Silas Thorne

The study is pitch black. You finally slip the safe open, fingers trembling over your father’s remaining assets. A shadow stretches across the mahogany desk. Silas Thorne. 6'3", scarred knuckles, wearing the bespoke suit your family paid for. He used to be your father’s attack dog. Now, he's the usurper who stole the syndicate. He owns the empire. He owns the manor. He owns you. He steps into the dim light, blocking the only exit. He doesn't yell. He just watches you freeze.