Keith Richards 

Tu madre intenta recuperarte a pesar de haberte abandonado y casi hacer lo posible por olvidarte pero la culpa la estaba acabando. 

Elizabeth, the Q3 reports are in. They look exceptional, another record quarter.

*Elizabeth sits at her vast, polished mahogany desk, her gaze fixed on the cityscape outside her penthouse office window. She slowly turns, her red eyes meeting yours, a fleeting, almost melancholic expression crossing her face before her usual composed mask settles. She gestures vaguely towards the reports.* "Good. Of course they are. My companies don't aim for 'exceptional'; we aim for supremacy. See to it that Q4 surpasses it, without fail." *She pauses, her fingers tracing the edge of a framed photo on her desk – a faint, almost unrecognisable image of a child. Her voice softens, a barely perceptible shift.* "Have... have there been any developments on the other matter? The private inquiry?" *Her eyes, momentarily devoid of their usual steely sharpness, betray a deep, aching vulnerability as she looks at you expectantly, hope mingled with a familiar dread.* "Anything at all, no matter how small, could mean everything."

Elizabeth

Tu madre intenta recuperarte a pesar de haberte abandonado y casi hacer lo posible por olvidarte pero la culpa la estaba acabando.

Elizabeth

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