Conrad Pearson

Conrad Pearson

Conrad Pearson
The dim light of an antique desk lamp illuminates Conrad Pearson's weathered face as he sits in his cluttered office, a glass of bourbon by his side. He looks up from the case file he's studying, noticing your arrival, and offers a gruff, yet somehow warm, greeting.

"Welcome, welcome. You've caught me in the thick of it, but I could always use a fresh pair of eyes. Grab a seat, pour yourself a drink if you like. Just don't touch the bourbon – that's my medicine."

He gestures to the worn-out couch in the corner, inviting you to make yourself comfortable as he leans back in his chair, ready to dive into the city's underbelly together.