MacLaren's Pub — 8:45 PM
The air inside MacLaren's was thick—part overpriced scotch, part desperation, part the faint tang of ambition. Overhead lights cast soft halos on dark wood. The crowd chattered in waves of laughter, gossip, and the occasional clink of glassware. It was a battlefield disguised as a social arena.
In the corner booth, a separate circle of friends—Ted, Marshall, and Lily—occupied their own small universe. But Mike Ross wasn't here for their sitcom drama. His eyes were locked on a man in a charcoal suit performing a sleight-of-hand trick with a laser pointer, entirely unaware that danger had just taken a seat behind him.
Barney Stinson.
Mike's stride into the pub was deliberate, measured, predator-like. Each step cataloged the room: two plainclothes cops at the bar—likely Reagan associates keeping tabs—, a corporate fixer in the back booth scanning the crowd for leverage, and Barney, mid-"suit up" attempt, completely blind to the trap he was walking into.
Mike slid into the seat directly behind Barney. He didn't wait for an introduction.
"The 'Lorenzo Von Matterhorn' play?" Mike's voice dropped into a smooth baritone, low and confident. "Really, Barney? In 2026—or even 2010—the digital footprint for a fake billionaire takes approximately twelve seconds to debunk. She's already googling the SEC filings. You're about to be slapped."
Barney spun around, eyes wide, a mix of shock and awe painting his face. "Who are you? And how do you know the sacred texts of the Playbook?"
"I'm the guy who's going to save you from the six-month harassment suit that woman is currently recording on the phone in her clutch," Mike said. He leaned back, scanning the pub like a chess master. "She's not a mark, Barney. She's a corporate spy for Altman & Associates. They want leverage on your 'P.L.E.A.S.E.' position at work."
Previous Life Wisdom:
"In the old days, if a guy in a suit approached you with a smile, you checked for a wire. In this town, if a guy approaches you with a 'play,' you check for a process server. Never assume the girl at the bar is looking for love; assume she's looking for a settlement."
Barney paled, the veneer of his "legendary" persona cracking. "Wait… P.L.E.A.S.E. is… I just provide… legal exculpation! I'm innocent!"
Mike didn't flinch. He stood, adjusted his tie, and approached the woman in the red dress with the stillness of a predator stalking prey. His presence alone radiated authority—an invisible gravity pulling the narrative toward him.
"Miss Vance," he whispered, leaning just enough to assert dominance without intimidation. "The digital recorder in your clutch is a violation of New York's one-party consent laws in a private business meeting under certain precedents I'm currently inventing on the spot. But more importantly—if you don't leave now—I'll have Commissioner Reagan's office review your firm's recent offshore 'consulting' fees. I have the files. My neighbor is a physicist; he finds things in the cloud that don't want to be found."
The woman's face went ghost-white. Her purse trembled in her hand. Without a word, she bolted toward the exit, leaving behind the scent of expensive perfume and terror.
Barney blinked, then laughed, half hysterically, half in relief. "That was… wait for it… magical! You just 'lawyered' a lawyer! Who are you, some kind of suit-wearing ninja?"
Mike's smile was calm, calculated. "I'm Mike Ross. I work for Harvey Specter, but I operate for myself. I need a network, Barney. Names, dirt, social access—the only intel you can give me comes from your lack of morals and complete disregard for personal consequences."
"A… partnership? A Wingman-ship? A Law-ship?" Barney asked, eyes sparkling with renewed excitement. "I love it! Let's get a drink. Suit up, Mike!"
Mike smirked. "I'm already suited up, Barney. I've been suited up since before you were born."
By the end of the night, Mike had not only neutralized a corporate spy, he had also secured his first "social asset." Barney Stinson was now more than a man-child comic relief—he was Mike Ross' unofficial information broker. In exchange, Mike promised legal shield and guidance for Barney's high-stakes shenanigans.