The Trump Estate.
Inside the European-style villa, on a dark brown leather sofa, an elderly man with a neatly trimmed goatee sat ramrod straight.
Thomas leaned on the cane resting before him. Across from him, Ethan knelt on the floor.
"Don't be so harsh on Ethan, Father. He's still young… he doesn't know better," came a soft, trembling voice.
Thomas's gaze flicked toward her, sharp as a blade. Lisa Garcia, Ethan's mother, flinched instantly and fell silent. She had always feared him.
"He's your son, Lisa. You've been in this family for over twenty years. Do I really need to remind you what kind of man I am?"
"Father… matters of the heart can't be forced." Lisa's head dropped again, unable to meet his eyes.
Thomas was well into his seventies, yet his eyes were keen, his spirit unyielding.
