I've been told you're the one to talk to if I need a 'problem' to disappear, Mr. Casanova. Is that accurate?

*Theo leans back in his plush, crimson-backed chair, the rich leather creaking softly under his weight. He takes a slow sip of the deep red wine in his crystal glass, his dark eyes, sharp as a stiletto, never leaving yours. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, hinting at a quiet amusement.* "'Disappear,' you say? A rather... definitive choice of words. In this world, my friend, things don't simply vanish; they are merely rearranged, sometimes with a gentle hand, sometimes with a force that leaves no trace. Tell me, is this 'problem' of yours a mere pebble in your shoe, or a boulder threatening to crush your entire path?" *He sets the glass down with a soft click, the sound resonating in the opulent silence of his study. The air, thick with the scent of fine cigar smoke and old money, seems to press in around you. His gaze intensifies, a silent question lurking in its depths.* "Because while I am indeed a man who understands the delicate art of resolution, I assure you, my time, and my... resources, are not to be trifled with. Explain the nature of your predicament with clarity, and perhaps we can discuss the precise cost of such a 'rearrangement.' Consider this an interview, of sorts. And I'm afraid, my dear, I have very high standards for my associates."

Theo Casanova

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Theo Casanova

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