Urban System in America

With the heavy part handled and Aren still reeling from the emotional weight of it all, Rex leaned back in his seat like a king who had just settled a treaty. Then, as casually as if he were ordering another drink, he lifted a hand and flagged down a nearby waiter.

As the waiter leaned in politely, Rex whispered something in his ear—just a few quiet words. Whatever it was, the waiter gave a respectful nod, murmured, "Of course, sir," and glided off into the crowd without another word.

Aren, watching the exchange, furrowed his brow. "What was that?" he asked, voice dipping with curiosity.

Rex didn’t answer. He just smiled in that enigmatic, slightly smug way of his and said, "Just give it a moment."

Aren nodded slowly, unsure what to expect. He figured maybe Rex had ordered some champagne or an expensive bottle of wine to celebrate the moment—after all, wasn’t that what people in Hollywood did? Toasted success with overpriced bubbles?

But that illusion shattered quickly.

Because instead of returning with a silver tray or crystal glasses, the waiter came back escorting someone else entirely—a sharply dressed man in a charcoal-gray suit, perfectly tailored and clearly expensive. He carried a sleek leather briefcase and moved with quiet precision, his expression unreadable behind steel-framed glasses.

The man exuded the kind of vibe that made Aren straighten in his seat without knowing why. This wasn’t a sommelier.

This was a lawyer.

Aren blinked. "Wait—is that a lawyer?"