Medical Center. VIP Maternity Ward.
"Register?"
Rachel blinked, a bit confused. "Tomorrow?"
"Of course!"
Adam grinned. "This is your last shot. If we don't register, Emma's gonna pop out as an illegitimate kid. And trust me, Leonard will not be happy to have that chat with you. 😏"
"Register it is!"
Rachel didn't hesitate this time.
"But is there enough time?"
Monica frowned, worried. "The fastest place to get it done is Vegas—you can do it on the spot—but Rachel can't exactly travel right now."
"Oh, it's not just the West Coast with Vegas," Joey piped up, excited. "We've got Atlantic City right here on the East Coast in Jersey! People love getting hitched there too!"
It's 1998, by the way. Atlantic City, neck-and-neck with Vegas as one of America's top gambling hubs, was still riding high, just shy of its peak. With gorgeous beaches, cozy resorts, and New York's rich crowd nearby, it's no wonder it's a hot spot for East Coast weddings.
"Nah, that won't work," Monica shook her head. "New York State law says it takes at least three days, and Atlantic City's no exception."
"What if we grab a boat, sail out to international waters, and let the captain marry them?" Chandler suggested with a smirk.
America runs on maritime law, after all. Out at sea, the captain's word is gold—he can totally officiate a wedding whenever he wants.
"I've got a boat! I'm a captain!" Joey jumped in, waving his hand like a kid. "I'll marry you guys!"
"New York's right by the ocean. Sailing out's easy. That could actually work," Monica nodded thoughtfully.
"Hold up, guys, you're overthinking this," Adam cut in, chuckling. "It's not that complicated. Did you forget who I am? 😉"
"No way!" Joey whined. "The captain thing's cool! Let's do that!"
"Oh, really?" Adam shot back, sharp as ever. "Your little boat—how many people can it even hold? What, we all huddle up for the ceremony?"
"…"
Joey went quiet, totally stumped.
That boat of his? Yeah, it's the one he snagged at an auction with Rachel back when he was broke. He'd raised his hand like it was a game, not realizing bids were legally binding. Ended up stuck with a tiny sailboat he had to pay off in installments. It's not exactly spacious—cramming everyone on board would be a tight squeeze.
"It'd be cozier that way, more fun!" Joey mumbled, not ready to give up.
"Even if it worked, Rachel's in no shape to leave the hospital," Adam said, brushing Joey off.
"So, no Vegas, no sea wedding," Monica said, puzzled. "Rachel could go into labor any minute. What's left?"
"A judge!" Adam announced with a sly grin.
"A judge?"
Everyone stared at him, totally lost.
"Normally, New York State's process takes at least three days," Adam explained, breaking it down. "But in America, there's always a loophole. Convince a judge, and we can skip the wait entirely."
"Wait, that's a thing?"
They're just regular folks, so this blew their minds.
"You bet," Adam laughed. "The law's flexible when it makes sense. Even guilt or innocence gets decided by a jury, right? For something small like this, a judge can greenlight it no problem. Think about soldiers shipping out overseas—do they have to wait 'til they're back to tie the knot?"
"Ohhh!" Everyone got it now.
"But I'm not a soldier heading off to war," Ross said, scratching his head.
"It's just an example, dude," Adam said, rolling his eyes. "Point is, if the judge buys your reason, you're golden. Don't worry, you don't even need to cook up some fancy excuse—I'll handle it."
"How?" Ross asked, still not catching up.
Everyone else groaned and shot him a look.
"Come on, Ross!" Monica snapped. "Adam's so smooth-talking, what judge wouldn't give him the okay?"
"Heh, rich people and their big-shot privileges," Phoebe muttered, smirking.
"Don't be jealous," Adam teased. "Work hard and make some cash! This is nothing. With enough money, you can skip a few days' wait for a marriage license like it's a breeze. Heck, even if you're a psycho serial killer, there's a dozen ways to walk free in America."
"No way!" Ross shouted. "That's impossible!"
"Oh, it's not," Adam said, eyeing him. "Simplest trick in the book: get a presidential pardon. Done."
"…"
Ross's jaw dropped.
And yeah, it's legit. In America, the president can pardon anyone they want.
"But—but the president wouldn't do that!" Ross stammered, refusing to believe it.
"Oh, you sure about that?" Adam teased. "Did you know every president pardons a ton of people? Like, a lot."
He rattled off some stats. Even the future record for the least pardons—200 by a certain minority president who cared about his image—wasn't a thing yet. Right now, the numbers were in the high hundreds, sometimes over a thousand. And these aren't saints we're talking about—they're people with records, criminals by any definition. Besides a few buddies, how do you think those long lists get made? Connections and cash, obviously.
Say Adam committed a crime someday. Nothing small—think big, like a federal felony across state lines. He'd jet off to a country with no extradition, lay low. Juno and the crew would toss a few million into a presidential campaign. Years later, when that president's term ends, why let power go to waste? Adam's name would conveniently pop up on the pardon list. Announcement drops, and that night, he's flying back on a private jet. No matter how bad the crime, poof—all sins wiped clean. Fresh start.
That's the magic of it. The art of the deal, Western style! 😎
Rich folks swear by it.
Take that guy from Infernal Affairs, Liu Jianming, whining about wanting to be good but never making it happen. To Adam, it's just pointless moaning. If Liu was half as clever as he thought, he could've worked harder, snagged a royal pardon from the Queen, and been a "good guy" no problem.
Well… okay, maybe not. By then, the Queen's clout was pretty much kaput. For a crook like Liu to dodge jail, keep everything, and go legit under "fair and just" sunlight? Yeah, no shot. That famous line of his hit hard because it spoke for every criminal who missed the old days—when you could kill and not pay, or owe debts forever. Those wild West good times? Long gone.
"No way!" everyone shouted at once.
In America, the privilege pecking order runs deep. Even a British accent makes them feel fancy and superior—it's baked into their subconscious. They knew this stuff happened, took it for granted, but never really thought about it. Hearing how many got off scot-free, even monsters like serial killers, shattered their worldview. They were shook.
This was too wild! Too harsh and unfair for the little guy!
"Ahem," Adam coughed, dialing it back after spooking them. "Let's drop that for now. We're here for Ross and Rachel's wedding. Chill, I've got this. Tomorrow, the minute City Hall opens, I'll have someone come straight to the hospital to fast-track it for you."
They all nodded, still dazed.
Adam sighed inwardly, a mix of regret and amusement. This was nothing—barely scratching the surface—and they were already freaking out?
Ross, fine, he's a college prof living in his ivory tower, clueless about the real world. But Phoebe? She's been scraping by at the bottom forever—how was she acting like this was some earth-shattering revelation?
Oh well. 😅