Winston specifically emphasized the words bloodline and potential, smoothly attempting to reframe Anthony's status as an illegitimate, estranged son into a highly valuable, usable asset for the High Table.
"Potential?" The Adjudicator's tone and expression were both sub-zero.
It was a display of absolute, unadulterated contempt.
"Rolling in the dirt in Afghanistan, managing to luckily avoid becoming fertilizer, and then returning home to manipulate a retired legend into slaughtering your own brother and your own father—is that what you classify as potential, Mr. Scott?"
Her icy gaze swept over the thick bandages wrapped around Anthony's right arm.
"The High Table should have simply dispatched a proxy Administrator to liquidate the assets. However... it is a matter of record that Viggo Tarasov officially designated you as his heir before his heart stopped. And the High Table respects the dying wishes of its sworn servants."
Anthony leaned back in his wooden chair, a cold, knowing smile playing on his lips.
He remembered this from the films. Adjudicators never voluntarily touched any objects in a room, including chairs. They never sat down.
By remaining standing while speaking to a seated opponent, this vertical physical distance overtly created a psychological courtroom dynamic. She was the judge looking down from the bench; Anthony was the defendant in the dock.
However, beneath his relaxed posture, Anthony's Compensatory Perception was working in overdrive.
He noted that Winston's respiratory rate had subtly increased by three breaths per minute since the Adjudicator started speaking. More importantly, he noticed the Adjudicator's stance had shifted. The angle of her lead foot had pivoted exactly 17 degrees toward the door.
This micro-expression suggested that despite her aggressive, contemptuous dialogue, the Adjudicator actually had an alternative agenda. She wanted to leave quickly, which meant she wanted a deal.
Winston, being a master manipulator, had clearly deduced her true intentions as well, hence his smooth attempt to broker the succession.
Anthony had already pieced together the meta-narrative.
In the original timeline, after Viggo and Iosef died, control of the Tarasov syndicate fell to Viggo's brother, Abram Tarasov (the villain of the opening sequence in John Wick: Chapter 2). Abram was terrified of John Wick and eventually bowed to pressure, becoming one of the very few syndicate bosses in the franchise to make peace with John and survive.
But Abram wasn't here. Viggo had named Anthony.
"So, the High Table wants me to be their puppet?" Anthony lit a cigarette, chuckling through the smoke. "You want me to keep the Tarasov machine running so you can keep collecting your taxes?"
"I apologize. I only learned how to kill people in Afghanistan. They didn't teach a course on how to be a corporate puppet."
"A puppet?" The Adjudicator's voice suddenly dropped an octave, turning somber and dangerous. "It is a cornerstone."
"Viggo Tarasov's ultimate failure stemmed from allowing a personal, senseless hatred to override his operational duties. He wasted vast organizational resources, and he even attempted to fracture the absolute neutrality of the Continental Hotel. And for what? To hunt down a retired target whose past service was still highly respected by the High Table."
"John Wick."
As she said the name, the Adjudicator leaned slightly forward. The sudden, aggressive movement caused the highly sensitive Helen to drop into a crouch, her forelimbs splayed, poised to strike.
A cold glint flashed across Winston's gold-rimmed glasses. "Mr. Tarasov. The High Table does not micromanage family affairs. You would simply be required to occasionally fulfill specific directives from above."
Anthony remained entirely unmoved.
He was beginning to see the shape of the puzzle. The High Table was looking for a specific vulnerability, an angle to exploit.
And Anthony needed an angle of his own to survive this encounter.
"Furthermore, Mr. Tarasov," Winston continued smoothly, playing the bad cop to push the negotiation forward. "The death of Ms. Perkins requires an immediate explanation. Street-camera footage recovered by our cleaners shows you entering her Tribeca apartment building precisely at the time of her murder."
"I killed her," Anthony stated flatly, not bothering to deny it.
The Adjudicator's lips twitched slightly, but she remained silent. She cast a brief, sideways glance at Anthony before returning her icy stare to the growling dog.
Anthony caught that glance. There was a strange, calculating glint in her eyes.
Winston's face stiffened in genuine shock for a fraction of a second before he recovered, taking a deep, steadying breath. "Mr. Tarasov. Do you have any concept of what confessing to that means?"
"That I'm going to be hunted by the High Table?" Anthony chuckled, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Please, Winston. The very fact that an Adjudicator and a Harbinger are standing in my living room today proves that my potential value to the Table far surpasses the life of one dead assassin."
Winston coughed lightly into his fist, shooting a nervous glance at the motionless, masked Harbinger in the corner.
"Let me ask you a question, Mr. Scott," Anthony said, his tone turning sharp. "Where exactly was your legendary Continental security when Ms. Perkins attempted to assassinate John Wick in his bed?"
"The rules explicitly state that no business may be conducted on Continental grounds. Yet, when she kicked in John's door with a suppressed pistol, your hotel security did absolutely nothing to intervene."
Winston frowned deeply. "Are you actively questioning the authority and operational integrity of the High Table?"
"No," Anthony flicked his cigarette ash onto the floorboards. "I'm saying the rules are simply shackles designed to bind the weak."
"Perkins clearly didn't care about the rules," Anthony continued, his eyes locking onto Winston's. "She was sent into the Continental by Viggo Tarasov—a legitimate, High Table-certified employer."
Winston paused, adjusting his glasses. "Viggo was officially eliminated under a Silence Order for violating the Blood River Pact. Ms. Perkins, as his direct operative, was guilty of a capital crime for acting on that illegal order."
Anthony chuckled darkly, a bit of ash falling onto his bandaged arm. "Who gave a mid-tier assassin like Perkins the sheer audacity to break the Continental's absolute rule just to collect a bounty? Let me guess..."
Anthony raised his right hand and slowly traced the shape of a balancing scale in the air with his index finger.
"If someone in a very high place secretly condoned that assassination attempt... does that mean John Wick was already considered a thorn in the High Table's side?"
Anthony shifted his gaze, staring directly into the Adjudicator's pale eyes.
"Let me guess the Table's grand strategy. The High Table intends to use old Blood Oaths, or trumped-up accusations of betrayal, to back John Wick into a corner. You want to isolate him, prevent him from ever forming an independent faction, and then legally hunt him down like a dog. Isn't that right?"
Winston's expression shattered.
He didn't believe for a second that Anthony possessed some massive, shadow intelligence network. He realized that this kid simply possessed a terrifying, almost prophetic level of deductive reasoning.
Anthony's words struck Winston like a physical blow.
Winston's brilliant, strategic mind raced, connecting the dots Anthony had just laid out.
If Iosef was secretly manipulated into provoking John... John retaliates... Viggo intervenes... and Perkins is subtly encouraged to break the rules to kill John... it all made horrifying, perfect sense.
If John had executed Perkins inside the Continental, he would have broken the rules himself. He would have been declared Excommunicado. The High Table could have legally unleashed the entire underworld on John Wick, effectively using Viggo's personal grudge to cleanly eliminate a retired legend they viewed as a loose end.
No wonder John refused to pull the trigger on Perkins in his room, Winston realized with a jolt. John knew. He knew someone was trying to hand the High Table a legal excuse to execute him.
And now, an Adjudicator and a Harbinger had arrived in New York in person...
Cold sweat instantly soaked the back of Winston's tailored shirt. The conspiracy was vastly larger than Viggo Tarasov.
The Adjudicator's left pinky finger trembled—a microscopic tell. "Regardless of your baseless conspiracy theories... you are still an uninitiated civilian who confessed to the illegal execution of a certified High Table member..."
Anthony scoffed loudly, his voice turning to ice. He completely cut her off.
"Winston," Anthony barked, not even looking at the Adjudicator. "Do you honestly think the High Table is going to publicly back a dead assassin who fundamentally broke their most sacred rule by attempting to murder a respected veteran on Continental grounds?"
The Adjudicator's voice dropped to an absolute zero. "Are you threatening the High Table, Mr. Tarasov?"
Winston, desperate to de-escalate the situation before the Harbinger drew his weapon, spoke rapidly. "By executing Perkins, you have forcibly involved yourself in High Table affairs. Your identity is automatically converted to that of an active participant in the underworld. Which means you are subject to the rules."
Anthony reached over and crushed his cigarette out in a cheap glass ashtray. He let out a dark, genuine laugh.
"Alright, Madam Adjudicator. I despise speaking in riddles. Since you went through the trouble of coming to my house, let's lay all our cards on the table and talk business."
The Adjudicator hesitated for a fraction of a second. She shot a sharp, dismissive glance at Winston.
Winston understood immediately. He offered a slight, formal bow, turned on his heel, and exited the house, taking the two remaining Enforcers with him.
The masked Harbinger remained perfectly still in the shadowed corner of the room, never uttering a single sound.
With Winston gone, the Adjudicator faced Anthony directly. Her voice remained rigidly mechanical.
"You will assume control of the Tarasov syndicate. You will become the Patriarch, officially recognized and sanctioned by the High Table."
Anthony reached into his jacket, pulled out the crumpled, bloodstained envelope Viggo had given John, and tossed it onto the coffee table.
"Viggo gave this to John before he died. It contains a list of the syndicate's hidden loyalists and the treacherous captains. Obviously, I could purge the traitors myself. But I believe your Enforcers are far more efficient at sending a message."
Anthony leaned forward. "Clean house for me. Erase the ambitious captains. But leave the loyalists alive to serve me."
He shifted his gaze to the silent, masked figure in the corner. "Mr. Harbinger. I assume you will oversee the purge to ensure it aligns with High Table protocol?"
The Harbinger finally spoke. His voice was deep, heavily synthesized by a modulator in his mask, and entirely devoid of humanity. "It is my sworn duty."
A cold glint flashed in the Adjudicator's eyes. She accepted the terms. "The Enforcers will handle the restructuring of your personnel."
"The Tarasov syndicate currently controls thirty-seven percent of the illegal casino operations on the Eastern Seaboard, and twenty-one percent of the port-side arms trade," she recited flawlessly. "The High Table requires the immediate restabilization of that revenue stream."
Anthony nodded slowly. "I will stabilize your taxes. In exchange, the High Table will not interfere with any further internal family purges I conduct for the next three years. And the Table will absolutely never interfere with my private life."
He locked eyes with her. "And I need to know what the High Table actually expects from me. Save the bureaucratic bullshit about 'maintaining order.' If you're grooming me to be your attack dog against John Wick... I am telling you right now, I am not capable of killing him."
The Adjudicator finally broke her rigid posture, turning her head to look at him fully. For the first time, a sliver of genuine, dark emotion bled into her voice.
"You seem to believe you know everything, Mr. Tarasov."
"I only know what is obvious," Anthony replied calmly. "I know the High Table is deeply paranoid about retired legendary assassins. John Wick isn't the first legend you've tried to preemptively put down. And he certainly won't be the last."
"Perhaps," the Adjudicator said, taking a very slow, measured breath, "you are far more dangerous to the Table's order than John Wick ever was. Perhaps Mr. Scott's recommendation to legitimize you was a catastrophic error."
"But the Harbingers see everything."
She reached into the inner pocket of her austere suit jacket, withdrew a solid gold High Table coin, and placed it precisely on top of Viggo's bloodstained envelope.
"Any foolish, unauthorized action on your part will be viewed as a direct provocation against the High Table."
She turned to leave, pausing in the doorway.
"You would do well to remember, Anthony Tarasov... that whatever power the High Table grants you... we can retract at any time. Including your life."
Read ahead with 70+ chapters now with daily updates!
@patreon.com/Authorizz