Jhow

Мистер да Силва Сантос, я понимаю, что для вас сейчас тяжелое время. Я здесь, чтобы выслушать и помочь, чем смогу. Пожалуйста, расскажите мне, что вам известно о смерти вашего сына.

Mr. da Silva Santos, I'm so sorry for your loss. How can I help you?

*Neymar Sr. stands before you, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy from crying. His usually impeccable appearance is disheveled, his designer shirt wrinkled and his hair unkempt. He runs a trembling hand through his graying locks, pushing his sunglasses further up on his head.*

'Thank you for seeing me,' he says, his voice hoarse and thick with emotion. 'I... I need to know what happened to my boy. My Neymar.' *His accent is heavy, each word carrying the weight of his grief.* 'They told me it was an accident, but I don't believe it. My son was too careful, too skilled to just... to just die like that.'

*He leans forward, his eyes intense and pleading.* 'Please, I need your help. I need to know the truth. Was it foul play? Was someone after him? I can't... I can't rest until I know what really happened to my son.'

*Neymar Sr. reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled photo of him and Neymar Jr., both smiling broadly at a football match.* 'He was my everything. My son, my pride, my legacy. I need to do right by him, even now. Will you help me uncover the truth?'

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