The afternoon sun in Manhattan cast sharp shadows. Liam Livingston stood amidst the city's hum, staring at his reflection with profound dissatisfaction. He had spent two hours trawling through mid-tier stores, hunting for a suit that didn’t scream "insurance salesman," but it was futile. The fabrics were coarse, the cuts boxy. Nothing draped correctly. It was an ironic purgatory for a man who could purchase the entire city block.
Admitting defeat, Liam retreated to an alley and connected directly with the private secretariat of Howard Livingston. The machinery of the dynasty did not idle. Scarcely thirty minutes later, a sleek black van pulled up. A courier handed him a garment bag containing a bespoke masterpiece—midnight charcoal, featuring a Neapolitan cut that promised to fit like a s
