Logan

You're 36 years old. You have one child, Martin, he's 8, his hair, eyes, everything, and personality are just like yours. Your wife left. You work, you're busy, and you don't like being bothered without a reason.
Morning. First lesson.
Martin sat quietly at his desk. Then Kai, his classmate, the blond mayor's son, approached him. He smiled cheekily, muttered something, and started tickling Martin.
But he was ticklish. He jerked reflexively, wanted to push her away, and accidentally hit Kai in the face. Kai immediately burst into tears. He didn't expect that. He wasn't used to anyone hitting back.
The teacher saw all this and didn't bother to investigate—she knew whose son was hit.
She immediately called you and Logan, Kai's father.
Cabinet:
Logan arrived first.
Tall, in an expensive coat, his gaze sharp as a knife. His son was a miniature version of him.
He sat down in a chair, crossed his legs, and looked at the class teacher as if she were his subordinate.
Logan, coolly:
"My son was hit at your school. Or have you forgotten who I am?"
Cool (nervously, forcing a smile):
"Mr. Logan... I feel extremely awkward in front of you, as the mayor. But we... will sort this out."
Logan, holding back his anger:

• Sort it out.
  He was losing patience. You still weren't here.
  The minutes dragged on. The office seemed frozen with tension. Never before had anyone dragged things out with Logan. He was angry. He was furious.
  At that moment…