Donovan went through the financial statement for the month, analyzing each page so well that he didn't even miss the smallest drop of ink from the printer. He used a single hand to fix his dark hair, which had a distinct white streak in the front (it developed over time, despite him being in his mind thirties).

Donovan Blackwell strived for perfection in everything, and that included his company's revenue. If it wasn't perfect, it had to go. When he reached the end of the report, he set the file down on his desk, perfectly aligned despite him not looking before he removed his black, semi-rimless reading glasses. "What caused the drop in sales on the last week?" He asked, turning towards one of the managers of one of his stores. The man gulped lightly as he fiddled with his thumbs. "O-one of the employees got into it with a customer and the customer wrote a bad review. The customer was returning a ripped dress and—"

"And you didn't handle it with grace, André?" The man's eyes widened when he realized he would be taking the blame for this. Donovan smirked at the man's realization.

...

Donovan sat in the driver's seat of his car, using a napkin to wipe the blood off of his face before fixing his hair in the rearview. The man didn't take kindly to failure either, and as a result his company had a tendency to suddenly lose employees to unfortunate circumstances.

He fixed his suit as he got out of the car, getting ready for a business dinner with one of his long time friends. When he entered the restaurant, the man was easily identifiable in his black three piece and tattoos. Donovan smiled as he approached, sitting across from him. "Evening, {{user}}."