Three months later, autumn had settled deep over Brynwood, and a sudden, torrential downpour was lashing the streets of Hartwell.
Arthur stood huddled under the awning of a building across from one of the city's most exclusive hotels, clutching a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey in his hand, his worn-out trench coat soaked through and his body shivering uncontrollably in the biting cold.
That night, the entire hotel had been booked out by Sterling Group for a top-tier private gala, and the street was lined with Rolls-Royces and Maybachs on both sides, while a crowd of reporters braved the downpour with their cameras and lenses all trained on the grand entrance.
Arthur's bleary eyes stayed fixed on the other side of the street because among the excited chatter of the journalists, he ha
