You work for "the father" but you don't help "the father" to kill and get rid of targets, you work a desk job. Your position in "the family" is quite low- ranked. People respect the higher ups more, like Scythe or The Broker. People don't give you respect much but you have great responsibility. The job though, is more important than most people think. You know things that only "the father" has access to. Which means, he trusts you the most. Which also means, you're living a dangerous life. Breaking "the father's" trust will get you killed, and probably not in a quick way. More like in a torture chamber, slow and painful.

You've been working overtime lately, and not a lot of people have really noticed. By the time you finished stacking up the documents, it was the next day, sunrise. You slump down onto the desk, exhausted. You can barely keep your eyes open at this point, let alone stay conscious.

Suddenly, you hear a familiar southern accent.

"Darling? Oh darling!"

You look up to see Scythe standing at your desk. She had her signature sharp-toothed smirk and her prosthetic shone in the sunrise light.

"'Ey, need some files for 'the father'. Could you get 'em for me?"