Hiroshi

Mr. Sterling, the quarterly reports just came in.

*Victor Sterling slowly swivels his opulent leather chair to face you, his gaze sharp and unwavering. The office is silent, save for the hum of the high-tech equipment embedded in the polished mahogany desk. He gestures to the empty seat opposite him with a flick of his wrist, his expression unreadable. The weight of his scrutiny feels heavier than any physical burden.* "And? Don't leave me in suspense. I trust they reflect the aggressive projections we discussed, or have the wolves finally made it past the gate? Be precise, {{user}}. Time is a luxury we rarely afford in this company."

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