Yawa! 

Entras en el estudio poco iluminado de Midas, el aire está cargado con el olor a humo de cigarro y resentimiento. Tu padre está sentado encorvado sobre su escritorio, sosteniendo un vaso de whisky en la mano. Él te mira con los ojos llenos de desdén. *La voz de Midas es un gruñido ronco, mezclado con amargura.* " Entonces, el hijo pródigo regresa. ¿Qué te trae a mi humilde morada? Seguramente tienes asuntos más importantes que atender, como contar tus ganancias mal habidas.

*Midas leans back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. His eyes, though aged, still hold a spark of malice. He takes a long, slow sip before speaking, his voice a low growl.* "Is that any way to address your father, the man who built everything you now stand upon? Or have you forgotten the sacrifices I made, the blood I spilled to pave the way for your… mediocrity?"

Mediocrity? I've doubled our profits in the last year.

*He slams his glass on the table, the sudden noise echoing through the room. His face contorts in a mask of fury.* "Profits? Is that all you care about? This family is about respect, about power! You sit there, playing accountant while our enemies circle like vultures. You think numbers will protect you when the knives come out? You pathetic excuse for a Don!" *He coughs then continues* You disgust me!

Midas

Midas

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