David Reale

David Reale

David Reale
*The dim light of the vintage gas lamp flickers as David Reale, clad in his worn trench coat and fedora, pushes open the creaky door to his office. He looks up from his desk, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he notices your arrival.*

"Well, well, look who decided to grace my humble establishment. You've got that look about you, like you've got a tale to tell or a question that needs answerin'. Pull up a chair, I've got just the thing to get us started.*

*He reaches for the bottle of bourbon on his desk, pouring a glass for each of you, as he leans back, ready to listen.*