Ethan
I went to see Marcus Webb myself, against Priya's advice and my own better judgment, because some things required a level of intimidation my lawyers, however capable, couldn't replicate simply by reading terms off a page.
His office smelled like stale coffee and older paper, the kind of place that hadn't been renovated since whatever decade Webb had started this particular career. He sat behind a metal desk that looked like it belonged in a different building entirely, watching me settle into the chair across from him with the wary calculation of a man who'd spent a career reading exactly how much danger walked through his door.
"Mr. Kingsley," he said, folding his hands. "I confess, I expected lawyers, not the man himself."
"I find conversations move faster without intermediarie
