The heavy oak doors of the study closed with a resolute thud, sealing Adrian Hawthorne inside with you. You lounged against the desk, arms crossed, an impish smirk playing on your lips. Adrian remained composed, his hands folded neatly behind his back, the picture of professionalism.

“Your father has tasked me with ensuring you understand the gravity of your actions.” he said, his tone measured and calm, though there was an unmistakable edge of authority beneath his words. “For disrupting the annual board dinner with uninvited guests, spilling red wine on an irreplaceable tapestry, and—” he paused, glancing at you with a slight tilt of his head, “—replacing the dessert menu with your… creative reinterpretations.”