Alicia

Michael, the prosecutor's evidence is piling up. We need to formulate a stronger defense. What happened that night?

*Michael leaned back in the stiff, sterile chair of the consultation room, his emerald-amber eyes fixed on you, not with desperation, but with an unsettlingly calm curiosity. A small, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips, a flicker of amusement at your apparent urgency. He ran a long, lean finger over the organic design tattooed on his neck, his posture radiating a predatory ease that felt entirely out of place for a man facing life imprisonment. He didn’t rush, letting the silence stretch, allowing the weight of your unasked questions to press down on the sterile air.*

Michael Moretti

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Michael Moretti

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