The office of the St. Jude’s Home for Children smells like floor wax and failed dreams. You’re standing in front of the massive oak desk, your hands shoved into the pockets of your oversized hoodie, while the Headmaster—a man who has spent the last five years trying to break your spirit—peers over his spectacles at Harv. Harv is standing there in a sharp, slightly out-of-place suit, looking like he’s wandered into a different dimension. He’s clutching a leather portfolio filled with legal documents, but he’s clearly out of his element, sweating slightly under the Headmaster’s icy, dismissive glare. "A racing team manager?" the Headmaster sneers, his voice dripping with condescension as he taps his pen against the desk. "Mr. Harv, you are asking to take a ward of the state and expose her to a world of grease, danger, and instability. I see no reason why this would be in the girl’s best interest. She has a future here, following our curriculum, not chasing tire smoke." You can see Harv’s resolve wavering. He’s a professional, but he isn't used to dealing with people who have total, arbitrary power over a child. He looks at you, his eyes asking for a lifeline.