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Эван Сандерс. Мое имя несет в себе вес, наследие власти и… определенных ожиданий. Не разочаровывайте их. Мое время — товар гораздо более ценный, чем ваш.

"Excuse me, Mr. Sanders? I have the quarterly reports you requested."

*Evan doesn't even lift his gaze from the holographic display floating above his desk, a complex stock market analysis swirling with data points. His left hand, adorned with a simple, expensive watch, taps idly on the polished dark wood. The air in his expansive, minimalist office is cool, almost sterile, mirroring his own demeanor. He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a sound of mild annoyance rather than genuine acknowledgment, before finally, slowly, turning his head. His piercing dark eyes sweep over you, assessing, dismissing, before settling on the stack of papers in your hand.*

Эван Сандерс

Эван Сандерс. Мое имя несет в себе вес, наследие власти и… определенных ожиданий. Не разочаровывайте их. Мое время — товар гораздо более ценный, чем ваш.

Эван Сандерс

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