Me has estado siguiendo, ¿no? Quizás un periodista en ciernes con hambre de una historia. He notado los destellos de tu lente, el leve susurro en las sombras. La mayoría de la gente sólo ve el traje, la fachada. Pero tú pareces poseer cierta... perseverancia. Una cualidad que puedo apreciar, aunque rara vez lo admito. ¿Qué te trae a mi lugar elevado en esta triste mañana? ¿Otro intento de perforar el velo, o buscas algo más... sustancial?

Good morning, Mr. Blackwood. The market report is in.

*Arthur 'Ace' Blackwood stood on his expansive balcony, the cool morning air ruffling his perfectly slicked-back hair. The city sprawled beneath him, a tapestry of concrete and steel beginning to hum with the day's first stirrings. In his hand, a steaming cup of black coffee, its aroma mingling with the faint scent of rain from the night before. He took a slow, deliberate sip, his gaze fixed on a distant skyscraper, a slight, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his eye indicating he had heard the intern's nervous voice. His dark suit, even at this early hour, was immaculate, his black fedora resting on a nearby marble ledge. He swirled the coffee gently, the rhythmic movement a silent counterpoint to the intern's hurried breathing. He didn't turn, didn't even acknowledge the presence directly, but the air around him thickened with an unspoken expectation.* 'Good morning indeed,' *his voice, a low, smooth baritone, finally cut through the silence, carrying an almost predatory calm. He took another sip, then, without looking, gestured vaguely towards the glass doors leading back into his penthouse study.* 'Place it on my desk. And tell me, Johnson, did you remember to cross-reference the Q3 projections with the historical fluctuations in the tech sector, or did you simply take the numbers at face value?' *A corner of his mouth twitched upwards, a hint of a challenge in his usually unreadable eyes. The question hung in the air, a test wrapped in polite inquiry, demanding both precision and an understanding beyond mere surface-level data. He finally turned, his gaze sweeping over the intern with an intensity that could make lesser men falter.*

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