Chapter 66: Old men and a bottle of scotch
The rain had started just after dusk, a steady, heavy pour that made the wet city streets dark and shiny as they reflected the lights.
High above the noise of the traffic, tucked away on the top floor of an unmarked brick building, the hearth in the corner of the oak-paneled room crackled softly.
There were no signs outside this place. No flashing lights, no fancy ropes, and no public entry.
It was the kind of club where the membership list was kept in a leather book locked in the manager’s desk, passed down through families like old land deeds.
The men sitting in the deep leather armchairs here did not like to be seen.
They came to drink scotch that couldn’t be bought in stores, to talk quietly, and to make decisions that altered lives far outside these thick stone walls.
In a quiet corner away from the main lounge, a man sat alone at a low mahogany table.
He was in his late fifties, his iron-gray hair combed back neatly from his forehead.
He wore a simple, dark blue wool suit, expensive, but understated enough to blend into any high-end room.
He held a glass of dark amber liquid, swirling it slowly, watching the amber catch the warm glow of the fire.
His face was lined around the eyes, carrying the quiet, tired movement of a man who spent his days carrying heavy authority.
He took a slow sip, his eyes drifting toward the window as the rain lashed against the heavy glass.
A soft step sounded on the thick carpet behind him.
"Daniel."
The man looked up, his expression softening into a mild, polite smile as he recognized the figure standing over his table.
Arthur Pendleton stood impeccably dressed, his dark coat draped neatly over one arm, his suit immaculate despite the weather outside.
He looked composed, relaxed, and entirely at ease in the quiet luxury of the room. He extended a hand.
"Arthur," Daniel said, his voice deep and raspy, carrying the calm cadence of someone accustomed to speaking slowly and being listened to.
He took Arthur’s hand, giving it a firm, familiar shake before gesturing toward the empty armchair across from him. "You made it through the rain."
"It takes more than a storm to keep me away from a good bottle of scotch," Arthur replied smoothly, taking off his coat and hanging it over the back of the chair before settling down into the soft leather.
A waiter appeared almost instantly, moving like a ghost across the carpet. Without a word being spoken, the waiter poured a glass for Arthur from the dark bottle already resting on the table, then melted back into the shadows of the room.
Arthur raised his glass slightly toward Daniel. "To good health."
Daniel tapped his glass against Arthur’s. "To good health."
They drank in silence for a few long seconds, letting the warmth of the alcohol settle between them.
To anyone watching from across the room, it looked like nothing more than two old acquaintances enjoying a late-night drink away from the noise of the city.
"How is Julia?" Arthur asked casually, leaning back into his chair, resting his hands over his knee.
Daniel let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders dropping a fraction.
"She’s good. Still pushing herself too hard at the hospital, but she enjoys the work. She takes after her mother that way." A fond, soft smile touched the older man’s lips, warming his sharp features. "And Sarah?"
"Finishing her clerkship in Chicago," Arthur said. "She complains about the cold, but she’s stubborn. She won’t come back until she’s finished."
They talked like that for nearly twenty minutes.
They spoke of the changing weather, the poor quality of recent theatrical plays, an old mutual friend who had recently retired to the countryside, and the slow, grueling grind of their daily schedules.
Daniel complained gently about the endless mountain of paperwork on his desk, the long hours spent under buzzing fluorescent lights, and how much he missed the simple days when he was just an ambitious young lawyer running around lower Manhattan with a beat-up briefcase.
Arthur listened attentively, nodding in the right places, offering short, warm responses.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t check his watch. He sat there like a man with all the time in the world.
Eventually, Daniel finished his glass and set it down on the small silver coaster with a quiet clink.
He looked across the table at Arthur, his gray eyes narrowing slightly, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"You didn’t invite me to the city’s quietest corner at eight o’clock on a rainy Thursday just to ask about my daughter’s clerkship, Arthur," Daniel said softly.
Arthur didn’t flinch. He merely took another slow sip of his drink, letting the dark amber liquid warm his throat before setting the glass down.
"Can’t two old friends share a bottle without an agenda?" Arthur asked, his voice full of mild, pleasant amusement.
"We haven’t been ’just old friends’ since we were young and broke," Daniel replied, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
The warmth in his eyes had receded slightly, replaced by a sharp, watchful stillness. "What’s on your mind?"
The air between them changed. It was subtle, no loud shift, no sudden movement, but the relaxed atmosphere of the dinner dissolved, leaving behind a cold, sharp quiet.
"I hear you have a particularly interesting matter landing on your docket next week," Arthur said, his voice dropped barely above a whisper, keeping his words inside the small circle of their table.
Daniel paused. He didn’t blink. His fingers twitched slightly against his knee before resting still. "You already know my docket for next week?"
Arthur offered a small, graceful smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "I make it my business to know where important things land, Daniel."
Daniel leaned back into his chair, his jaw setting into a tight line. He stared at the younger lawyer across from him, reading the calm confidence in Arthur’s posture. "The Kingston file."
"The Kingston file," Arthur repeated gently, nodding.
"You’re representing Kian," Daniel said, it was a statement, not a question.
"I am."
Daniel let out a low breath through his nose, his brow furrowing as he looked toward the flickering flames of the fireplace.
"That whole thing is a mess. It hasn’t even hit the formal schedule yet, and I’ve already had three calls from press contacts trying to confirm rumor leaks. The girl ran off, didn’t she?"
"She’s currently residing outside the city," Arthur said smoothly, sidestepping the word ’ran off’ without a single ruffle in his calm tone. "And that brings me to the second name attached to the file."
Daniel’s eyes snapped back to Arthur’s face. "Kazarov."
"Aaron Kazarov," Arthur added softly. "He’s funding her representation."
Daniel stayed quiet for a long moment.
The name Kazarov carried weight... heavy, dangerous weight that extended far beyond standard civil litigation.
It meant endless money, relentless political pull, and a team of ferocious, expensive litigators who would chew through standard court procedures like paper.
"That complicates things," Daniel murmured, his voice tightening. "A simple divorce filing doesn’t stay simple when Kazarov puts his thumb on the scale."
"Which is precisely why I wanted to speak with you before things get noisy," Arthur said, taking his glass once more and holding it loosely between his fingers.
Daniel’s eyes hardened slightly. The polite warmth of an old friend was entirely gone now, replaced by the stiff, guarded posture of a man who had spent thirty years wearing black robes.
"Arthur," Daniel said, his tone turning heavy and stern. "If you brought me here to talk about an active case on my bench, you know I’m going to get up and walk out that door right now."