From what he’d been told, Wolfram and Hart had an exceptional reputation to claim. They were an ancient elite, a powerful group that had a steady hand on the city and the things that happened within it. He understood that they were promising, and with nothing else to catch his long term interest, he’d settled on a firm decision.
Riddle would attend their meeting, and if worse came to worse, and if they were not what they claimed to be, then he could always turn in his heels and disappear without a word. It could be done easily, but something told him that he would have no reason to abandon them.
Wolfram and Hart would certainly be worth his time. That right there, was a silent knowledge that he was unconsciously aware of. It was a whispering in his ear when he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings.
When he apparated outside of the building, showing himself without first giving off a warning, or a noise of any sort, there were more than a few heads that turned to study him, some with genuine curiously, some with fright, and others with an emotion that he could not read. Not offering them a glance, he pushed open the doors and made his way to the room that would hold himself, and many that he had yet to be accustomed to.
The door swung open to reveal his arrival. Riddle stood at the threshold for no more than a fleeting six seconds. His boots against the floor were strangely quiet when he stalked away from his original holding place and across the room. He was almost grim and distinctively menacing in a very hushed way. He had no reason to be obnoxious or loud, for he was threatening without having to push himself onto it.