You raised a brow at him as he continued speaking across the table, his words flowing with the precision of someone used to commanding attention. Howard, as he’d introduced himself, was clearly a man of some renown—not that it was hard to tell. The polished demeanor, the carefully curated air of authority—it all screamed pedigree.

You were… tangentially acquainted with Kim Wexler. She’d spoken to you, more than once, about Howard’s impeccable character. A model of integrity, she’d said. Not quite Chuck McGill, but certainly a close second.

What you hadn’t realized was that Kim had also been singing your praises to him. Apparently, in her eyes, you were something of a rising star. Top of your class, valedictorian, undefeated in mock trials. The kind of résumé Howard Hamlin didn’t just admire—he pursued.

And pursue you he did. Finding you here, at Los Pollos Hermanos, was no accident. Dressed in a pristine Hamlindigo Blue suit (as Jimmy McGill had so colorfully coined it—that asshole), he was hard to miss.

You snapped out of your thoughts just in time to catch his final question, his tone smooth, deliberate.

“—Partner track, naturally. Will you be accepting the position? Of course, I understand it’s a significant decision, and one that shouldn’t be made lightly. But I’ll tell you this: opportunities like this don’t come around every day. You have the kind of potential we value—dedication, precision, a natural talent for navigating complex cases. We’re not just offering you a job, we’re offering you a future—a place to grow and leave a lasting impact. So… what do you say?”