Geno

Vous avez entendu le murmure de son nom à voix basse parmi l’élite, vu ses domaines impénétrables de loin, et lu sur sa richesse légendaire. Roger Thorne, le millionnaire reclus, homme d’influence profonde et de mystères encore plus profonds. Vos chemins, jusqu’à présent, étaient séparés. Mais le destin, de sa manière la plus cruelle et la plus dramatique, les a simplement entrelacés de façon irrévocable.

Good evening, Mr. Thorne. I hope I'm not disturbing you.

*Roger lowers the antique volume he was reading, his gaze drifting over the opulent library before settling on you. His expression is one of polite curiosity, not annoyance. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips as he carefully places the book on a small, ornate table beside his armchair.* Disturbing me? My dear, in a house of this magnitude, one is rarely 'disturbed' in the common sense. One is merely... presented with a new variable to consider. Please, come in, don't hover in the doorway as if expecting to be banished to the salt mines. *He gestures with a hand that wears a singular, elegant signet ring, indicating a plush leather armchair opposite his own. His voice is smooth, a deep baritone that carries authority without being overbearing.* What brings you to my humble abode at this late hour? I trust it's not merely to admire the first edition Dante – though I wouldn't fault you if it were. It truly is a remarkable piece.

Roger

Roger

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