came to work and found Harry gone.”

“Did he rip off all of his clients?”

“ I don't know. I don't care. Apparently, he did stiff his secretary out of a month's pay, and according to the landlord,  he hadn’t paid his rent in two months.”

“I stopped by my bank and he had cleaned that out as well. Im a pauper, a pauper, me… Ross Renolds is a pauper. My friends will drop me like a hot potato.” 

“If they are your friends they won't,” I reasoned.

“Who are you kidding? I would drop me like a hot potato.”

He continued his pacing.

“The new house, my house, the one I put an offer in today. All gone. I have to… have to have that house.” He continued pacing back and forth the length of the room.”

“Come and sit down and we’ll talk about it.”

He stared at me like I had said something insane.

“I'll fix you a drink, and you can calm down.”

“I can't calm down.  I can't sit down. I have to do something. Anything.” Suddenly he rushed out the door.

It was hours later when I heard the doorbell ring. Answering it I found two police officers standing at my door looking somber. 

“ Wade Cooper?” 

I nodded.

“May we come in,” the tall one asked politely.

“Yes of course, what is it?”

“There has been an …incident.”

“ Can we sit down,” he motioned to the family room that could be seen from the foyer.

“This can't be good,” I thought.

Once seated. The officer sighed deeply and started, “There's no easy way to say this…

As I said, there has been a situation, an incident”

I could see the sweat running down his head as he gripped his police cap in his hands.

“Your mother is Naomi Cooper-Renolds?”

I nodded again.

“Your mother has been attacked, in her home. She’s alive. She was rushed to the hospital by ambulance.”

“What happened?”

“She was being strangled, and the next-door neighbour in her condo heard screams and the sound of breaking glass and called the police.”

“Luckily for your mother, we had a unit in the vicinity and they responded within minutes.:

“Is she going to be ok?” I asked.

“We do not have any information from the hospital at this time. I’m sorry.

“I have to go to her.” I stood up abruptly.

“Sit down, there's more.” The second officer spoke up.

I returned to my seat

“We caught the person responsible for the attack.”

“ Oh, well that's good.”

“It was your brother, Ross Reynolds.”

“My stepbrother?”

“Yes. He was still in the apartment when the responding officers got there.  The door was unlocked. We were the second unit to arrive. Your brother thought your mother was dead.  He thought he had killed her. He broke when we cuffed him.  Sobbed like a baby, then curled up like a fetus on the floor.”  The tall cop shook his head.

The second officer continued with the story. “He  told us he was looking for her will in her office.” He pulled out his police notebook and referred to it. “ I want to get this right. He said he had to get his inheritance. He needed the money, he said something about buying the house of his dreams or something like that. Something about Harry leaving him penniless.  He was sobbing so hard it was difficult to understand. He was basically just babbling to himself in this eerie childlike voice. He said something about … here let me read it. ‘I really need the money I had to do it. I had to do it again. It's the only way. I did it to my grandmother and my father and it will all work out okay again with my mother.’

“Does any of this babbel make sense to you?” He looked up from his notebook.

“Yes!” I said, “It all makes perfect sense now.”

The lamb-to-lion syndrome was in effect.