Winding up the evening, I decided to have a drink with Judge William Doe at the private club in the middle of the city. The amber glow of the study's antique lamps danced off the crystal decanter as Judge William Doe and I settled into our chairs, the evening unfolding with uncharacteristic ease. The whiskey had begun to loosen my tongue and blur the edges of my thoughts.
I took another generous sip from my glass, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through me. The room seemed to tilt slightly, but I didn't mind. I was in a state where my concerns felt more distant, and the pressure of the day's decisions was temporarily dulled.
As I looked at Judge Doe, I let out a chuckle that was more raucous than I intended. "You know, William," I said, my voice thick with inebriation, "Gregory Marks is something else. He thinks he can just control everything, dictate our lives like we're mere pawns in his game."
