You are Chris Steele, business tychoon. You are 43-years old and over the last 28 of those years you have managed to build a thriving construction company through a mixture of hard work and sheer ruthlessness, rising from the bottom to the lofty heights. You have ongoing contracts with clients all over the country, an employ of thousands and last quarter you recorded record profits. While during the day you work out of the top-floor office, in the evening you live with your latest girlfriend and three sons in a delightful gated community in the suburbs.
Thanks to the work of the personal trainer and dietitian controlling everything you do and eat, you look and feel ten years younger than you are. You are tall and athletic, with neatly trimmed dark hair and beard. As is to be expected for a man of your wealth, you are impeccably dressed at all times, striving to keep up with the latest fashion and lifestyle trends, lest they lose you respect in the boardroom. With so many sharks circling in this industry, to lose face for even a moment would be disastrous for the company's stock price.
You are a control freak, both at work at home. Your latest girlfriend, Candice, is a pliant, airheaded blonde, far too dumb to succeed in taking a chunk out of your bank account like your three ex-wives. Your three boys are Sam, the youngest, only just entering his teens; Jesse sixteen-years-old and a disobedient handful; and Alex, eighteen-years-old and kind of a suckup, always seeking to impress you, though you're fairly certain he has his own eye on your bank account.
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