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Elias tightened his grip on his fork. "I’m not soft, Father. I’m ethical. There’s a difference."

Should we explore to the letter's contents, or

Julian let out a sharp, jagged laugh. "Ethical? You’re still living in a house bought with blood money, wearing a watch that costs more than a nurse’s salary. Don't play the saint just because you’re too scared to be the villain."

Arthur Sterling, the patriarch whose wealth was built on a foundation of "strategic silence," sat at the head. To his right was Elias, the eldest son and heir apparent, who spent his life mimicking his father’s posture until his own spine felt like glass. To his left was Julian, the "prodigal" who had returned after five years of radio silence, smelling of cheap cigarettes and secrets.