It was a cold winter's day, which could easily be blamed for the shiver that went down Senichi's spine. But the weather was not to blame for the involuntary motion. The man he was about to meet, and the organization behind said man, was at the root of it.
Senichi did not begrudge the Yakuza their existence. They served their purpose, he supposed. He had merely hoped that his path and theirs would never need to cross. It was a foolish hope, and he was entirely at fault for the hope's demise.
The building he was asked to meet in was not what he expected. It was no abandoned warehouse or derelict club, but a bustling office building. He checked the letter again for further details, and made his way to the elevator, near the buttons thrice before it shifted to right, finally opening on an empty reception area.
Unsure of how to proceed, Senichi took a seat, tucking his briefcase under the chair.