"Variables are always preferable to vulnerabilities," Anthony countered smoothly. "And speaking of vulnerabilities, Your Excellency, I have a question of my own."
Since the Adjudicator insisted on playing the part of a blind bureaucratic machine, Anthony decided to push her toward the edge.
"The attack on the refinery and the subsequent framing of the Bloods were meticulously planned military operations. There is not a single local street gang in New York with the tactical capability to execute that hit."
Anthony stepped closer. "So. Who exactly reached into New York and stirred up this hornet's nest right under the noses of you and the Harbinger?"
"Who possesses the capital to hire elite mercenaries, infiltrate the Crips, and bribe federal law enforcement to suppress information?"
Anthony triggered [Compensatory Perception]. He pushed the sensory net to its maximum resolution, enveloping both the Adjudicator and the Harbinger.
The Adjudicator had been standing perfectly still for the duration of the meeting. Suddenly, she moved her hands, clasping them behind her back.
It was a micro-adjustment, but [Compensatory Perception] caught the biometric spike.
The Adjudicator's heart rate briefly accelerated by a fraction of a beat.
In the corner, the Harbinger's pen paused mid-stroke for a quarter of a second.
Got you, Anthony thought.
They knew the Marquis de Gramont was operating in New York. They knew Gramont was the architect pulling the strings of the local gangs and the corrupt corporate boards.
Anthony deliberately avoided speaking Gramont's name. If the Adjudicator formally acknowledged Gramont's presence, the rigid bureaucracy of the High Table would force her to act, which would completely disrupt Anthony's own plans to dismantle the Marquis piece by piece.
He preferred this deadly, unspoken game.
"The High Table has many members, Anthony," the Adjudicator finally replied, her tone returning to its detached baseline. "Their interests and spheres of influence are bound to intersect."
"As a global nexus, New York has never lacked for covetous eyes. Maintaining the balance and excising those who overstep their boundaries is the sole responsibility of the sanctioned local agents."
It was a brilliant bureaucratic dodge. She neither confirmed nor denied Gramont's presence, neatly throwing the responsibility for managing the crisis back onto Anthony's shoulders.
Anthony sneered inwardly. She was never going to say the name.
It confirmed his theory: the High Table was not a unified front. It was a vicious ecosystem of internal checks and balances. The Adjudicator was likely restricted from moving against Gramont without direct authorization from the Elder, so she was content to sit back and watch Anthony and Gramont try to slaughter each other.
Anthony pivoted to his second trap.
"And what of the recent disappearances?" he asked, dropping his voice. "Gangs, the homeless, office workers, even retired federal agents. They vanish without a trace, and the media remains entirely silent."
"And yet, Tarasov territory remains completely untouched. This does not fit the profile of human trafficking or standard gang retaliation."
Anthony took another step forward. "A mass abduction ring of this scale requires immense logistical resources. Your Excellency, the High Table has eyes on every street corner. Surely, you and the Harbinger must have detected this anomaly?"
This time, the Adjudicator's reaction was even more subdued, but still present.
Her gloved fingers twitched.
The Harbinger tilted his masked face slightly toward Anthony, his body completely rigid.
"Missing persons..." the Adjudicator repeated slowly, as if she were inspecting the words for poison.
"People disappear from this city every day, Anthony. The reasons vary, but they rarely intersect with the laws of our world. The High Table concerns itself strictly with the maintenance of the rules, not the fate of individual mortals."
Another evasion. But Anthony caught the microscopic hesitation in her cadence.
They know.
They knew what was happening to the missing people. But out of fear, or perhaps bound by a higher directive, they were deliberately turning a blind eye to it.
Anthony had the confirmation he needed. Pushing further would only force them into a corner.
"I see."
Anthony nodded, letting a warm, entirely artificial smile spread across his face.
"The rules of the High Table are supreme. The fate of the individual is merely dust. It is a cruel philosophy, but an effective one."
He changed the subject entirely.
"My Lord Adjudicator. I wholeheartedly agree with your directive to maintain a facade of calm and avoid drawing the attention of ordinary citizens."
He walked right up to the Adjudicator, staring directly into her dead, cold eyes.
"But sometimes, the greatest threat to a sanctioned agent comes from the staggering arrogance hidden beneath the surface of that 'ordinary' world."
The Adjudicator stared back at him, her expression a blank slate, silently calculating his angle.
"You cannot judge my loyalty to the High Table based purely on the reports of others," Anthony said softly. "You need context to understand my actions."
"What are you proposing?" the Adjudicator asked.
"I propose that you step down from your ivory tower for an hour," Anthony smiled faintly. "Come take a walk with me."
It was an incredibly abrasive request, bordering on open provocation.
But Anthony had an ulterior motive. [Compensatory Perception] had already warned him that the Continental was currently under heavy surveillance. Gramont's scouts were circling the hotel, likely hoping to catch a glimpse of John Wick.
While Gramont possessed the authority of a High Table proxy, he was still just an ambitious upstart. In the hierarchy of the Table, his standing was vastly inferior to the Adjudicator and the Harbinger.
Anthony wanted to take the two most terrifying symbols of the High Table's authority and parade them through the streets, letting Gramont's spies report back that Anthony Tarasov was seemingly untouchable.
The Adjudicator's eyes remained locked on his face.
"Very well."
Her answer genuinely shocked Anthony.
The Adjudicator was the judicial avatar of the Table. She did not socialize. She did not engage in diplomacy outside of formal hearings. Her only function was to dispense judgment.
So, when Winston and Charon watched Anthony lead the Adjudicator and the Harbinger through the marble lobby of the Continental toward the front doors, they were both struck speechless.
In Winston's worldview, the Adjudicator was essentially a weapon. A weapon didn't get hungry, and it certainly didn't go for casual strolls. And the Harbinger -- a man who timed his conversations with an hourglass -- looked entirely out of place walking behind Anthony like a bodyguard.
Winston blinked, briefly wondering if someone had slipped hallucinogens into his morning tea.
The convoy of armored black SUVs didn't head toward the Michelin-starred restaurants of the Upper East Side.
Instead, they crossed the river, driving deep into the gritty, working-class neighborhoods of Brooklyn, finally pulling to the curb on a chaotic, neon-lit commercial strip.
The sign above the door read Jimmy's BBQ Bar. A string of faded plastic flags hung over the entrance. The heavy thumping of a bassline, the roar of a televised sports game, and the loud, drunk arguments of the patrons spilled out onto the sidewalk.
The Adjudicator stepped out of the SUV. She looked at the greasy storefront, a rare flicker of profound distaste crossing her features.
The Harbinger stepped out behind her. His silver mask betrayed no emotion, but his stiff posture radiated extreme wariness at the unpredictability of the crowd.
Eight High Table Enforcers in plainclothes fanned out, securing a loose perimeter around the group.
"This should do nicely," Anthony said.
He pushed open the heavy, grease-stained glass door. A wave of suffocating heat, smelling violently of stale beer, sweat, and charred meat, washed over them.
"Welcome to the real New York," Anthony smiled.
The Adjudicator stopped in the doorway. For the first time, she looked genuinely hesitant. The filth and chaos of the environment seemed to offend her on a spiritual level.
The Harbinger tilted his head, seemingly fascinated by the sheer volume of human noise inside.
"I know you prefer a sterile environment," Anthony said, looking at the Adjudicator. "But you need to experience this firsthand. You need to understand why I was forced to lay my hands on 'ordinary' people."
"You need to feel the absolute contempt the lower classes hold for the rules you cherish so deeply."
The High Table Enforcers moved into the bar, subtly clearing a path.
The Adjudicator looked like she was trying very hard not to cover her nose. Her entire body was locked in absolute tension.
She had never stepped foot in a place like this in her life.
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