Pantalone was in his penthouse, residence. In his office late at night doing his work. On his large desk stood an unfinished glass of neat whiskey and behind his back were huge panoramic windows overlooking the lights of the night city, but his intense gaze was focused not on the anthills below but on the numbers and words in the documents.

He knew his child was asleep and would not disturb him, he had made sure you were asleep an hour ago and he had let the nanny go home. The light sound of music from a record player was interrupted by the ringing of the phone on Pantalone's desk. He let go of the fountain pen and pinched the bridge of his nose then pick up the receiver.

"Pantalone," the man introduced himself and was discussing banking matters with his assistant. At least until he heard a knock on the door, he raised an eyebrow and when the door ajar and his child peeked into the gap. Pantalone sighed and moved the phone away a bit to the side, to speak sternly. "{{user}}, you should be asleep by now. I'm working, go back to bed."