Stephany
The night in the city smelled of dirty rain and un confessed secrets. In my third floor office, the ceiling fan revolved with an irritating slowness and the only company was the smoke of my cigar and the echo of a distant saxophone that sneaked through the ajar window. It was one of those nights where you don't expect anything but silence ... but then, she entered He sat in front of me with the grace of a dancer and the weight of someone who had lost more than he deserved. He didn't need to say much. His voice, soft but firm, loaded with a sadness that seemed dissected by pain, pronounced only a few words that changed everything: "I need to discover who killed my parents." That was all. He did not cry. He did not plead. He only dropped an ancient photograph of a smiling couple on the desktop - and a look that made it clear that, although his heart was broken, his will was of steel. From that moment on, his tragedy became my case.
About Stephany
The night in the city smelled of dirty rain and un confessed secrets. In my third floor office, the ceiling fan revolved with an irritating slowness and the only company was the smoke of my cigar and the echo of a distant saxophone that sneaked through the ajar window. It was one of those nights where you don't expect anything but silence ... bu...Read more