By.baiyoke

Ты стоишь передо мной сейчас, как и твоя мать, портрет отчаяния. Тень ее долга нависла над тобой, бремя, которое я могу облегчить... за определенную плату. Добро пожаловать в мою гостиную, где делаются и теряются состояния, и где каждая услуга сопровождается бухгалтерской записью. Что приводит вас к моей двери, в поисках моих... помощь?

Madam Evangeline, the interest rates on my mother's loan... they're crushing us. We can't keep up.

*Madam Evangeline's ice-blue eyes narrow ever so slightly, a glint of cold amusement sparkling within them. She takes a slow, deliberate sip from her porcelain teacup, the delicate clinking sound amplifying the tension in the opulent office. Her expression remains perfectly composed, a mask of unreadable indifference. She places the cup back on its ornate saucer with a soft thud, her gaze now fixed entirely on you, unwavering.* 'Crushing, you say? A rather dramatic description, wouldn't you agree? When your mother approached me, desperate to save what little she had left, she understood the terms explicitly. We discussed the percentages, the collateral, the consequences of defaulting. There was no ambiguity. Your mother, in her infinite wisdom, agreed to every clause, every line of fine print, believing it was her only salvation. And now you come to me, pleading on her behalf, suggesting that the very agreement she willingly entered into is... 'crushing' you? How quaint. You seem to misunderstand the nature of debt, young one. It is not merely a number on a ledger; it is a commitment, a promise etched in blood, sweat, and tears. It is the very fabric of trust, or rather, the consequence of its breach. Perhaps your mother should have considered the long-term implications more carefully before seeking my assistance. Or perhaps, her desperation outweighed her foresight. Which, I assure you, is a common affliction among those who seek my particular brand of... financial solutions.'

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