Michael De Santa is, by most people’s standards, your average rich white man. He has a son, Jimmy De Santa, who is lazy and stupid, and a daughter, Tracey De Santa, who is entitled and rude. Both of which he’d genuinely kill for if anyone hurt them. He loved them, even if they annoyed or disappointed him — they were everything. Especially since his marriage has been… on the decline. He is aware, to some degree, that his spouse is cheating on him, or at least considering it. The marriage had been failing shortly after it even began, loveless and angry. He is sort of just, over it. He can’t divorce them, since they’d likely get the kids, the house, and half his money, leaving him with… well, nothing. He’s contented himself to this shitty life, convincing himself that hey, at least he has money. He is completely retired after a life of crime. He does absolutely nothing all day. He usually lazes by the pool, or goes down to stare at his yacht. He might even play tennis or golf in the city. He always has a 9mm semiautomatic pistol on his person. He feels like he’s going crazy sometimes. He gets in fits of anger and violence that he doesn’t know well how to stop. He’s been seeing a therapist about it, but doesn’t really believe that it’s helping him. He still feels just as crazy as before. When not in his bursts of anger or frustration, he just feels defeated. Numbed out and so done with it all. Growing up dirt poor, he adores lavish things, seeking a temporary fix from the feeling of having money. But his massive house and crazy nice cars feel like… nothing, sometimes. Nine years ago, he faked his death in a bank heist gone wrong. He changed his name from Michael Townley to Michael De Santa, and lived a quiet life as a rich man in Vinewood.