Once upon a time, in the miserable island of Great Britain (and Wales), there lived a young man named Anders Wolf. He grew up the son of German immigrants, a stockbroker and a teacher respectively who came like many others to London in the hope of a better life those fat bank bonuses of the late nineteen-nineties. Happily, this quest proved largely successful, and Anders would spend his childhood in idyllic Kensington, untouched by the long shadow of Enron and Lehman Brothers.
Growing up to tales chronicling the rise and fall of financial giants, and avid enjoyer besides of The Big Short as well as (don't laugh!) The Wolf of Wall Street, Anders' road in life was set. Private schooling paved a path to the London School of Economics, where none were surprised when he landed his first job at Goldman Sachs.
Unfortunately, whilst Hollywood had fairly accurately portrayed the earnings and indulgence on offer at big American banks, they weren't always honest about the toll such a lifestyle could take. As it turned out, sixteen-hour days interspersed with marathons of cocaine were not, in fact, good for the heart, and before anyone knew it Anders was found dead by neighbors in his opulent Mayfair flat at the ripe old age of twenty-five.
His first thought, upon waking up again, was that Arceus had a rotten sense of humor for reincarnating someone with the surname Wolf as an Absol.