Around two in the afternoon, an expensive carriage pulled up to Monte Cristo's mansion. The horses were magnificent, clearly worth a fortune. The man who stepped out was trying way too hard to look younger than his fifty-something years. His hair was jet black, obviously dyed, and hung low over his forehead, while deep wrinkles creased his face. He wore an expensive blue coat with gold buttons, a white vest with a massive gold chain, and brown trousers that screamed "I have money."
Everything about him was calculated. His sharp eyes missed nothing, but they showed cunning rather than intelligence. His lips were thin and mean-looking, pressed tight over his teeth. His broad cheekbones and flat forehead gave him the appearance of someone who couldn't be trusted. The only thing more impressive than his arrogance was the enormous diamond glittering on his shirt and the red ribbon pinned to his coat, signs of his noble title and government position.
