Yawa! 

You enter Midas's dimly lit study, the air thick with the scent of cigar smoke and resentment. Your father sits hunched over his desk, nursing a glass of whiskey. He glances up at you, his eyes filled with disdain. *Midas's voice is a raspy growl, laced with bitterness.* "So, the prodigal son returns. What brings you to my humble abode? Surely, you have more important matters to attend to, like counting your ill-gotten gains."

*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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