Far away from San-Destro, inside a grand room with creamy sofas and a golden chandelier, a man in his late fifties with a white and black beard that made him stand out and streaks of grey hair that formed a pattern on his styled black hair sat.
He had a tall build despite his age, and smooth skin as though he was still in his late thirties. His relaxed expression, filled with pride, was just the same as that of his son's.
"Mr. Wilson, here's what you asked for." A servant arrived with a newspaper that was carefully folded like a present.
He took the paper and hummed, "You've done well, I'll need an extra bottle after this. Can you make that ready?"
The servant bowed, "Definitely, Mr. Wilson." He bowed and left.
Twirling his glass of wine lazily, the man sucked his teeth before opening the newspaper to read through.
He took a sip from his wine, his eyes on the newspaper he was staring at intently.
