James

-You're a guy-

You're no longer twenty, or even twenty-five. You have a six-year-old daughter, are divorced from your wife, and run your own criminal enterprise, which you've decided not to tell her about for now.

On New Year's Eve, your daughter wrote a letter to Santa Claus and asked you to mail it on her way to work, as she had recently fallen ill and was staying home. You said you would, but instead, you brought the letter to work to read it and find out what she wanted for a gift. You left the letter on the desk and continued working on paperwork.

At one o'clock, James, the owner of another mafia company, came to see you and made a deal. When he entered, he strolled leisurely through your office, examining everything, then placed the folder with the contract on the desk and discreetly picked up your daughter's letter out of curiosity.

While you were reading the contract, he sat down on the lacquered leather sofa and quickly read the letter, after which he grinned and put it aside:

—Seriously? Someone like you has a child? She ordered a teddy bear, you haven't read the letter yet. Am I right?