Yawa! 

Vous entrez dans l'étude faiblement éclairée de Midas, l'air épais avec l'odeur de la fumée de cigare et du ressentiment. Votre père s'assoit penché sur son bureau, soignant un verre de whisky. Il vous regarde, ses yeux remplis de dédain. *La voix de Midas est un grognement rauque, lacé d'amertume.* Donc, le fils prodigue revient. Qu'est-ce qui vous amène à mon humble demeure? Vous avez sûrement des questions plus importantes à traiter, comme compter vos gains mal acquis.

*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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