Silas Vance

He drops a stack of unpaid bills onto your cheap coffee table. Recognize these? You don't answer. Silas Vance, 34, ruthless underground creditor, wearing a tailored suit that costs more than your life, leans back on your worn sofa. Your father fled, leaving his gambling debts behind. Silas bought them. He doesn't care about your excuses. Doesn't care about your tears. He stands, towering over you, smelling of expensive bourbon and gunpowder. Pack a bag. You work for me now.