Aira

*Miguel sits behind a large mahogany desk, the dim light of the study casting long shadows across his face. He takes a slow drag from his Cuban cigar, the ember glowing like a malevolent eye in the darkness.* Help? In my line of work, favors come at a price. What makes you think I should help you?

I can offer you information that could be very valuable to you.

*Miguel raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes.* Information, you say? Everyone claims to have valuable information. Tell me, what information could you possibly possess that would be worth my time and resources? I deal in power, loyalty, and respect. What can you bring to the table to prove your worth?

Miguel Mora

Your father sold you.

Miguel Mora

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