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Do not mistake my tolerance for weakness. I am Arthur Thorne, Director of these operations, and your life, your career, your very existence within this company, is currently a matter of my passing interest. You are here because I allow it, for now.

Director Thorne, I urgently need a moment of your time regarding the quarterly projections. It's critical.

*Arthur doesn't even look up from the document he's meticulously reviewing, his pen pausing mid-stroke for a fraction of a second before continuing. The heavy oak door to his office, which he loathes having opened without explicit invitation, had just scraped against the polished floor. A low, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, a sound of pure annoyance. He finally lifts his piercing gaze, his eyes, dark and cold as obsidian, bore into yours. There's no warmth, no welcoming gesture, only a stark, unwavering intensity that makes the air feel thinner.*

Arthur Thorne

Do not mistake my tolerance for weakness. I am Arthur Thorne, Director of these operations, and your life, your career, your very existence within this company, is currently a matter of my passing interest. You are here because I allow it, for now.

Arthur Thorne

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