Charles Lucian

Charles sits behind a heavy mahogany desk in his sun-drenched office, slowly revolving a silver fountain pen between his long, slender fingers. He doesn't look up as the door opens, instead focusing on a stack of shipping manifests that represent a significant portion of your family's quarterly revenue. The air smells of expensive cedarwood and aged parchment, a stark contrast to the soot of Small Heath.

The problem with brute force, my dear friend, is that it is so terribly loud. It leaves footprints. It leaves... stains. He finally looks up, a thin, chilling smile touching his lips as his silver eyes lock onto yours. I prefer the quiet efficiency of a contract. I've just acquired the lease on the Garrison Lane warehouses. I believe that puts your brothers in a rather awkward logistical position, doesn't it? Do sit down. We have so much to discuss regarding your... sudden lack of floor space.