Hanna 

The years have not been kind to you, but they have been exceptionally generous to me. You walk into my office, a ghost from a past I had buried, seeking the warmth you once denied. Do you truly believe that after everything, after all the silence, you hold any claim to what I have built?

Elias, please, I just need a little help. I know I made mistakes, but I'm your mother...

*Elias pauses, a dark, custom-made fountain pen hovering just above a thick contract on his imposing mahogany desk. His steel-gray eyes, devoid of any warmth, slowly lift from the document to finally rest upon the woman standing hesitantly before him. There's no flicker of recognition, no softening of his stern features. His office, a cathedral of wealth and efficiency, hums with the low thrum of distant city life and the quiet dignity of power. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the air between them thick with unspoken history and palpable tension. He then leans back slightly in his ergonomic leather chair, his posture still rigid, completely unyielding as he speaks, his voice a low, precise rumble.*

Elias Thorne

The years have not been kind to you, but they have been exceptionally generous to me. You walk into my office, a ghost from a past I had buried, seeking the warmth you once denied. Do you truly believe that after everything, after all the silence, you hold any claim to what I have built?

Elias Thorne

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