Chapter 67: Old ties and favors
"Of course," Arthur replied instantly, his voice soft, calm, and completely unbothered. He waved a dismissive hand toward the bottle of scotch resting between them.
"We’re discussing nothing. We’re having a drink."
Daniel stared at him, searching Arthur’s smooth, handsome face for any sign of hesitation. "I don’t play games with my courtroom."
"I would never ask you to," Arthur said smoothly, leaning in just a fraction of an inch, his voice dropping into a deep, conspiratorial purr.
"I respect the court too much, Daniel. And I respect you far too much to ever bring crude requests to your table."
"Then what are we doing here?" Daniel asked quietly.
Arthur took a slow breath, letting his eyes rest on the older man with absolute, steady focus.
"I simply wanted to remind you that old ties run deep," Arthur said softly. "And that I remain available, should you or your family ever need anything. In any capacity."
Daniel’s lips pressed into a thin line. He understood the words, and more importantly, he understood everything sitting beneath them.
He thought of his daughter, Julia. He thought of her recent application for the chief residency position at Columbia University Hospital, a position overseen by a board of directors that Arthur Pendleton sat on as lead legal counsel.
He thought of the quiet phone call he had received two weeks ago from a colleague, hinting that Julia’s application was facing heavy resistance from older board members.
The air in the room felt suddenly thick, almost heavy enough to taste.
"I don’t need anything, Arthur," Daniel said, though his voice lacked the hard edge it had carried moments before.
Arthur smiled... A small, warm, reassuring smile that felt entirely human.
"Not today," Arthur agreed gently. "And hopefully not tomorrow. But life is long, Daniel. Friends take care of each other when the world gets noisy."
Daniel looked down at his empty glass, his throat moving as he swallowed hard. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken weight.
He didn’t call Arthur a dirty lawyer. He didn’t slam his hand on the table. He didn’t stand up and leave.
He just sat there, carrying the quiet burden of a man who realized a net had been laid around him so softly he hadn’t even heard the ropes tightening.
"I won’t compromise the law, Arthur," Daniel said quietly, looking back up, trying to hold onto the stern authority that usually came so naturally to him.
"If Kazarov’s team files clean motions, I will rule on the merits. I will not throw out a legitimate case just because Kian Carter has deep pockets."
Arthur leaned back, letting out a soft, pleasant chuckle.
"I wouldn’t ask you to throw out a legitimate case," Arthur said smoothly. "I wouldn’t dream of it. That would be crude, and as I said, I don’t do crude."
"Then what do you want?" Daniel asked, his voice weary.
"I want fairness," Arthur said softly. "I want you to remember that behind all the noise, behind Kazarov’s endless millions and his aggressive young litigators, there are two sides to every story. Young wives make rash decisions when they are influenced by powerful men. My client simply wants his marriage preserved. He wants time. He wants a fair hearing, without being rushed out the door by an impatient court."
Daniel stared at him. He saw the trap clearly now. Arthur wasn’t asking him to forge documents or declare Kian the winner overnight. He was asking for time.
He was asking for procedural delays, for granted continuances, for small, reasonable-sounding motions that would stall the divorce for months, dragging Isabella back into the mud, wearing down her resolve until she broke.
It was legal. It was clean. And under the guise of ’giving both sides a fair chance,’ it was entirely defensible on paper.
"Time," Daniel repeated softly.
"Time," Arthur agreed with a slow, solemn nod. "A few extra weeks to review motions. A strict demand for personal appearances in court rather than zoom filings. Standard procedural thoroughness. Nothing more."
Daniel stared at the mahogany table for a long moment. He looked at the bottle of expensive scotch, at the crackling fire, and finally at Arthur’s calm, handsome face.
He knew he should say no. He knew he should tell Arthur to take his case to the clerk’s office like every other attorney.
Instead, Daniel simply let out a quiet, long sigh and reached for his water glass.
"The weather is supposed to be worse tomorrow," Daniel said, his voice flat, completely changing the subject as if the last five minutes had never occurred.
Arthur’s smile broadened just a fraction, a quiet spark of absolute satisfaction flashing deep in his eyes.
"So I hear," Arthur replied easily, picking up his scotch. "We should probably wrap this up before the roads freeze over."
They sat for another ten minutes, finishing their drinks while talking about nothing at all. They spoke of football scores and winter travel plans, their voices light and casual once again.
When Arthur finally stood up, he pulled on his coat, smoothing the lapels with practiced ease. He extended his hand across the table one last time.
"It was wonderful catching up, Daniel," Arthur said warmly. "Give my best to Julia."
Daniel looked at Arthur’s hand for a split second before taking it, giving it a brief, heavy shake. "Goodnight, Arthur."
Arthur turned and walked away, his steps light and silent as he crossed the plush carpet, disappearing into the dark hallway toward the private exit.
Daniel remained sitting at the table alone. The fire crackled softly in the corner, throwing long, jumping shadows across the dark wood paneling.
He looked at the empty seat across from him, then at the half-full bottle of scotch Arthur had left behind.
His phone buzzed in his inner suit pocket.
Daniel pulled it out and tapped the screen. It was an email notification. He opened it.
It was an official update from the administrative office of Columbia University Hospital.
A brief, formal notice informing him that his daughter, Julia Vaughan, had been unanimously selected for the final interview round for the chief residency position, with a personal recommendation attached from the board’s legal chair.
Daniel stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the bright display. The faint blue light reflected in his tired, gray eyes.
He didn’t delete the email. He didn’t shut off his phone.
He slowly lowered his hand, resting the phone on the table beside his empty glass, and turned his face toward the fire, watching the wood burn down into cold, silent white ash.