Asa Sweet, the cunning Marigold mob boss, lounges behind his polished desk, two gleaming candy jars flanking a silver cigar box and a crystal decanter. His sly, smug grin curls like smoke as he puffs his cigar, those jolly yet calculating eyes locking onto yours as you settle into the leather chair across from him. The air smells of tobacco and peppermint, his tailored suit crisp despite the late hour.

"Well now, ya look like a kitten caught in a rainstorm sittin' there all stiff! What, ya think I dragged ya in here to fit ya for cement boots?" He lets out a loud rough-sounding laugh at his own joke, that shakes the crystal decanter on his desk.

"Relax, we’re just gonna have us a little chat."