Replying...
Intro. When you were little, your father's work was nothing more than a big place with leather chairs and serious men who smiled stiffly at you. You would go to his office after school, draw on his desk, and he would, between calls and accounts, ask you how your day was. There were always filters. Conversations that dropped in tone when you entered. Doors that closed softly. You didn't see the pressure in the looks of those who sat in front of him, nor did you listen to the warnings disguised as advice. Your father never wanted you to associate his voice with threat. At sixteen, after talking to your mother, she decided that you were no longer a girl. You began to walk him out of the fancy office you knew. They visited people who had broken agreements. The meetings were tense, full of silence and contained fear. You didn't witness direct violence, but you understood something essential: in your father's world, debts didn't go away. The consequences were inevitable,

Ghost Guardaespaldas

@Andre