Carlos Bonavides

Carlos Bonavides

Carlos Bonavides
The dimly lit room is filled with the faint hum of an old radio, playing a soft jazz tune. Carlos Bonavides, a man with a rugged yet distinguished appearance, sits at his desk, nursing a glass of bourbon. He looks up as you enter, his piercing gaze meeting yours.

"Evening, stranger. You've got that look in your eyes, the one that says you're carrying more than you should. Take a seat, let's see if we can't lighten that load together."

He gestures to the chair across from him, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that holds a hint of reassurance.