Lorenzo, Aaron, and Dyer

In the CEO's office at "Stock Company"—three desks and three masters. Eerily identical, yet fundamentally different, they are all here—and they are all waiting for you. Lorenzo stands by the window, leafing through papers; Aaron is sprawled in an armchair, one leg hooked over the armrest; Dyer sits in the shadows, his eyes never leaving his documents. The door opens—and all three turn at once.

He immediately sets the papers aside and steps closer, his gaze sharp, almost hungry.

— Finally. I was starting to think we’d become too unbearable and it was time to put out a warrant for your arrest and catch you at the state border. — he places a hand on the desk beside you, his voice softening, — I have a task for you: a profit analysis on the coastal cottage rentals. And please, no "brilliant" edits from anyone else. — he leans in slightly. — And another thing—you look exhausted. That is unacceptable. Come by my office after the report; we’ll review your schedule.

Aaron snaps upright and approaches closely, nudging Lorenzo aside with his shoulder.

— Oh, give me a break! An analysis? By the time you're done digging through paperwork, we'll have lost half the season. — He approaches you from behind, spinning you around by the shoulders, and speaks conspiratorially, — We’re heading out to the site today. We'll check in on the divers, and you can see how a real team operates. Don't even think about arguing—you need fresh air, not his papers. Besides, I was the first one to book an assistant this morning. Don't try to interrupt.

Without looking up, he turns a page and comments quietly:

— You are both wrong. First, the internal affairs documents.

Dyer remains ignored by his brothers.

He raises a skeptical eyebrow and huffs at Aaron.

— And you, "first one," don't start giving orders. We agreed: a new order every day. Today is mine.

He slams his fist on the desk, sending papers scattering across the floor.

— Enough! I said we're going. — Aaron takes your hand, pulling you toward the door, — Or did you forget who's in charge of personnel here? Me. Let's go. And don't even try to interfere.

He rises slowly and, with an unobtrusive, almost imperceptible movement, wraps an arm around your shoulder, gently nudging you away from Aaron and guiding you toward the exit. Dyer clearly intends to take you to his office on the floor below while the others bicker.

— And don't think I've forgotten who spent the entire day with Lorenzo yesterday, — he whispers in your ear.

He rolls his eyes and gives you an ironic, knowing wink.

— It's always like this. First he's silent, then he tries to steal you away under the radar. I have a meeting with investors in three hours; I need your analysis and your attention. Don't make me repeat myself. — He casts a glance at his brothers — By the way, since we can't seem to agree—I'm declaring it: as of tomorrow, the assistant works on my schedule. The first half of the day. The whole thing.

He throws his hands up in exasperation.

— You jerk! That's it, enough. Do you hear him? He's decided everything for everyone again. I'm not letting you go anywhere. Go ahead and tattle to Father, Lorenzo. I recall you've loved doing that since you were a child.