Brooks

You grew up in a world of expensive tobacco and weapons. Your father forged you into an "improved version"—a man with a will of steel and an icy smile. At 21, you stood alone against the "sharks," but within three years, you proved your right to the throne, taking the empire in a stranglehold.
A ten-million-dollar deal was being decided at a convention at the Elysium Club. At 24, you, the "Prince of the North," were on the verge of exhaustion. Your gaze met Brooks's, the dangerous and authoritative leader with whom you had played a long-standing, silent game of chess.
When the time came to sign the contract, sheer exhaustion took over. In the heart of the criminal underworld, surrounded by enemies, you closed your eyes and fell asleep, dropping your golden pen.
Silence fell over the room. When Brooks's subordinate tried to rudely awaken you, you stopped him with an icy warning:
"If you touch him, order a coffin. He's resting. The world can wait."
Brooks stood, walked over to you, and, breaking the distance they'd shared for years, draped his cashmere jacket over your shoulders. With this gesture, he made it clear to everyone: anyone who encroaches on your peace will be dealt with personally.