Chapter 23

• The lobby bar of Maxwell’s firm was an exercise in subdued, splurge of luxury in it’s glory.
• It was late—past ten—but the bar remained discreetly open, serving only the partners who had worked past the point of exhaustion. The room was dark walnut and leather, smelling faintly of old money and new Scotch.
• Taylor and Maxwell sat in a secluded alcove, the remnants of a bitter argument hanging in the stale air between them. Taylor nursed a glass of whiskey, his movements restless. Maxwell had a single Scotch, untouched, his gaze fixed on the glowing screen of his phone as he messaged their legal war-room team. The silence was heavy with the catastrophic fallout of the criminal complaint.